I can’t do it; I know that.
But I wanted to. Badly.
After we were seated at our table and given sparklingwater and hot bread, I settled down some. And then she browsed the menu and tried to pronouncesoupe de poissons, making a joke about it translating to poisonous soup. I chuckled. Her cheeks bloomed pink. And I instantly relaxed.
“It’s fish soup,” I clarify. “In this case, made with cod.”
“Cod soup? Ick. I’ll pass.”
“The French would be appalled to hear you reject one of their finest dishes.”
She glances around, then shrugs. “I don’t see any French people, so we’re good.”
Maybe not, but there is a man at a corner table who can’t seem to stop looking over at her every few minutes.
“Do you speak French?” she asks.
“Some. Conversationally. It’s helpful in my line of work to know a few languages.”
“That’s impressive. What other languages do you know?”
“A little Mandarin, a little Japanese. My Spanish is quite good,” I tell her.
Piper looks like she’s about to ask something else, but she settles her napkin in her lap instead and smiles politely as the waiter appears and fills her wine glass.
This is our second dinner at a French restaurant—not because I love French cuisine above all others, but because this place is patronized by a lot of people in wealthy social circles. The kind of people who need to have their eyes on Piper. Our rendezvous tonight is going to draw a lot of attention. It already has, in fact.
Particularly from the asshole who just tried to look at her again but caught my eye instead. He smiled. I didn’tsmile back, and he quickly looked away. I’m not a jealous man normally, but something like it is slowly building inside me.
Piper is a naturally magnetic woman. Her eyes are bright, her legs are miles long, and she exudes the kind of effortless grace and confidence that only a trained dancer can. You can’t help but stare when she walks into a room. But she doesn’t realize the effect she has on people, which makes her even sexier.
Whoever she ends up with isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off her, me included. All the plans I made to teach her to be good in bed changed after she gave me that blow job. Her first ever, and she performed with such focused attention to my pleasure that I wondered if she’d lied to me about never doing it before. But she’d been so genuinely awkward and hesitant at first, her hands fumbling on my dick as she put me in her mouth. She hadn’t lied. She was just a natural.
“What about you? Do you speak a second language?” I ask.
I already know the answer from the forms her father filled out when he was a client, but I want to keep the conversation going. There’s more depth to her than I initially thought there was, and a streak of defiance I had never expected. Truth be told, I’m curious about her. It’s no different than the curiosity I have about all of The Quattuor Group’s clients, of course.
“I had two years of high school Latin, but I don’t remember much. It’s not exactly a conversational language—just a required course for private school kids because it sounds impressive.”
“I think you’re underselling yourself,” I tell her. “Say something in Latin. Anything.”
She looks down, biting her lip, and I think she’s going to refuse. But then she smiles at me and says, “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.”
“Which means…”
“’I will either find a way or make one,’” she says, a glint of steel in her gaze.
“I like it. Is that your personal motto?” I tease.
Piper blushes, and I realize I’ve hit a nerve.
“Hey. I wasn’t making fun. It’s a good motto,” I tell her, reaching over to brush my fingers over the back of her hand.
Just then, the waiter returns, so I order for us. Once he leaves, Piper has her mask of confidence back on. The walls she lowered for me are back up, full force. It’s a little disappointing.
“So you weren’t a terrible student,” I say, hoping she’ll open up again.
“No. I wasn’t super studious, though. I got good grades without trying too hard.”
