Dear Heart, I Hate You

He glanced up at the ceiling and then back at me, his hazel eyes filled with mischief. “I want to argue, but I’m not sure I can. How the hell do you argue with Malibu?”

“You don’t. You can’t.” I grinned back at him. “What about you? Do you work for a big firm?”

“It’s not big by New York standards, but it’s not a five-person shop either. We’re considered a midsize company. But I want to make partner, so I pretty much spend all my time networking and trying to bring in new clients.”

I leaned back slightly. “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to bring me in as a client?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Give me all your money, Jules. Let me triple it for you.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” I reached for my purse before playfully shoving the entire thing at him. “Here. Take it.”

He laughed. “You’re smart.”

“So are you.”

“I don’t meet a lot of smart women. No offense,” he said as I pursed my lips, willing him to remove the foot he’d just placed in his beautiful mouth. “It’s just that women tend to see themselves one way, but they’re usually the opposite.”

I bristled, needing more of an explanation than that for why he was putting down my entire gender. “Explain.”

“Okay, but don’t get pissed. Hear me out.” He put his hands up in surrender. “One of the first things women always say is how independent they are, how motivated. But in my experience, they’re usually neither of those things. They’re either searching for a rich guy to provide for them so they don’t have to work, or they’re still living on Mommy and Daddy’s money. And neither of those things are signs of an independent or motivated woman, in my opinion. Unless you count trying to land a sugar daddy motivation,” he said with a grin.

I wanted to disagree with him, but the truth was that a lot of my clients were women who didn’t work at anything except spending their husband’s money. Granted, the men in those situations also tended to want nothing more than eye candy on their arm, so it worked both ways.

Cal spoke again, interrupting my thoughts. “Most people don’t know what they want to do with their life, and they aren’t working toward a goal. I rarely meet anyone who is as together as you are. It’s a compliment, Jules. Take it.” He smiled at me, and I focused on those damn lips again as my irritation faded.

Listening to him speak was almost like having a conversation with myself. Hadn’t I just thought virtually the same thing about the guys in LA, that they were all looks and no substance?

It had been a long time since I was around a guy whose thoughts seemed to mimic my own. It was almost more of a turn-on than the rest of him. I wanted to take him upstairs and make love to his mind. Was such a thing possible? I volunteer as tribute!

“Thank you.”

“My turn,” he said expectantly.

“Your turn what?”

“What do you like about me?” he asked before taking another sip of his drink.

I giggled. “Who says I like you at all?”

“Those green eyes do. They give you away,” he said as he stared into them.

“I might like you a little.” I pretended to glance over his shoulder for a second, anything to break the intense eye contact before meeting his gaze again. “But honestly, your motivation and passion for the things that you love—” I let out a little sigh, all but moaned out loud. “It’s so damn hot.”

He laughed. “You’re adorable.”

“Yeah? And you’re sexy.”

Cal’s hand brushed against mine under the table. He squeezed my thigh and left his hand there, caressing me through my jeans with his thumb. His move was a bit forward, and I found myself enjoying it way too much for my own good.

That touch wasn’t accidental and I wanted more of it—more of him. I wanted his hands all over me. Hell, I’d already imagined those full lips pressed against mine the second I’d first laid eyes on him.

“I’m so tired, you guys,” my new friend Kristy from Connecticut said. “I don’t want to, but I think I have to go to bed.” She pushed up from her seat and stretched her arms above her head.

“Oh, thank God,” Sue from Arizona said before standing. “I didn’t want to be the first to leave, but I think I might fall asleep at this table if I don’t head upstairs.”

I told them both good night and watched as they headed toward the elevators. When I glanced at Robin, I was surprised to see her sipping a cocktail that I hadn’t even noticed her order. Clearly, I’d been distracted.

“I’m not going anywhere, so don’t look at me like that,” she said with a smile, and I found myself only marginally thankful.