The Rivals

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them, Weston was still sporting a smug smirk, but his brows were pinched together, and his forehead was wrinkled.

“If you were hoping I’d disappear, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said.

I know I’m not that lucky had been on the tip of my tongue. But instead, I plastered on a sparkling smile.

Well, I was going for sparkling, but the look on Weston’s face told me it came out more maniacal Joker than anything. Yet I rolled with it.

Speaking through my teeth, I said, “Why would I want you to disappear? You’re so helpful. I look forward to meeting with your contractor.”

Since I wasn’t sure how much more I could take without losing it, I turned on my heel and walked toward the door. Without looking back, I said, “Have a good afternoon, Weston.”

He yelled after me, “I will. And don’t forget dinner tonight, Fifi.”

Chapter 8

* * *

Sophia

I arrived at Le Maison fifteen minutes late on purpose.

Weston stood as I approached the table. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

I took my seat and folded a napkin across my lap. “I said I would, so I’m here. Though, why couldn’t we just have dinner in one of the restaurants at The Countess?”

“This one has dancing. I thought you might enjoy feeling my body pressed up against yours when we’re in public. I mean, we know how much you like it in private.”

“I’m not dancing with you.”

Instead of my refusal annoying him, Weston flashed his million-dollar smile. He really had a fantastic smile…which was irritating beyond belief. But I was hellbent on maintaining my composure this evening.

A waiter came over and asked if we’d like to see the wine menu. I took it and gave it a quick once-over, but decided rather than having hundreds of calories of wine to relax, I’d nurse one low-cal drink instead. I handed my menu back to the waiter. “I’ll have a vodka and cranberry with lime, please. If you have diet cranberry, that would be even better.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have diet. Would you like regular?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded and turned to Weston. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take a Diet Coke, please.”

This was the third time we’d been together and I’d ordered an alcoholic drink, yet Weston hadn’t. I considered questioning it, but thought that might just shine a light on my drinking on a weeknight, so I kept my mouth shut.

After the waiter disappeared, Weston looked me over. “Don’t forget about number two of our deal.”

It took me a few seconds to recall what the terms of our dumb deal even were. We’d agreed to me calling him Weston, dinner once a week, and me…wearing my hair up twice a week.

“Why do you care how I wear my hair, anyway?”

“Because I like to look at the skin on your neck. It’s creamy.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then shut it. His comment seemed sincere. I knew how to fight with this man. I knew how to discuss business with him, even civilly. But I had no idea how to take a compliment when he was being nice.

“Don’t say things like that,” I finally grumbled.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

Since business was a safe topic of conversation, I folded my hands on top of the table. “I made an appointment for a second contractor to come tomorrow at nine AM.”

“I have Brighton Contractors coming tomorrow at eight. I’m sure we can cancel your appointment after we meet with Jim Brighton.”

“I think I’ll refrain from making that decision until after we meet with both. Unlike you, I have an open mind and have no problem considering all competent contractors, regardless of who brings them in.”

Weston dropped his napkin on the table and stood. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“I told you, I’m not dancing.”

“Just one dance.”

“No.”

“Give me one good reason why not, and I’ll sit back down.”

“Because it’s unprofessional. This is a business dinner, not a date.”

“So is fingering you while my belt is tied around your wrists. And you didn’t seem to object to that as unprofessional. Though, if you ask me, leaving me in the state you did the other night wasn’t your most professional moment.”

The waiter arrived to deliver our drinks. Weston continued to stand and wait for me to agree.

When we were alone again, I said, “I’ve clearly had a few moments of insanity. But those are in the past, and I intend to keep things between us professional from now on.”

Weston studied me for a moment. I was surprised when he took his seat again without more of an argument. His thumb rubbed back and forth over his lower lip as he continued to consider me from across the table. After a minute, his face lit up. The only thing missing was a light bulb in a bubble above his head.