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I took a long drink, swirling the liquor around my mouth while I pondered her question. “I say it like it is. Some people would rather lie. I don’t.”
“Look at me, Cooper.”
I didn’t want to. Looking at her would do nothing but increase the need pulsing through my body and amp up the thoughts already dominating my mind.
“Look at me?—”
Her voice cut off as I did what she’d asked, and the second her eyes landed on mine, she took her time analyzing my face. Not just my eyes. She studied my nose, lips. Cheeks. Hell, even my chin.
“Just what I thought,” she said with far too much confidence.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
She shrugged. “I had an interesting conversation with Sky tonight, and she was telling me some things about you. I wanted to see if they were true.”
“She knows nothing about me.”
“But she knows men, and you happen to be one. She was dead on—about everything.”
I eyed her down, gradually lifting my gaze. “And you know that just by looking at me?”
She nodded. “I see it all over you.”
I shook my head, hissing instead of huffing this time.
My reaction seemed to only make her smile harder.
“And the best part: I questioned what she said, unsure if she was right. But she was—I’m positive—and now, everything she said makes perfect sense.”
The furrow between my brows was so deep that it could be a permanent etch on my face. “It terrifies me that you’re a partner of our company, and you’re going to be speaking to our clients and vendors, and you don’t make a fucking bit of sense. They’re not going to be able to decipher a single word that you say.”
“Ohhh, you have nothing to worry about.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m great in front of clients. Remember, I worked in retail. Pretty much all I did was charm my customers.”
“Charm?” I laughed.
As she was about to respond, the bartender set the bourbon in front of her and said, “Can I get you a menu?”
“Please, I’m starving.” She looked at me. “Have you eaten?”
I wanted nothing more than to toss her over my shoulder, carry her to my room, and feast on her cunt.
But I held up my glass instead. “This is my dinner.”
“No, it’s not.” She glanced back at the bartender just as he was getting her the menu. “I’m sure you have cheeseburgers?”
“We do,” he replied.
“How about with caramelized onions, mushrooms, and swiss cheese? For the fries, if you have truffle oil, go heavy on the drizzle.” She held up her pointer and middle finger, spreading them into the peace sign. “All of that times two.”
“Got it,” he responded.
She looked at me once we were alone again. “How’d I do?”
It sounded like fucking heaven—I couldn’t lie.
But instead, I said, “I told you I was drinking my dinner.”
Her hand went to my shoulder. “Then, don’t eat it. Or take it to go.” She left her fingers there for only a few seconds, just long enough to cause a damn tornado inside my body, and then lifted her glass and held it near her lips as she continued to gaze at me. “Why aren’t you hungry tonight, Cooper? You’re a foodie, it’s not like you to skip out on a meal. Is something causing a little disruption in your world? Or maybe a certain someone?”
