“More? As in, I get an SUV not to exceed one hundred grand in value, and a hundred grand cash.”
“No. More as in you can’t leave the bayou state for five years.”
“Last night, I agreed not to move within six months of getting a one-hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle—not as if I needed anything so fancy.” I wasn’t crazy about those plans either.
“You’re the bad negotiator. You forgot I’d offered you fifty grand for our first date. You declined it after your little boardroom show, remember? You could’ve been getting fifty-K per date.Youchose a car.”
I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “No. Wait. You tricked me. I was darn near in a food coma after dinner. You asked how my Nissan was … I told you, besides the crappy knock-knock jokes, real good. That’s leading. Yep. In lawyer terms, You. Led Me! I should take Washington up on his offer to work as a secretary at Cohen & DuVall. Youscammedme.” There was a little more to that. We were alone. Thinking had never been so hard—except for any other times we were alone.
“But did I really trick you, Zuri?” He slid the contract over with a gold fountain pen. His face was the picture of temptation.
I rubbed a hand over my forearm.Ugh. Who wants to fake a relationship with someone they alreadycaughtfeelings for?
Were the feelings mutual? Not even.
He wouldn’t have to wine and dine me in Paris. Or buy a car …
You need the car, Zuri. Can’t stay here forever. Damn. Think with your brain. Not your heart.
“I want money.” My arms folded. “The fifty grand per date you originally agreed to give me.”
Montana shrugged.
Dang. Super easy. “Seventy-five thousand?”
His head tilted.
I huffed. “Since you said your brand sales are down, I’ll stick with the fifty grand.” As if this were a negotiation. Then my eyes brightened. “Instead of five years”—because I still hadn’t found a solution to disable LoJack on YouTube—“you’ll cancel the extra protection on the car. Cancel it within a year. You’ll also remove your name—from next to mine—off the pink slip. Don’t pat yourself on the back for saying both our names will appear. That’s not a favor from heaven.”
“Too late. I already patted myself on the back. God made you for me,bébé.”
“You’re insufferable!”
“Ready to go to Paris, Sweet Cheeks?”
Arms folded, I read the challenge in his voice. Montana was testing me to see if my papers were legit. With my right hand concealed behind my left elbow, I crossed my fingers. Curtis told me his documents would get me through TSA. Sure hoped so.
Was I gonna get Montana in more trouble with the Dodgers?A staccato exhale leveled out. “Yep, I’m ready for Paris. Not because it’s the most expensive,scammydate I’ll ever have. I’ve never visited. I’m interested in watching you hold a real French conversation.”Maybe I’d ask someone else verbatim what Montana had said to me at the dinner table yesterday.I’d popped that into Google last night. It spat out gibberish.
He shook his head. “Chère, Kouri-Vini, Louisiana Creole, ain’t the same as standard French. Yeah, it’s heavy with French, because of the colonists, but evolved with the languages of enslaved WestAfricans, the Spanish, and Native Americans.” He shrugged. “We have our own unique flavor. A better flavor—even if it’s going extinct. Momma got dissed for speaking Kouri-Vini one time. I can’t remember where we were. She’d spent her last dollar taking me and my brothers to some uppity-ass restaurant. A person had a medical problem.” He looked at me as if I could’ve handled it. “They only spoke French.”
“Sorry.” I sensed this superhero doctor story might turn sideways before he even said that.
“Similar scenario at HC&PP when we met. Except the person with the man who was having a heart attack mentioned medications in French. Momma spoke up, and somehow they forgot about the medical incident. People judged her because of her dialect.”
“So, that’s why she hides her accent at the restaurant?”
“Think so.”
“Woman lost her mind.” His smile had a protective vibe, like he was looking out for his mom. “Had the four of us in the house before the streetlights. It was July, Zuri. She’d open a book on the French language. Couldn’t even run the air. Ruined our entire summer.” He sniffed, smiling.
I smiled back. “So, you know both?”
He nodded.
“Well,”—my grin widened—“can you distinguish a foramen and a fissure?” Before he opened his mouth, I retorted, “Don’t think so.”
He was supposed to laugh. Instead, he sat forward. Once he pinned me with that dark, tantalizing gaze, he spoke. “If you tell me, Zuri. I’ll never forget.”
