She was close to him now. He didn’t retreat. For a moment, she saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Good. Somewhere under that polished exterior was a human being who was unsure, even if only slightly.
‘So…’ He took an unhurried sip of his drink before setting it down again, entirely composed. ‘That begs the question — why did you go to the trouble of dressing up and travelling into Wellington if you’re not interested?’
‘I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.’
He tilted his head. ‘You thought I wouldn’t be here if you were late. And you were late anyway. That suggests a certain level of disinterest.’
‘I am interested,’ she said. ‘Sure, there was a risk you wouldn’t be here, in which case my interest was misplaced. But if you were here, that could only mean one thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘You’re more interested in me than I fully understand. And that definitely interests me.’
For a moment there was only the murmur of other diners, the clink of glassware, and the discreet piano drifting over it all. He blinked.
‘This is starting to sound complicated,’ he said, mirroring her posture and lightly steepling his fingers. ‘On the one hand, you’re suggesting you don’t believe I’m interested in you. On the other hand, you clearly don’t suffer from a lack of confidence.’
She laughed, bright enough that several people turned to look. Even while confusion flickered in his eyes, he smiled at the sound. People usually did.
‘Oh, no, I have a high opinion of myself.’
‘That’s what I thought. I like it. Most women I meet aren’t so confident, deep down.’
‘Then I guess I’m not your usual type.’
He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to different types.’
They drank.
‘But you still leave me with a question,’ he went on. ‘If you’re so confident in yourself — and I quite understand why you should be; you’re beautiful, engaging, and clearly successful — why would you assume I have some sort of ulterior motive?’
‘Because men like you don’t wait for anyone, least of all a woman.’
‘Then why do you think I waited?’
‘You want something. And I can’t quite work out what… yet.’
His hand jerked slightly as he put his glass down. A bead of wine spilled onto the polished table and disappeared into the napkin.
He sat back and nodded to the waiter for menus. While the maître d’ described the specials, Lucy listened, ignoring Oliver’s gaze which she could practically feel on her skin. Let Oliver wonder. It handed her the advantage.
Only after the maître d’ had left did she turn back and give Oliver a pleasant smile before glancing around. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been here. It’s been revamped. It looks good. Do you come here often?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were in Australia before.’
He nodded. ‘Correct.’
She noticed he didn’t elaborate. ‘What brought you back?’
‘Business.’
‘Hm.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Tell me something — are you trying to intrigue me with these one-word answers? Determined to be a “man of mystery”?’
‘There’s very little that’s mysterious about me,’ he said. ‘I work; I play a little; I work some more.’
‘You know what they say about all work making Jack a dull boy,’ she teased.
