The CEO's Second Chance

Chapter 3

"So you really don't remember making poor old Mr. Chesky cry?"

"First of all, he was neither poor nor old, and he didn't cry." Sara felt a little heat rising to her cheeks at the memory. "I mean, maybe he did on the inside, but..."

"Oh, he definitely shed some real tears," Ryan said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from his glass of wine. It was growing late in the evening, but he seemed to have no shortage of memories to tease her about. "I heard he was so upset, he had to retire from teaching and leave the country."

Sara rolled her eyes and tried to remain serious, not wanting to break into a case of schoolgirl giggles. "Well, he made a mistake on his answer key. What was I supposed to do?"

"I think the best part was the look on everyone's faces when the teacher's pet finally snapped." Sara finally gave into the urge to laugh as Ryan's eyes widened in an impression of their classmates.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him, but I was under a lot of stress at the time," she said, rubbing her temples and taking a sip of wine herself. She could laugh about it now, but she'd felt guilty for a long time afterward. It wasn't Mr. Chesky's fault she put so much pressure on herself to make perfect grades.

Ryan nodded and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He'd had long, messy hair in high school. Even though he wore it shorter now, it still had that slightly unkempt, just-rolled-out-of-bed look that stood out in sharp contrast to the perfectly buzzed style of most Wall Street professionals. Maybe it was his hair that made him more endearing and softened the edges of his billionaire businessman aura. Or maybe it was just that Sara knew who he was beneath his exterior.

Or at least she used to.

"You always were quite the overachiever," he said with admiration in his voice. "If you weren't studying, you were planning what to study."

"Oh please," Sara said, flicking her hand as if to wave away his claim. "If I wasn't studying, it's because I was hanging out with you."

He lifted an eyebrow suggestively. "You needed a little excitement in your life."

Sara's pulse quickened and she reached again for her wine, draining what was left in the glass.

"More wine?" he asked as he reached toward the open bottle on the edge of the table.

"No, thank you." She was already feeling warm and flushed, unsure if it was from the first glass or the way Ryan had just looked at her. Curse him and his easy charm. More wine was the last thing she needed if she planned to keep this dinner friendly.

Given the atmosphere of the restaurant he'd chosen, that wasn't exactly going to be easy. It was one of those new, trendy places with an unpronounceable name that probably meant something clever in Italian.

The exposed brick walls, peeling tables, and rusted chairs gave it the feeling of a well-worn, European hole-in-the-wall café that had been in business for several generations. Sara figured some designer scored a small fortune making a restaurant in the SoHo neighborhood of Manhattan look like an old-fashioned ristorante.

Most of the seating consisted of long booths against the walls with tiny tables lined in neat rows. It allowed the owner to make the most of their assuredly pricy and limited space, but did not leave much in the way of privacy.

When they'd arrived, Ryan led her through the crowd to a secluded table in the back corner. She'd wondered how he had managed to secure such a table on a Friday night on such short notice. These places were usually booked for weeks in advance. Was it due to his connections as a Clarke? Or was she taking the place of some other girl he'd intended to bring here tonight?