Chapter 72 Adeline
Adeline's POV
It had been two weeks since Vanessa Sterling boarded a one-way flight to London, and the atmosphere at Royal and Associates had gone back to the way it was.
I had settled into a comfortable but demanding schedule since everyone now saw me beyond my identity as the boss’ fiancée. I was the junior associate who had saved the TechStar merger. I had earned my space in the office.
It was a random Thursday evening, and the firm was mostly empty. I closed my laptop, rubbed my tired eyes, and began sliding the rest of the work I wanted to take home with me when I heard his voice.
"Are you officially off the clock?" His suit jacket was unbuttoned and his tie slightly loosened. He looked tired, but this time, it was the kind a good night's rest would fix.
"Completely," I smiled, grabbing my coat and walking around the desk to meet him.
Percy reached out to pull me in for a slow, lingering kiss. "Good, because I cleared my evening. How do you want to celebrate a successful week? I can have Tiny call the manager at your favorite restaurant, or we can go back to the penthouse and open that bottle of Macallan I’ve been saving."
I rested my hands on his chest as I weighed my options. None appealed to me at all.
"None," I told him, and his brows furrowed a bit.
"Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to go on a date."
"Tiny can make that reservation." He reminded me, and I shook my head.
"I want a completely normal average date. There's this ice cream shop the girls in the office have been raving about. It's in the west village."
Percy stared at me for a long moment. "Ice cream," he repeated. "In the West Village on a Thursday night. That's what you want to do."
"Yes," I grinned.
He let out a low chuckle before shaking his head. "Tiny, bring the car around."
Twenty minutes later, the car slowed to a crawl along a narrow tree-lined street in the village. Tiny pulled over to the curb, put the car in park, and looked back at us through the rearview mirror.
"Boss, are you sure about this?" He didn't bother to hide how skeptical he was.
Percy leaned forward and gazed out the window, looking even more skeptical.
The ice cream shop was a tiny storefront wedged between a bookstore and a vintage boutique. There had to be about forty people on the line outside.
"Absolutely not," Percy said flatly, reaching into his suit jacket for his phone. "It’s going to take hours just to get to the door. I’ll call the owner. I’m sure he’d be happy to close the shop for a private tasting for ten thousand dollars."
"Put the phone away, Percy," I laughed.
"Adeline, there are forty people out there, and it's cold as hell."
"I'm sure hell isn't cold and we have coats," I countered and pulled my trench coat tighter around my shoulders. "I said I wanted a normal date. Normal people don't bribe shop owners to skip the line. You are going to get out of this car and stand in the queue with me until it's our turn."
One would think I just sentenced him to his execution from how heavily he sighed as he put his phone away.
"If I get recognized and someone asks me for a picture, I am leaving you here," he grumbled, and I grinned triumphantly as I slid out of the car behind him.
We took our place at the very back of the line. The night air smelled of roasted waffle cones, and I thought it was magical. Percy stood close behind me as he acted as a human shield against me.
After ten minutes, the line had barely moved.
Percy let out another impatient sigh and checked his Rolex for the third time.
"You know, if you sigh any louder, you’re going to blow my hair completely out of place." The voice came from directly in front of us.
I blinked in surprise as the woman standing ahead of us turned around. She looked to be around my age with rich dark skin and an unapologetic smile. She was the definition of Manhattan old money in her perfectly tailored wide-leg trousers, a cream-colored cashmere sweater, and a vintage Cartier watch on her wrist.
Percy’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise, then coldness. People did not usually address him with that kind of casual disrespect. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused." Now it was my turn to be even more surprised. The woman didn't even flinch at his tone. She just crossed her arms and looked him up and down with an amused sparkle in her eyes. "I know your type."
"What?"
"You’re standing there calculating exactly how many billable hours you’re losing by standing there, but money doesn't buy time in the West Village. You have to suffer like the rest of us."
I stifled my laughter at their exchange. Percy looked completely bewildered. He was so used to people cowering from his reputation that encountering someone entirely unimpressed by his brooding glare had temporarily broken his brain.
"They're too slow." He growled back.
"They're making each scoop by hand. If you want efficiency, you order, but if you want really good ice cream, I mean, it's like heaven on the tongue, so it's worth the wait, I promise."
She finally looked past him to look at me; her expression instantly softened to a warm grin that made me really happy. "Is he always this dramatic?"
"Worse, usually," I smiled, stepping out from behind Percy’s shadow. "I forced him to come. He wanted to buy the shop to skip the line."
The woman threw her head back and let out a loud laugh. "Of course he did! God, men with money are so wonderfully predictable." She extended a hand toward me. "I’m Zara. Zara Whitmore."
Percy’s posture stiffened slightly at the name. It was his posture that made me recognize it. The Whitmores were old money. Even more old money than the Akilovs. It made sense why she could be less bothered about Percy.
"Adeline," I said, shaking her hand. "And the dramatic suit is Percy."
"Nice to meet you, Adeline." Zara smiled, completely ignoring Percy. She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Look, I’m a stylist, so I have to ask. That blazer you wore to work today? The navy one? I saw it online. Where did you get it tailored? Because the darting on the waist is absolutely criminal."
I blinked, momentarily thrown. "Oh, it was one of those ones I got off the rack. There was no time to get it tailored."
Zara gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "Off the rack? With that engagement ring? Oh, honey, no. Absolutely not. We are fixing that immediately."
For the next twenty minutes, as the line slowly crept forward, Zara and I talked. Or rather, Zara talked at a rapid entertaining speed. Sometimes, she would repeat a phrase for emphasis when she got particularly passionate about a topic, and I happily listened, feeling the start of something new.