“I also know how to drive a car. What are you in the mood for?”
They settled on takeout from a local deli, and she told herself she’d shower while he went to pick up their order. But when he left, her momentum faded. The peaceful silence, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the neighbor’s wind chime, dulled her ambition.
The next time she opened her eyes pale fingers of dawn pried around the edge of the curtain. A note sat on her nightstand, beside a shiny red apple.
To keep the doctor away. See you soon. Rafe.
“What are you doing Friday night? I need a date to the Las Ventanas re-launch party.” Passengers filed through the first class cabin. Rafe nodded at the “five minute” signal from the flight attendant and fastened his seat belt.
“I don’t think you can call it a date if you bring me,” Arden said. “Since when do you have any trouble finding a real date?”
His sister usually steered clear of St. Sebastian events. She disliked the “hotel heiress” stigma the press had tried to foist on her from an early age, and avoided playing to it, but she’d go if he asked. “My first choice was unavailable.” Unwilling, to be precise, and the fact still burned in his gut. The odds of convincing her to extend their arrangement beyond the close of the deal looked slim given he couldn’t even convince her to go on a public date with him.
“And your second choice? And third, for that matter? I think your bench goes deeper than first choice, and then boom, little sister.”
Leave it to Arden to turn a simple request into a character assassination. “You’re my second choice. I thought it would be nice to spend the evening with my sibling. At least I did, until this call.”
“Who was your first choice?”
“None of your business.” Not subtle, but subtlety never worked on Arden.
“Somebody new.”
Neither, apparently, did rudeness. But her observation piqued his curiosity. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re not attached to any of the priors. You’d just call the next eligible bachelorette on your list if the first one couldn’t make it. But this one’s not interchangeable. You want her or nobody at all.”
“Should I refer to you as nobody from now on?”
“You’re asking me because you don’t want to take a real date.”
He scowled. “I’m asking you because I made an error in judgment two minutes ago.”
“Ha. You’ve gone exclusive, whether by intention or default. It’s the deal liaison, isn’t it?”
Rafe nearly dropped his phone. As a major stakeholder in St. Sebastian Enterprises, Arden had a high-level awareness of the Tradewinds deal, but there was no way she knew about Chelsea. And he wanted to keep it like that for the time being.
“Dad told me you refused to follow his advice and pull out of the deal because you had a thing for the woman assigned to fac
ilitate the sale. He used a bit more French in his version, but—”
“I can only imagine.” He could. All too clearly. So much for the discretion he’d promised Chelsea. He had his father questioning his judgment—nothing new there—and his sister speculating on his love life. “My flight leaves soon. Can we please focus on the matter at hand, Arden. Friday?”
“Will you buy me something pretty to wear?”
A sharp pain stabbed him in the vicinity of his credit card. Arden loved to shop. She could spend hours, and thousands, at a Tijuana flea market or a couture salon on the Champs Elysees. Then again, she was doing him a favor. The least he could do was pay for a dress…shoes…probably an evening bag…jewelry. Christ, he should just write her a blank check. “Yes, dear. Anything your little heart desires, as long as I don’t have to be there when it happens.”
Her laugh bounced over the line, along with a parting shot. “I love her already.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Feb. 12
10:15 a.m.
Chelsea,
We’ve had a run on the glow-in-the-dark condoms. The supplier has them on back-order and says six weeks at the earliest. Do you have an emergency stash?