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‘I am asking you on a date, Bea, not to act as an escort service.’
Now it was Bea’s turn to be surprised. ‘Just to be your escort then?’
The humour was gone. Something far more troubling flared in the depths of his eyes. Despite zero practical experience with men she’d still watched enough movies to recognise sensual appraisal. Her knees felt as though they’d been pumped full of water and she was grateful she was sitting or she might have fallen down.
‘The event is high-profile and will be covered extensively in the press. I’d prefer not to arrive alone. Think of it as a PR service.’
Every fibre in her body screamed at her to say no. All the buzz words she’d learned to fear and hate were in that sentence. Press. PR. Event. High-profile. She stared at her coffee, sure her face must look whiter than a sheet of paper. ‘Mr Lykaios, I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘You’re involved with someone?’
Her heart thumped against her ribcage. ‘No,’ she said before she could think better of it, denying herself a simple explanation for her demurral. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What does “not exactly” mean?’
‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ she grumbled, biting down on her lip once more.
‘Even if you were, it wouldn’t matter,’ he said after a pause. ‘This isn’t a romantic invitation, Bea. It’s just work. A small way you can make up for the inconvenience of last night.’
His words were a form of torture. On the one hand reassuring, because she didn’t want to go on an actual date with someone like him—or anyone. But the fact that he was taking such great pains to tell her this wasn’t romantic speared her with unmistakable disappointment.
‘Or,’ she murmured thoughtfully, ‘I can go through the information I ascertained about your PR concerns, and you can go through your no doubt extensive Rolodex of past dates and choose someone else to accompany you.’
Oh, my God.She lifted a hand to her lips again, her eyes drowning in his as the whip of her words cracked through the room. ‘I’m sorry. Again,’ she mumbled, shaking her head.
‘I meant what I said last night. I do not have any interest in apologies.’
The hypocrisy of that stung. ‘You came here to apologise.’
‘I was in the wrong.’
‘I thought we just agreed I was too.’
He dipped his head. ‘I’m asking you to show me you’re sorry. That’s far more valuable to me than empty words.’
‘By going to some event with you?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But why?’
‘I’ve already answered that.’
‘Because you don’t want to arrive alone?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘In part, yes.’
‘Then, as I said, perhaps you could consider—’
‘Inviting someone else?’ He brushed that suggestion aside. ‘I’m asking you.’
‘I don’t understand why.’
‘Because it’s tonight, and you’re here.’
‘I’m here?’
‘Yes. Available and in my debt.’
