I accepted it with dignity. “Thank you. We’ll be speaking with counsel.”
The host pointed at Easton. “Is he counsel?”
“He’s emotionally biased.”
Easton looked in the basket. “Why is there a tiara?”
“For second-place royalty.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
He saw my face and sighed. “You’re going to wear it.”
“I’m going to wear it.”
The host plucked the cheap rhinestone tiara from the basket and placed it on my head with the ceremony of a coronation. “There. No Further Questions, but many compliments.”
I lifted my chin. “Finally, someone professional.”
Easton stared at me in the flickering gold light, tiara crooked over my braids, red lipstick slightly worn off from drinks and laughing and kissing him once near the bathroom hallway because he looked too good under a bad neon sign.
His eyes softened.
“Looks right,” he said.
My heart tripped.
I glanced away first because there were only so many direct hits a woman could take in one evening while wearing fake jewelry from a trivia consolation basket.
When the check came, Easton grabbed it before I could even inhale.
I narrowed my eyes. “We are not beginning a financial dominance arc.”
“This is a date.”
“I have money.”
“I know.”
“I buy things.”
“I’ve seen your lip gloss drawer.”
“That drawer is private.”
“It has levels.”
“My lip gloss has community.”
He slid his card into the little folder. “I asked you out. I pay.”
I studied him. “That matters to you.”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll let you.”
