I knew she couldn’t argue with the timeline. She’d already told me it might be tight, even with eight weeks. Something I planned to use to my advantage.
“Yes, but—”
“It’s settled, then,” I cut her off before she could come up with another excuse.
My house was impressive, but especially at night when the city skyline glowed through the large windows. I had it all planned out—dinner on the patio. Drinks.
“What if I had plans?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.
She crossed her arms over her chest. The fact that she thought she looked intimidating was adorable. Her head barely came to my chin, and that was even with heels that were more like stilts than women’s footwear.
“Do you?” I asked, sensing it was bullshit.
“No,” she huffed, lowering her arms. “But I could.”
“Well, you do now.” I glanced at my watch, secretly relieved she was free. “We better get going.”
“Yes, of course.” She shoved her tablet into her purse, along with a few other items. “But just to be clear, this is a professional relationship—nothing more.”
I didn’t bother to respond. Maybe it was just a professional relationship for her. Orfor now. But I didn’t intend to keep it that way. And I wasn’t above playing dirty.
I opened the door for her, taking the opportunity to lean in when she passed.“Laisse les jeux commencer, ma tigresse.”
She stilled, turning to stare at me. Our lips were mere inches apart. I was so tempted to close the distance and kiss her, but I would wait. I wouldn’t rush like I had with other women. I would bide my time until the perfect moment presented itself.
“Did you—are you speaking French to me?”
I nodded, watching the subtle way her eyes changed color as the pupils expanded. She liked it. She likedme.
“Yes.”
“For all I know, you could’ve been calling me an ugly hag. You probably just used a translation website and picked some words that sounded sexy.” She laughed.
“First of all, I’d never,everrefer to you as ugly or a hag.” For a brief second, I pictured her as an older woman, and her beauty hadn’t faded. Now, it was my turn to pause.What the hell?
“Was there more?” she teased.
I glared at her. “Second, I don’t need a website to translate because I speak French fluently.”
She tilted her head to the side, closing the door to her office behind us. “Really?”
I placed my hand on the delicate curve on her spine as we ventured toward the front. I smiled at Rita, then pushed open the door, all without my hand leaving Lauren’s back.
“Do you use it for business?” she asked when we emerged on the sidewalk. We waited, allowing a few people to pass us.
“Sometimes,” I said, leaning in so she could hear me over the traffic. “Though I deal with more Mandarin than French.”
“Do you speak Mandarin too?” The palm trees cast shadows on her face as we walked beneath them.
“No.” I chuckled, thinking of how complicated a language it was. “And I speak French because my mother’s family is French, and she’s fluent. Between that and long summers in France, I’ve had lots of practice.”
She let out a wistful sigh. “Wow. That sounds like a dream.”
Maybe she was a romantic at heart. Though, really, who could deny the allure of France. The food, the wine, the history. It was so decadent and hedonistic—just my kind of place. Even from what little I knew of Lauren, I thought she would absolutely love it.
“You haven’t been?” I asked, wanting to know more about her.
Had she traveled much? Did she speak any languages other than English? Why had she become an interior designer? I had so many questions.
