Page 12 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘So!’ Harry was oblivious to her disapproval. ‘That dress looks wonderful but it—’

‘Can I stop you right there?’ Raina asked, not unkindly. ‘Is this going to be a come-on? Half-arsed or otherwise? Were you going to say this dress would look better on your bedroom floor?’

She saw the writer stiffen, while Harry’s face broke into a sheepish grin. ‘Well, yeah. But I don’t do anything half-arsed, darling.’

‘Oh, sure. I believe you, cookie. Hey, I’ll save us both the time. I can’t get involved with you, Harry. For two very good reasons. One, you’ve got a wedding ring on. Two, people who believe that artificial intelligence can replace creative people? They’re always bad in bed.’

A stunned silence met this remark, though Raina could see Tom Branimir smiling against the rim of his glass. Harry made a strange spluttering sound and so Raina held up her hands in a gentling gesture.

‘Let me explain,’ she said sweetly. ‘People who want a machine to make art are not interested in the creative process. They see art as a product. An end goal rather than a soul. You skip the essential creative part so you can market and sell it. But that defeats the entire purpose of making art. Furious, flawed, utterly human art. With all its imperfections. Art is as much about the journey and the process as it is about the finished design.’

‘Uh . . .’ Harry was staring at her as though she were a lizard person. ‘But I don’t see how—’

‘See, it’s like expecting sex to be purely about making children. Someone who rushes the journey to get to a specific ending? That’s not what I want. I want someone who can savour the process, you know?’

Harry’s eyes dropped hungrily to her breasts, and it was clear he’d stopped listening.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Raina added, taking a minuscule step back. ‘I’m maybe in favour of AI that can help doctors find cancer cells. But not the kind that kills our planet to make shitty, inhuman art without a soul. Sorry, Harry. I kind of want a man who can use his own mind.’

The ‘as well as other things’ was implied.

‘Anyway,’ Harry said, stupid but determined. ‘Why don’t we—’

‘You’re boring her.’

The words were spoken with cold finality, causing Harry Sloane to blink in bemusement. When he turned to acknowledge Tom Branimir, the two men eyed each other with disdain. Whatever Harry saw in the writer’s face, it was enough to make him mutter a curse and storm away.

When they were alone, Tom downed the last of his drink and met Raina’s gaze. ‘I never use AI.’

Fuck, thought Raina. She felt a tingle in the palm of her hand and the bite of curiosity.

She gave him an appraising look. ‘It’s impolite to eavesdrop.’

‘You should have some sympathy for the man,’ he said, in a tone of voice that bore no sympathy at all. ‘He probably relied on AI for all of his conversation starters tonight and you’ve just shut him down entirely. He’ll be licking his wounds over the girl who played hard-to-get all night now.’

‘Woman. And I don’t play hard-to-get,’ Raina said, regarding him coolly. ‘Men play easy-to-resist.’

He looked pleased by her reply. Then, ‘He just wants to feel young again with a woman who’s beautiful and interesting. He chose you. Obviously.’

Raina took a small step closer. ‘What’s so obvious about it?’

‘Well, who wouldn’t?’

The words landed on Raina with a sharp spark of electricity. There’d been a touch of longing in his voice. She watched him quickly mask it with a cold expression, but the words lingered in the air. Holding the writer’s gaze, Raina was surprised by how quick he was.

‘I’m Raina. Have we met? You’ve been glancing over a lot tonight, like I owe you money.’

He almost smiled. ‘No. I would have remembered us meeting.’ His voice was so deep and there was a lilt in his accent, something that didn’t belong to a London borough.

‘You’re Tom Branimir.’

He looked surprised at that. ‘Yes.’

‘So, is this business or pleasure? You coming over here, I mean.’

‘Business.’

‘I see.’