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She set her jaw in frustration.
The really maddening thing was, she was tempted. Even knowing he was full of shit, she was tempted. Her plans for the night had been to text her besties and call her family long distance and pig out on Christmas cookies on the couch. She’d never spent Christmas Eve alone before. The prospect of spending the evening with a bunch of live humans, strangers though they may be, appealed to her lonesome heart.
But that was all a big rationalization, and she knew it.
Bastian Spencer was his own temptation. Between the verbal sparring and what had just exploded between them, she was intrigued and stimulated, both mentally and physically. And beginning to think he was maybe not a total jerk.
Not that she’d tell him he was forgiven. He’d think he could get away with more egregious behavior.
“All right, Bastian. If I go—ifI go—I’m not doing a Georgette and wearing a suit.”
There was a moment as he absorbed that before his face lit up with a blinding grin. Bastian Spencer smiling broadly with warmth in his eyes was scorching hot, uncomfortably so. “You are going. And yes, you will.”
She was shaking her head. “Nope. I am not spending my Christmas Eve working.”
“I’m not asking you to work.”
“If I’m wearing a suit, I am working. Ergo, I am not wearing a suit.”
His smile faltered, his mouth tightening. “This is a formal event. I’d appreciate your wearing appropriate dress.”
Paula mentally counted to ten and added a prayer for patience. “I will. I’ll wear a nice dress. You know, I feel sorry for your girlfriend Georgette. If you’re always telling her what to wear all the time, she has my full sympathy.” She shook her head in disgust.
“Georgette is not,” he ground out, “my girlfriend.”
“Sure, she’s not.”
“She never was, and now she definitely never will be. I frankly hope I never see her again.” He assessed her. “I trust you won’t wear anything with holes, at least?” At the change in her expression, he tried to backtrack. “Dammit, that wasn’t intended to insult you. I was referring to that shirt you were just—look, let me take you shopping. I’ll buy you something pretty.”
She covered her ears with her palms and closed her eyes. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say all that. I am not going to boot you out on your butt. I am going to channel my charitable side because I truly believe you are not setting out to be a jackass.” Then her eyes shot open and she fixed him with a stern look. “Do you want me to go with you or not, Bastian?”
“I want you to, yes.”
“Then stop getting your zipper stuck over what your date wears. In case you haven’t noticed, this is what got you into this situation in the first place.” She shook her head in exasperation, unable even to feel insulted anymore. “And I was starting to like you, too.”
“Of course you like me,” he said with unabashed arrogance.
“Uh-huh.” It was impossible not to snicker. She caught his mouth twitching. Was that—could it be—a sense of humor?
“So you’ll come?”
“Not if you plan to throw more insults my way.”
“I won’t. I swear it. Please, Paula. Will you come?”
“If you shut up about my clothes...I mean not another word about them...not a single tiny syllable…I guess so. Might as well.”
She blew out a breath.
There. She’d admitted it. She wanted to go. Even knowing she was being used as a convenient cog in the man’s social networking machine, she wanted to go with him.
“On the conditionthat you stop talking about it like it’s a real date,” she emphasized. “Let’s get this perfectly straight. I’m coming as your plus one, somebody to make up numbers and keep the matchmakers at bay. Don’t try to put on a big, dramatic act like it’s otherwise. What just happened—what almost happened—I don’t even know what that was. It was crazy. Obviously an aberration for both of us. So don’t get any ideas. It’s not happening again.”
He started to protest, then saw the warning in her eyes. He held out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
