‘You’re a good judge of character.’
‘And?’
‘You’re trying to flatter me for some reason.’
There it was again — the tiniest flinch, then recovery.
‘And why,’ he said, folding his arms on the table and leaning closer, ‘would you think I want to flatter you?’
She sighed and let her gaze drift around the café, as if this were all incidental, while she gathered her thoughts. Then she snapped back to him, catching his gaze head-on.
‘Because you want something from me. What that is, I’m not yet sure.’
She almost added, I know you want me in your bed. But while she was honest, she’d also learned the value of keeping certain truths to herself. Yes, she was pretty sure he wanted her. The signs were too obvious. But there was something else going on here. Her gut, usually reliable, was clamouring to be heard.
It wasn’t as if she’d bumped into him at a party, or a bar, or the theatre. He was sitting in the wrong place — the gloomy hotel — at the wrong time, watching her. That wasn’t coincidence. Until she’d figured out what was going on, she’d keep some cards close to her chest.
The fact he didn’t answer immediately but turned his attention to the waitress as she brought his cutlery only confirmed her suspicions. This was not a man who gave his attention freely. Unless it suited him.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, after one last smile for the waitress, ‘you’d let me have your phone number?’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘If you have dinner with me, maybe you’ll find out what it is I’m interested in.’
She shrugged, as if it were nothing. She wasn’t in the habit of handing out her number. But this man tempted her, like no one had in a long time. ‘In that case, you may have my number.’
‘Is there any situation in which you wouldn’t have given it to me?’
‘Plenty. Like if you’d wanted to sell me something. Or use my influence for something?—’
‘You have influence?’ he asked, mock-innocent. ‘Good to know.’
She held out her hand. He swiped through a couple of screens and passed her his phone. Top of the line. Pristine. Not a smear in sight. She wasn’t surprised.
She entered her work number and handed it back. ‘There you go, Oliver. You can now contact me if you need me to use my extensive influence to get you something you want.’
He smiled, the kind of innocent smile which was meant to deny he wanted anything. It didn’t look right on him. ‘Like what?’
‘No idea. What do people normally want? Money?’
He blinked once. She’d unsettled him; she was sure of it, even though he recovered with a dazzling smile just as his breakfast arrived. The eggs Benedict gleamed with hollandaise, butter and herbs perfuming the air between them.
‘Money?’
She shrugged. ‘You look like someone to whom money matters.’
‘Doesn’t money matter to everyone?’ He sounded genuinely puzzled. It made her smile.
‘To some more than others.’ She stood. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Bon appétit.’
‘Merci.’
She exhaled shakily as she walked back to the kitchen. Even her legs felt wobbly. Man, she had it bad.
‘Enjoy your coffee?’ Jen asked, amused.
‘Yes,’ said Lucy vaguely.
