“With him?” he snaps again.
My phone beeps with a text. I glance at the screen.
That’s a great idea,
let’s go to Hawaii for the
weekend.
We can practice tantric sex.
A stupid grin crosses my face before I can cover it up.
Stop it.
I bring my focus back to Gabriel. “Look,” I say guiltily. “It’s only twelve months, and I know that it isn’t ideal, but it will be good for him to get out of his comfort zone. And besides, he’s giving them a run for their money, so he might not even last without being fired.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you would react like this.”
A text bounces in, and I pick up my phone off the table to shield it from Gabriel’s eyes. It’s a cartoon Kama Sutra image of people in a sexual position with the heading ROCK-A-BYE BOOTY.
I glance over and see Tristan’s shoulders bouncing as he laughs and watches me.
Oh hell.
“I’m not impressed at all, Claire. I don’t like him being around them,” Gabriel continues, completely distracted.
“You know as well as I do they are good businesspeople,” I argue. “I wasn’t impressed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.” My phone beeps with a text, and I open it discreetly on my lap. It’s another cartoon Kama Sutra drawing of a woman crouched between a man’s legs, his dick in her mouth. The heading is THE MOTHERLOAD.
What the hell?
I burst out laughing. I glance up, and Tristan’s eyes are alight with mischief as he chuckles.
“What is so funny?” Gabriel snaps.
“Oh, Marley is having boyfriend trouble. She’s just relaying their latest tiff,” I lie.
“No wonder,” he mutters into his drink. “That woman is a nutjob.”
A waitress arrives at our table. “Here you go—two mimosas.” She carefully puts the two drinks down in front of us.
“What are these?” Gabriel frowns.
“On the house,” the waitress replies. “Enjoy.” She walks off, and I stare at the drinks in front of us.
Don’t look over at him . . . don’t look at him . . . don’t look at him. That’s what he wants.
I cannot believe the gall of this man.
Most men would be rattled seeing a woman out with another man.
Most men aren’t Tristen Miles.
He’s unrattle-able . . . is that even a word? And I hate to admit it, but confidence in a man is very fucking appealing.
Gabriel picks up his mimosa and takes a sip. “Hmm, not bad.” He shrugs.