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Two. He was rich enough to own his own condo just off the university campus, where property values were exorbitant due to both the location and the historic nature of the neighborhood.
Shedidn’t own her condo. It belonged to her friend Priscilla’s cousin, Leo, a graduate student who happened to be spending the year on sabbatical. Leo was convinced his place would rot away without anybody living there and had begged Paula to keep an eye on it.
Bastian was rich because he came from a rich family. He worked, but it was all about seed. Paula’s own family had helped her out financially, but not all her friends were so lucky. She knew the advantages being backed by money gave a person right out of the gate.
Three. He drove a saffron yellow Porsche. What better way to sayhello, snob inside.
Four. He was some kind of professor at MCU. She couldn’t remember of what, something middle-of-the-road and conservative. Actuarial science? Accounting? Yes, that sounded right, accounting. Not that she had anything against accountants; some of her best friends crunched numbers. But who dreamed of becoming an accounting professor to the extent that they pickedaccountancyout of what had to be an infinite pool of choices?
People like Bastian Spencer, apparently.
Five. The Spencers were a founding family and Bastian was an only child, which made him quite a catch. Gossip columns painted him as a pampered heir. Her general impression was that the founding families lived on Highland Hill, went to prep schools, and kept to themselves. The closest she had ever come to hobnobbing with Bastian Spencer’s crowd had been when she’d taken the annual tour of his family’s historic mansion a few years back when she was wrapping up her masters. They did not move in the same circles.
Six. He referred to Christmas Eve dinner at his parents’ place as a “function.” Ugh.
That was it.
That, and his being an all-around jerk.
Conclusion: She’d made the right decision.
She slurped up the dregs of her espresso. The right decision it might be, but that didn’t keep her from feeling edgy like something was unfinished. After that little exchange out there, her body was singing and humming. There was something about Bastian Spencer that appealed to her on a base level. Even knowing he’d been messing with her, even remembering what a jerk he was, she’d still lit up like Christmas lights. How annoying was that?
Phooey, Jennifer would be getting ready for work right now, or she’d text her for a reality check. This whole thing was unlikely. It made no sense.
I want you to be my date.
What if he meant it?
Right, she scoffed. And those flying puppy dog eggs did cartwheels. She’d be a fool to believe anything that came out of this guy’s mouth.
He’d been covering for his social embarrassment. The whole story about needing a date was probably cooked up. That was the extent of it.
Meanwhile, she was practically hyperventilating. The thing to do was to get herself back to bed and take care of this sudden increase in hormone production.
If necessary during the process she she would allow herself to fantasize about a tall, dark, handsome man, not Bastian Spencer, but one who wasnotselfish in bed. Bastian was bound to be not only selfish, but inhibited and unimaginative and by-the-book as a lover. Hadn’t the redhead said something like that? He wasn’t fun? Boring in bed, was how she put it.
What a sorry waste of a good man package.
She’d barely taken a stride toward her bedroom when there was a knock at her door, causing her to spontaneously drop the paper cup—luckily, it was empty—and call out a wary, “Yes?”
The door muffled his words, but that melted chocolate voice was unmistakable.
“Grr.” She turned and flung open the door, demanding, “What is it now?”
And got the shock of her life. Bastian Spencer was smiling. A charming smile, mind you, practiced and insincere, yet it was beyond gorgeous and did absolutely nothing to reduce her hormone production.
“Let’s try this again, shall we? Paula Raymond, will you be my date to Christmas Eve dinner at my parents’ house tonight? I’ll give you whatever you want in return.” His smile faltered. “Within reason.”
“Um...”
“And may I please come in to discuss our options?”
Oh, the man was smooth. When he cared to be. When he wanted to use someone.
Paula was torn.
He saw it and pressed his advantage. “May I?”
