I grinned. “I like your shirt.”
He looked at me like he hadn’t heard me and I looked away, a little unsettled at the intensity of his stare.
“Shall we get a menu?” I suggested.
Tristan cleared his throat as if he had to deliberately knock himself back into the moment. “I’ve ordered already.”
I frowned like a toddler who’d just had her ball yanked away from her. I liked the crab ravioli and the chicken parmigiana. I’d been looking forward to it.
“You want some wine?” he asked.
“You’re asking?” I replied. “That makes a change.” I’d never been particularly good at hiding what I was thinking.
“Trust me.” He gestured for one of the waitresses to come over and ordered a bottle of Franciacorta.
“Not a prosecco fan?” I asked, wondering if he was trying to impress me.
“Hate the stuff. I drink beer mainly. But dinner with a beautiful woman deserves something more. And I’d rather drink cows’ urine than prosecco.”
“Something we have in common.”
He nodded as if I hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know already. “I figured.”
“You know this isn’t a date though, don’t you? I mean, you don’t have to impress me.”
“I paid twenty-five grand for tonight. If it’s not a real date then I want my money back.” The way his mouth curled up slightly told me he didn’t want his money back at all.
“So why this place? You live around here?”
“I live in Notting Hill, but I figured this place was local to you and it has a great reputation. I guessed you’d been here before and enjoyed it. Am I wrong?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t argue with that logic. “I love this place.” Truth be told, the kind of thought Tristan had put into choosing this place was way more impressive than taking a private plane to Paris. Anyone could get their assistant to make table reservations and charter a plane. Tristan had genuinely thought about what I might like.
But I wasn’t running down that rabbit hole. Like all the rest, Tristan was trying to impress my father, not me. He was either interested in furthering their business relationship or getting his hands on some of Dad’s money. Better to find out now which one.
“Tell me how you know my dad.”
He shrugged like there wasn’t much to tell. “He gave me my first break. Spotted potential in me, I suppose. I started doing cyber security for his bank and . . .Long story short, he gave me my career.”
It sounded like he owed my dad a lot. Although I couldn’t ignore the pinch in my heart that told me I’d prefer it if he hadn’t known my father at all, I admired the lack of ego he displayed. Most men wouldn’t fully credit someone else for their success. They might acknowledge they’d had a leg up. Maybe. But to say my father gave him his career? There was something sexy about a man who could recognize the shoulders he stood on.
Our starters arrived and a plate of crab ravioli was placed in front of each of us.
I looked up at him. As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “Antonio told me this was your favorite. Looks great.” He picked up his fork but waited as I tentatively reached for mine. I couldn’t decide if Tristan finding out my preferences was creepy or incredibly thoughtful. All I knew was I was sitting in my favorite restaurant, eating my favorite thing on the menu. Like Sutton said, I needed to just go with it.
“That’s delicious. Must be the lemon,” he said after his first bite.
The way he’d said delicious echoed in my brain and made me shiver like it was me he was eating, not the ravioli.
“I’m surprised you like this kind of place,” I said.
“What? Great food, great wine, great company? Yeah, why would I like that?”
I smiled and he looked up at me from under his eyelashes. He took another mouthful of ravioli and for a split second I wondered how his lips would feel on my neck. How his hands would feel circling and pressing against my body. I needed to keep my imagination in check. Remember why we were here.
“I thought with the whole twenty-five grand bid, you might be a bit flash.”
He chuckled. “I’m wiped out now. Nothing left in my bank account. You should be grateful we didn’t end up on a park bench eating takeaway fish and chips.”
“I like fish and chips.”
“Me too.”
Unable to gauge his seriousness, I felt bad. “Are you being serious? Has your donation left you—”
He chuckled like I was Ricky Gervais. “Don’t worry. I’m still liquid. I’m just not—” He paused as he seemed to try to find the right words. “I like flash in the right circumstances, but not every day. Anyway, you’re Arthur’s daughter. You’ve seen flash before and it’s not like it’s going to impress you. I wanted to do something you’d enjoy. Was I wrong?”