“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” he says. “Ahi Tuna Tartare with Pickled Quail Egg and Yuzu Pearl. You’re welcome.”
It sounds like something that requires a liability waiver.
The waiter stands by, awaiting a verdict on the wine. James swirls, inhales theatrically, then nods royally. The waiter retreats.
“My stylist in Milan would love to help,” James says, glancing at my jacket. His fingers brush the cuff like he’s inspecting the fabric. Excuse me? I wasn’t asking for fashion tips, grazie mille.
I zone out halfway through his investment story. I’m dreading that pickled whatever-it-was and take a nervous sip of wine.
“…so I moved my investments before the market could correct itself. You’d be surprised how many people didn’t see it coming.”
“Um, yes,” I say. He looks at me like I’ve just confirmed my place as a charming simpleton.
“I know our lives are very different, Cole,” he says softly. His hand lands on mine for emphasis, his thumb grazing my knuckle like punctuation. “I understand hearing about my financial achievements can feel overwhelming.”
Nope, not overwhelming. Try frustratingly privileged. And maybe stop talking to me like I’m some clueless teenager who doesn’t understand money. I bought a house for my kid with my own money. Your financial achievements, on the other hand, are based on your trust fund.
I smile equally softly. “And I understand that being a condescending prick just comes naturally to some people.”
James blinks and then, in a shocking turn of events, apologizes. “I’ve been told I come off a bit—”
“Insufferable?” I offer, because I’m still annoyed.
“I was going for curated, but fair enough,” he sighs. His hand retreats, but not before squeezing mine lightly, as though I’m some trembling ingénue.
Objectively, he’s a handsome man. Subjectively, I’ve felt more chemistry with a wilted fern.
Our food arrives. Something green and glistening stares at me.
“Don’t you just love Japanese citrus?” James asks, his tone a bit more wary after my snark. He leaves forward, eyes bright, watching my fork like he’s waiting for my first bite. No, I don’t love Japanese citrus. But apparently I have it in my tartare. I also have an urge to flee to the nearest fry stand.
We eat in silence for a while. Well, he eats, I poke.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” James suddenly asks.
“Here,” I say pointedly. “Where my son’s school is.”
James frowns. “You mean Lizzie’s kid?”His words hit like a slap. I hate it when people assume I’m some temporary solution.
“No. I mean my son,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You can’t honestly mean to stay in Baywood forever,” he says, baffled.I glare at him.
James exhales. “Cole, I must admit I’m very attracted to you. And I admire the inner strength you’ve shown taking care of your… son.” His hand finds my forearm this time, warm and heavy, like he’s rewarding me.
Oh dear Lord. I think my soul briefly exited my body.
“In you, I see an unpolished diamond,” he says wistfully. His eyes sweep over me like he’s evaluating a purchase, and suddenly I feel less like a date and more like an object up for auction.
I force a smile. “You’ll have to excuse me. Noah’s sitter just texted.”
“I thought you said he’s with your parents?”
“Yes,” I say brightly as if that makes perfect sense.
Outside, James lightly touches my elbow. “Maybe next time I’ll take you shopping in Milan,” he says, kissing my cheek like we just set the date. I shudder. Watching him walk away — all crisp confidence — I feel nothing but relief. Well, that, and the realization I’m starving.
Worst. Week. Ever.And I didn’t even get fries.
