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“We’re all wrong sometimes, Mr. Owen. There was no need to buy me a gift.”
“Oh, I wasn’t wrong.” He holds up the box. “Please.”
Much as I want to argue how wrong he was, I instead take the box and remove the lid. Before I mean to, the words “Pigalle Follies” fall from my lips.
I had a pair of these. I felt beautiful whenever I slipped into them. Crafted in black veau velours with those iconic red soles, this particular pair boasts four-inch spiked heels. They’re divine.
“You know your shoes,” he comments arrogantly.
“So do you. This is a fine pair.” They retail for about half a month’s rent. My mom bought me my first pair of Louboutins. I didn’t keep any when I downsized, telling myself I didn’t need them. Holding this pair makes me miss her. “I can’t accept them. Obviously.”
“Of course you can.” He fishes a paper tucked behind one of the shoes and unfolds it. I thought it was a receipt, but no, it’s an electrical inspection signed by none other than my surly boss.
“Wait…how…”
“Like I told you, we passed. Daniel and I had a little chat and he realized he was mistaken in assuming that Gary lied.”
Daniel walks by, his face an unreadable mask. Owen turns to look over his shoulder before his eyes once again land on mine.
“Did one of your henchmen pay Daniel a visit with a sledgehammer?” I ask.
This elicits a sharp, brief laugh from Nate. His grin is equally brief, as well as my reaction. Full head-to-toe goosebumps. My nipples tighten. I lean in his direction the slightest bit.
I’m not typically attracted to assholes, I swear. Either I’m having an off day or Nate Owen is emitting hallucinogenic pheromones.
“Our inspection passed because we are compliant, not dishonest. Daniel assumed the opposite. He had a change of heart this morning, which worked out nicely for my schedule on the site. We’re back on track now. Isn’t that great?”
“Fantastic.” I offer him a wan smile.
“And I don’t have henchmen, by the way. I do my own dirty work.”
The word dirty sends my mind into a freefall. Then, I imagine Nate in the mob and threatening Daniel’s life. That stops my visceral reaction to him in its tracks.
I thrust the shoebox against his torso.
“Unlike everyone else you come in contact with, I don’t accept bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe. I have what I need. This visit to your”—he studies our surroundings—“office…was for show.”
“You put on a good one yesterday.” I nudge his middle with the shoebox he’s refusing to take. It’s like pushing against a brick wall. The corner of the box crumples on impact.
“How do you know a damn thing about Christian Louboutins?” His tone is more curious than accusing.
“I’m a woman. How the hell do you know about them?”
“The shoes you tossed out yesterday cost thirty dollars at a discount shoe warehouse. I looked them up.”
The way he’s talking, like a cop who has information on me, is making me nervous.
“Maybe I’m a fashion junkie who can’t afford the finer things.” My voice is smaller than I’d like it to be.
He considers my outfit. Slowly.
“Did you used to be a shoe salesman, or do you have a foot fetish?” I snap, hoping to knock him off course and gain the upper hand.
“Neither. I’m observant. I’ve been in the presence of a lot of very wealthy women, and I know how they carry themselves. How they behave in certain situations. They can smell a knockoff from an authentic name brand fifty yards away. Even so, I haven’t yet met a woman who uttered the words ‘Pigalle Follies.’”
“Maybe you should choose your company more carefully.”
