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I don’t look away, but I am completely floored by his boldness, and by the way it makes me feel. The blush creeps up my chest, and I divert the conversation away from my looks. “I actually am doing precisely what I want. No regrets. Living my dream.”
I tell myself that this is true. I love my job. I love working with Marion. The fact that I enjoyed my job more than my marriage probably makes it impossible that I was living a dream, but I wouldn’t change my job for anything.
“That’s lucky. Most people work to live, not the other way around.”
“Are you saying you think I live to work?”
He’s not wrong, but the way he’s pegged me so quickly is unnerving. I am good at my job. It gives me purpose, and I enjoy it. And I enjoy so few things lately.
“I only rephrased what you said. I don’t know you, and you have made it clear you don’t want me to, so I couldn’t tell you how you choose to live. But do you?”
“Do I what?” I practically pant. I need to eat before the alcohol goes to my head again and I end up in bed with this stranger.
Cash tips his head down. “Do you live to work?”
I nod, unable to voice the truth. It’s all I have.
He sighs. “Such a pity. Me too, but not by choice.”
My eyes scrunch as I consider his response. This man looks like he could do anything he wants. Could have anyone he wants. Why would he be living to work, and it not be by choice?
“Well, Cash, if you’re not happy in life, then you should make a change.” It’d be humorous if he knew how unqualified I was to give this opinion.
Cash bites his lip and looks at me again. “I know something that would make me happy. I’m just working out how to get it.”
I smile and shake my head. He’s such a playboy. “I’m not something for you to get, Cash. I’m a person. A woman. Not a thing you can acquire.”
He doesn’t react, his eyes laser focused on me. “Who says I was talking about you?”
I blush at my forwardness. My inner hussy backfired. He raises his brows as he watches me squirm. He’s waiting for me to respond, but I can’t possibly think of a single thing to say. I’m mortified.
“Relax, Gracie.” He rests his hand on my thigh and squeezes. The nickname is sweet, and I like the way he says it with such gentle humor.
My steak arrives, and we are momentarily distracted from my embarrassment. “Have you eaten?” I ask before cutting into my steak. I don’t want to add rudeness as another trait, along with the laundry list of embarrassing ones I’ve already conveyed today.
A drunk hussy who fails to show up during the assigned date time, flirts as if she’s actually going to follow through, and then embarrasses herself by assuming that everyone, or at least the hot man seated beside her, wants her.
That about sums up my day.
Oh, let’s not forget that I’m currently lying to my boss and godmother and am apparently such a good wife that my husband left me for his secretary.
Much better.
“Yes. I already ate. Go ahead.”
I dig into my steak because I’m starving, and I’d do anything to avoid conversing with the human next to me. Everything that comes out of my mouth is wrong or ridiculous, and I’m tired of wearing my embarrassment like a scarlet letter on my chest.
He lets me eat in relative silence, making conversation with the bartender instead. I appreciate it immensely. I can barely focus when he’s this close to me, let alone when I don’t have food in my stomach. But now that I’ve finished my steak and a glass of pinot noir and the crowd at the bar is dissipating, I’m afraid it’s time to say goodnight.
My bill arrives and Cash slips the bartender his card before I can even grab the billfold.“Cash, stop, you don’t have to buy me dinner.” He gives me a look that tells me he’s insulted that I’m arguing. I clear my throat. “Thank you. Very much.” I fiddle with my napkin uncomfortably.
“Would you walk with me on the beach?” he asks, surprising me. I meet his eyes and see that he’s holding his breath as he waits for me to respond.
Seeing as how the man has gone out of his way multiple times for me today and bought my dinner even after I failed to show up for our date, I relent. “Sure, I’d love to.”
He smiles as he signs the check, and when we both stand up, he takes my hand. It feels oddly comforting. “Will you be cold?” he asks before we walk outside.
At this point I’m warm from the drinks and feel quite flushed from being so close to him. The air will do me good. “I’ll be fine.”
