“I’m much the same. I exercise, mostly because I have to. I don’t particularly enjoy cooking. And I volunteer at the animal shelter.”
I chuckled, appreciating how honest her answers were. “Aren’t we a pair?”
“A pair of workaholic sex fiends who have no life,” she joked. She seemed more relaxed now that she’d set expectations.
Well, she’d set her expectations. I fully intended to shatter them.
“Maybe you don’t,” I said with a teasing glint in my eye. “I do…stuff.”
“Like sit around watching old movies?” she teased.
I made a face at her. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. And I have other interests. I’m… My family has a membership to the country club.”
“Hey!” She slapped my bicep, and I assumed it was a delayed reaction for my jab at her social life. I laughed when she had to shake out her hand.
“Don’t hurt yourself,ma tigresse.”
“Stop calling me that…pendejo.”
“Ooh. I love it when you talk sexy to me.” I leaned in, whispering behind my hand, “What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you can answer one question.” Her expression was serious, and I wondered why she’d switched so quickly from playful and teasing to this more somber demeanor.
“Anything,” I said. I would do anything to return the smile to her face.
“Why did you hire me? Was it because you hoped to sleep with me?”
I knew I had to answer very carefully. I didn’t get the impression she was angry, but rather curious. And if I answered wrong…I could really fuck this up.
I stepped closer, wondering how much I should tell her. I was afraid it would make me sound like a creepy stalker if I admitted the whole truth, so I settled for part of it.
“As you can see—” I swept my arm wide to encompass the empty room “—I clearly need a designer.”
“Yes. But why me?” she asked, and I got the impression this was important to her.
“Because you’re an amazing designer? I’m not the only one who thinks so—you’re being featured in an international design magazine.” I wasn’t trying to flatter her; it was the truth.
She regarded me a moment longer before finally relaxing her shoulders. “Thanks. And thanks again for dinner. I think I have all the information I need.”
Back to professional mode.
I followed her out to her car, admiring her legs as she gracefully slid into the driver’s seat. She fired up the engine, and I tapped on the window.
“So…what doespendejomean?” I asked after she’d lowered the window.
She grinned, putting the car in reverse. “Asshole.”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah. ’Cause that’s real professional,” I joked, my grin splitting my face.
She laughed, her fingers fluttering through the open window as she drove off.
As I watched her taillights fade into the distance, I realized maybe she was right. Maybe we were better off as friends. We had months of working together ahead, and I didn’t want to ruin it by sleeping with her.
