“I promise I will. Though I may want to see what you have in there about the people we’ll be eating dinner with tonight.”
“The power of my contacts list has already corrupted you.”
There were many other big-name items up for auction—tickets to sporting events and concerts, a day on the set of a movie being filmed in Tucson, a diamond necklace and matching earrings, a baby grand piano. We walked over to look at a table with a mini gurgling fountain, representing that the winner of the auction would get a backyard waterscape makeover that included two peafowl.
“Where is the monkey butler with the custom-made tuxedo?” a familiar voice right behind my ear asked.
I turned just in time to see Blaire tug at Dean’s lapel and lightly giggle. “A monkey butler. You’re so bad.”
A surge of irritation hit me. He’d followed us over here. Yes, Dean and I were buddies now, but I hadn’t thought about how that would give me a front-row seat to his dating life whether I wanted it or not. It took everything in me to not revert to my usual self-protection techniques. The old me would have given him a look and walked off, letting him come to his own conclusions about why, but Dean liked me for some reason. He’d told me he liked me, right when I needed to hear it. The least I could do was repay the favor with my behavior tonight, even if part of me wanted to rip Blaire’s perfectly manicured hands off of him.
I smiled. “You can keep the monkey butler. I’m looking for a live-in chef who looks like a Hemsworth brother.” I turned to Henry. “What would you want? If you could just snap your fingers and have it up for auction tonight?”
“A pizza oven in my backyard. I think I’m going to build one.”
“I can recommend someone.” Blaire said. “My sister has a full kitchen setup on her patio. She used this great company.”
“Really?” Henry got out his phone to take notes, and the two of them started discussing the pros and cons of gas versus electric grills, and then outdoor countertop options.
“You look beautiful,” Dean murmured. His eyes were on the fountain in front of us, but he’d stepped closer to me.
“Thanks. Please just focus on your date, though. I’m fine.”
“I’m not complimenting you because I think you need to hear it.”
“Then don’t.” I was being grouchy again, dang it. Tonight was a brutal reminder that for Dean, moving on was as simple as a phone call. I might never stop pining over him, but he had options. “Sorry, what I meant to say is, you look great, too.” He did. He was killing me with how well he filled out a tux.
“Thanks.” Dean looked like he was about to say something else, but Blaire claimed his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“I love connecting good companies with people who need them. You’ll have to come over and see my sister’s pizza oven sometime, Dean. She and my brother-in-law make this amazing flatbread. It’s soft in the middle and crispy on the edges. Do you like flatbread?”
Dean nodded. “I do.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll call, and we’ll set something up.”
He looked at me, but I would not exchange private amused glances with him, no matter how much I wanted to confirm that yes, Blaire had pretty much just conned him into a second date. I had my limits.
Chapter 20 – Dean
I sent my dad a text halfway through dinner, asking him to do two things. One, to dance with Grace after dinner, and two, at some point, to ask Blaire to dance so we could switch partners.
He gave me a double thumbs up in response, and I put my phone away just in time, as Blaire leaned over me, wanting me to taste her swordfish.
Bless Mom’s heart, she had attempted to run defense all through dinner, asking Blaire questions and connecting her with other people at our table. But Blaire, even when she was debating the ethics of attorney/client privilege with another lawyer, continued to find ways to touch me. A lingering hand on my knee when she leaned over to hear, or a touch of my arm to get my attention. Even if Grace had not been forefront in my mind, the purposeful orchestration of it bothered me quite a bit.
I had done the same thing to Grace while we looked over contracts, and if I had made her feel even a fraction of the discomfort I was feeling now, I needed to apologize for it. There was flirting, and then there was testing limits.
I declined tasting Blaire’s swordfish and focused on my own food, grilled chicken with a spicy pomegranate drizzle. But being bad company didn’t come naturally to me, and it didn’t seem like it was helping. Blaire wasn’t concerned with whether I was quiet or outgoing, just my bank account and my looks.
I struck up a conversation with the man to the right of me, listening while he explained that a few years ago he decided to day-trade inside his Roth Individual Retirement Account. Then his wife chimed in with her take on it and how he’d brought her around to the idea, and the next thing I knew, it was time for dessert and couples were starting to take to the dance floor.
“What do you say we order two different desserts and split them?” Blaire asked me, nodding her chin towards the waiter headed to our table.
“I’m fine with that.”
After we ordered, she joined in the conversation with the couple next to me. Blaire explained some of the side hustles she’d tried during law school, including day trading, and I realized what a shame it was that she and I couldn’t be friends. She was brilliant and witty, and yet about every minute or so, I’d catch her watching me carefully to see if I’d noticed how brilliant and witty she was. Maybe Grace had ruined me for take-charge women. I used to like it when relationships fell into my lap. Now, it seemed, I only had a thing for the grumpy, standoffish types. I smiled to myself.
“What’s that about?” Blaire asked, her breath hitting my ear. “You’re telling yourself some secret joke. I can tell.”
