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On the way to her bedroom, she tried to tamp down the uneasy feeling of letting him stay for wine and pizza. Was this crossing some line? And what should she change into? Certainly not “something more comfortable,” that would send the wrong signal. How could she get comfy without lookingovercomfy? Ah, screw it. Who cared?
She settled on shorts and a tank top and topped it off with flip-flops. Let him say she couldn’t do casual.
When she returned, he was rummaging through her refrigerator.
“Looking for something?” she asked. He spun around, looking at where her head would have been if she’d still been wearing heels. He slowly looked down, several inches down.
“Hey, shorty. Lost the heels, huh?” he said. “I’m looking for wine. Where do you keep it?”
She ignored his dig. “Uh, in the wine cooler, like a civilized person. Where doyoukeep it?”
“You sound very snobby right now,” he said. “I keep it in the fridge, like anormalperson.” He gave her a questioning look, obviously asking where the wine refrigerator was then.
“In the butler’s pantry,” she said, pointing behind him.
“Of course, the butler’s pantry. I should have known,” he said in a snooty British accent. “Red or white?” he yelled.
“White.”
He came back with a bottle of Riesling.
“Ooh. Good choice,” she said, licking her lips. Her stomach let out a growl. “Did you order pizza?” It had been a while since she’d calorie-splurged on pizza, but a slice sounded heavenly.
“No, I didn’t know what you liked. I assumed it would involve spinach, but thought I’d better run it by you.”
“Iamkind of particular,” she said, taking the bottle from him and using the electronic bottle opener to make quick work of getting into the wine. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make the call.”
“You? Picky? I never would have guessed.” He laughed, and she threw the wine cork at him. He batted it away easily. “I like meat.”
“That’s what she said,” Kate mumbled, scrolling through her phone for the pizza number.
“What did you say?” Adam rounded the counter and got in her face. “Did you just make a joke?”
“I make jokes. I’m a very funny person.” She put both hands on her hips and stomped a foot, which was ineffective and unsatisfying considering the flip-flops.
“Of course, no. Yes. You are funny.” He was placating her, but whatever. Hunger pains made a rebuttal impossible just now. She called her favorite pizza place and ordered half meat lover’s and half roasted chicken, feta, and artichoke hearts. Normally, she added spinach but omitted it for this order.
Adam found the wine glasses and filled two.
“To making deals and making money,” he said, raising his glass in the air toward her.
“Amen.” They drank, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. “I better find a snack, or I’ll be dancing on the table in minutes.”
“Ah, a cheap drunk? I love it.” He smiled.
“Ha, ha.” She rummaged through her cupboards, hunting for crackers. Not finding any, she cursed herself for doing that no-more-carbs purge of her kitchen last month.
She decided to only sip on the wine until the pizza arrived. Twenty minutes later, she’d emptied the glass and was verging on tipsy.
“I shouldn’t have any more until I get some food,” she said.
Sensing her weakness, Adam urged her to have just a tiny bit more. He poured her another half-glass, but she set it aside, determined to wait for some food. She didn’t intend to get plastered in front of a client, no matter how laissez-faire he was in his attitude toward their agent/client relationship.
Finally, the pizza came, and they dug into their respective halves. After scarfing down one piece, she washed the second down with the rest of the wine. She wasn’t a big drinker, a little on the weekends or when she got together with her family, so she was kind of a lightweight.
After they ate, he suggested they play a game.
“What kind of game?” She frowned, knitting her brows in suspicion.
