She could feel her anger rapidly draining away, even as she struggled to hold onto it. He really thought he was doing her a favor.
I’m a grown woman, she wrote.I don’t need you to manage me.
She glanced up at his office, but he didn’t respond.
???????
Not all transactions were quick and painless. How many times had he been absolutely certain that the deal was closed, only for the other party to get cold feet? Or worse: greedy. There were always more demands to be made, more money, more time, moreeverything, and he had gotten very good at saying “yes, and?” or “no, but.”
Regardless of what Jay thought, the interview with Arthur would work to her advantage. If his own conniving secretary could harbor such ambitions, why not Jay?
Her anger had lost its edge already. They had driven home in cold silence but she had grumblingly accepted his apology before disappearing into her room and closing the door—a dare, he thought, amused. He invited her to go out wine-tasting with him instead. The museum and dinner date had been a success, and he had enjoyed himself. She had, too. He could tell.
And that was good. He wanted Jay to enjoy spending time with him; he wanted her toneedit.
When she had drunkenly begged him to fuck her after that date—to hurt her and make it feel good, god, did she have any idea what shedidto him?—it had been hard to refuse. But he had, because he understood now what he hadn’t when he was young: that Jay was so married to her morals that she would destroy her own happiness as long as she got to believe she was good.
She would fuck him, and be his slutty girl for the night, and then she would accuse him of wanting her for her body and things would devolve into the same tired argument that they’d had so many times before because, yes, of course he fucking did, but he also wantedher.
And Jay did not think she was good enough to be wanted.
Birds chirped in the trees overhead and a breeze rifled through his hair. The picturesque vineyards and rustling cypresses formed a pastoral background that could have belonged in a children’s book, which was ironic, because his thoughts right now absolutely could not.
Jay was on the fourth wine in her tasting and he was watching her get increasingly flustered and silly and hoping she wouldn’t notice that the sleeve of her sweater had slipped down to bare her shoulder and the very low-cut neckline of her top.
“I forgot what I’m supposed to be drinking right now,” shesaid, “but it tastes like cherries.”
“It’s a rioja.” He took a sip from his own wineglass. “They all taste like cherries.”
“Not the one before,” she protested, a flush in her pretty cheeks. “That tasted like pears.”
She tilted her head back to watch the birds in the branches. One of them, drawn to their charcuterie board, got bold and fluttered right down on the table. He started to shoo it away, but Jay grabbed his bicep with a look of pure delight.
She just fucking lights up, doesn’t she?
“Oh my god,” she said. “Look how cute. It’s rightthere.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, focused entirely on the press of her fingers through his sleeve and the soft weight of her breasts through that lacy camisole. It looked like the one she’d been wearing beneath her sweater in San Francisco.When I made her cry.Guilt flared through him, hot and stinging. “So it is.”
“I think it’s a pygmy nuthatch,” she said. “I used to see them at the school. I missed them.”
“Give it a nut or something.”
“Okay!” She leaned over him to grab one of the seed-studded crackers and crumbled it, giving him a look down her top that had him taking a deep drink of wine while she flicked a few morsels the bird. It hopped back and eyed them both with a head tilt before plucking up a piece with an editorial chirp and flying back into the trees. “Off she goes.”
“You need to eat.” He slid the wooden board towards her. “You’ve got the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one you get when you’re wasted.”The one you had when you begged me to fuck you.“And you’re losing yoursweater.”
“Shit.” She yanked the sleeves back up her arms in a show of defensive prudery that made him chuckle.
“A little bit of tasteful cleavage isn’t going to get us kicked out, you know.” He slid his arm around her waist and squeezed. “I like it better when you’re not quite so buttoned up. Even when you’re mouthing off to me or talking about birds or cylinders.”
Or driving me insane.
“Mmm.” She let her head fall against his shoulder. Letting go of the sweater, he noticed as he traced his fingers over her soft stomach. “Mom always said I talked too much.”
