“Madame, actually,” I corrected, reluctantly allowing him to kiss the back of my hand.
Arnaud lifted his bent head and looked between the two of us. “I apologize.Madame.”
“And that goes for you, too,” I said to David. “No more calling memiss. It’sMrs. Germaine.”
The corner of his mouth ticked as he suppressed a smile, but he didn’t argue. “Are you going back to the office?” David asked Arnaud.
“Yes.”
“I need you to stop and look at the light fixtures we discussed. Today. We’ll make a final decision when I get back later.” David returned his attention to me, effectively dismissing him.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Arnaud answered before he left us.
“Germaine,” David mused. “That’s not your husband’s name, is it?”
“How’d you know?”
“I did my homework,” he said, a gleam in his eye.
“It’s not. But Germaine or Wilson—it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still married.” I smoothed a hand over my hair. “I’m making it official soon anyway.”
“Five years later?” He smiled into his menu. “I’d say it’s about time.”
He saw right through my fib. Well, just for that, maybe Iwouldfinally start the paperwork and even send out an office-wide e-mail to start addressing me as Mrs. Wilson. She sounded like a better fit for the suburbs anyway.
“You’re obviously a regular here,” I said. “What’s good?”
“I know just the thing.” He took my menu and set it on the edge of the table. I was about to object, but the excitement in his eyes stopped me.
While he ordered for us, I took a large gulp of water, hoping it would extinguish the heat David’s nearness inspired. Ice water coated my insides. Suddenly, my white, form-fitting blouse didn’t seem so conservative. Nor did my skirt, as I remembered how David had scanned my bare knees and followed my curves with his eyes.
I swallowed, my scalp warming. I had to remember why we were here—business. “So, David. Tell me about yourself. What do you do in your spare time?”
“I keep pretty busy with work.”
“But you must blow off steam somehow?”
“I sail,” he said. “And swim whenever I get the chance.”
Wet. Shirtless.I shook my head. Was there a swimmer’s body under that perfect suit?
He leaned his elbows on the table. “How about you,” he paused, his eyes concentrated on me, “O-liv-ia?”
“This interview isn’t about me.”
“I didn’t realize the interview had begun.”
“We’re on the record,” I said, reaching into my purse for a pen. “Are any topics off limits? Work, travel . . .” I kept my eyes down to hide my reddening cheeks as I broached the aspect of his life that—infuriatingly—most interested me. “Love?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his eyes narrowed as I opened my notepad on the table. “You can ask me any question you want. No restrictions. All in the name of research.”
I bit my lip. Where my interview process ended and my personal interest in him began, I had no idea. This meant I wouldn’t have to make that distinction. “What’s the catch?” I asked.
“You have to answer the question, too.”
Ah. For David to offer that deal, he must’ve seen how uncomfortable his questions made me.
I realized I was playing with my earring when he glanced at it. He reached out and took my wrist, tugged my hand away, and placed it on the table. “I don’t want to make you nervous.” His palm warmed the back of my hand. “I’m just curious about you. So, I told you a couple of my hobbies. What’re yours?”
