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Chapter Five
Kris was out of her mind. Delirious from too much sun, boredom, and frustration after a month of living and working in L.A.
That was the only reason she could come up with for not only allowing Nate to live after the stunt he’d pulled in the park but also agreeing to dinner with him.
We can nail down the details of the plan without starving,he’d said.
Bullshit. After his arrogant proclamations—I’ll kiss you when you’re begging for it…and when I do, you’re going to remember it for the rest of your life—Kris was sure he was trying to seduce her.
If so, he’d chosen the wrong target. She was immune to seduction, and she’d hired him to ensnare the Stepmonster, not anyone else.
She killed the engine and exited her car at the same time Nate eased out of his with panther-like grace.
Kris leveled him with a glare, which he ignored.
“This place better be good,” she warned. Her stomach cramped, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in over eight hours. She’d gotten into a huge argument with Gloria earlier that day over redecorating the pool house, Kris’s favorite part of the estate, and had relied on her irritation for sustenance until she met up with Nate.
“It is.” Nate opened the door with a flourish. “After you, milady.”
She narrowed her eyes, sure he was mocking her, but she was too hungry to put up a fight.
The restaurant was in a strip mall, squeezed between a Western Union and a discount shoe store. The interior resembled that of any cheap, casual cafe—light brown tile floors, rickety four-top tables crowded with uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs, and a counter in the back for ordering. Miscellaneous announcements and posters papered the green-and-orange walls, and a string of Christmas lights fluttered in the breeze coming from the ceiling fans, even though it was June and the holidays were long over.
“Thursday nights are the chandeliers’ and linen tablecloths’ nights off,” Nate drawled when he noticed her inspection.
“I eat at non-five-star restaurants all the time.” Yes, Kris preferred chandeliers and linen tablecloths, but some of the best restaurants were holes-in-the-wall. Her year abroad in Shanghai had cemented that belief. The soup dumplings in that dingy little hole by campus? To die for. Never mind the fact that the first time Olivia dragged her to that place, Kris had thought shewoulddie of some terrible disease by letting her skin touch the gross chairs.
“If you say so.” Nate’s long legs ate up the distance between the door and the order counter, where he picked up a laminated menu and tossed it at her. “You’ll love the food here. Promise. Best Filipino in town.”
“So you keep saying.”
Despite her disbelieving sniff, Kris’s mouth watered at the sight of the food on the nearby tables, and a wave of nostalgia crashed over her at the familiar, delicious smells. Even though Kris was a third-generation Filipino-American, her family didn’t eat Filipino food often—not since their old cook and housekeeper Rosa passed away when Kris was thirteen. Rosa had been with the Carreras for decades. She’d helped raise Kris from birth and had been the closest thing to a mother figure in Kris’s life.
Rosa’s death had devastated Kris. None of the chefs and housekeepers her father had hired since compared, and none of them could whip up a home-cooked Filipino meal like Rosa could. In fact, their current chef in Seattle, a whip-thin blonde named Charity—yes, that was her real name—delighted in making meals more suitable for rabbits than humans.
After consulting their menus, Kris and Nate placed their orders and snagged a table by the window. Nate insisted on paying, and Kris let him. It was his money; he could do with it what he liked. Plus, according to the handwritten sign taped to the front of the cash register, the restaurant didn’t accept Amex.
Nevertheless, Kris felt compelled to set the record straight. “This isn’t a date. You didn’t have to pay.”
“It was the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“You’re no gentleman.” She wavered between setting her crocodile Saint Laurent bag on the sticky wooden table or the cracked vinyl seat cushion next to her; both options caused her to shudder. She finally hung the bag delicately from the back of the neighboring chair. “You’re far too arrogant.”
Nate, who’d watched her debate the best resting place for her handbag in silence, looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Kris didn’t know why. What was so funny about taking care of her Saint Laurent?
“Those things have nothing to do with the other,” he said.
“Gentlemen don’t need to broadcast the fact they’re gentlemen,” Kris pointed out haughtily.
“Perhaps not.” A mischievous gleam lit up his eyes. “But you don’t look like the type of girl who’d want a gentleman, so I’m not too bothered.”
A lazy curl of heat stretched and yawned in her stomach, filling her insides with warmth. “Save your flirting for Gloria. It won’t work on me.”
Nate smirked.
Luckily, the waiter brought out their food before he could contradict her, which she was sure he would do because he seemed to enjoy contradicting everything she said.
Fortunately, the food was so good they both lapsed into silence as they devoured their feast: tender pork adobo,lechon kawali(crispy deep-fried pork belly),kare karestew, andsinangaggarlic fried rice.
