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“Solve problems?”
“Throw money at things unnecessarily.” It shouldn’t annoy me. After all, he’s entitled to do with his money exactly as he pleases.
Daniel raises a dark brow. “It’s not unnecessary if it’s something I want.”
Ah, that old chestnut. I didn’t exactly grow up in poverty, but the life of a single parent isn’t easy. My grandmother took care of both my mother and me, ensuring we never went hungry, but I’ve never had the privilege of being able to focus wholly on my wants.
“I’m not judging you,” I reply.
“Yes, you are.” He leans back in his chair and his hands rest lightly on his knees, a heavy silver watch poking out of the cuff of his shirt. He’s never without a watch, I’ve noticed, and never late. “But it doesn’t matter. It won’t change my behaviour. When I want something, I find a way to get it.”
“That must be nice.”
“You’re very disapproving for someone who’s also benefitting from this situation.”
“Okay, maybe I am. It’s hard not to be a little jealous.”
“Don’t be too jealous, it’s not like money solves all problems. It won’t fix the problems with Marc and me.” He rubs a hand along his jaw. “Nothing will fix that. If we can get it to a point where he’s civil to me in public, I’ll take it.”
“That seems like a low bar.” I frown.
“I’m ambitious, not stupid.” He shoots me a look. “Marc and I have been at odds for a while. You know, sibling rivalry and all that. Apparently it was a much bigger issue than I realised when I got promoted instead of him.”
“He wanted the CEO job.” Suddenly the reason for Marc’s animosity makes a little more sense—if he thought Daniel had taken a job from him, the rumour of Daniel stealing his wife must have been like salt on an open wound.
“I’ve been groomed for this role since I was old enough to hold a spoon. The job was never Marc’s to have.” Daniel looks at me, as if wanting to say more. But then the shutters go up, like always.
“Why don’t you tell me what this opera is about?” I lean toward him, my bare arm brushing against him.
The scent of his cologne is like a magnet drawing me closer. In the shadowed booth, there’s an intimacy as if we’re completely alone, rather than sitting in a full theatre. Right now, I’m not upset that he paid to keep the seats around us empty.
“Don Giovanni is a young nobleman who seduced thousands of women in Seville in the mid-eighteenth century,” he says, warm breath skating over my skin. Below us, the opera is about to start. “Anything he wants, he takes.”
“Just like you,” I quip.
Daniel levels me with a stare but continues, “Don Giovanni was written by Mozart and it’s based on the Don Juan myth. Basically, he’s a womaniser and thug. The story is about what happens after he kills the father of a woman he wants to seduce, and his bad behaviour finally catches up with him.”
“Ah, so there’s a moral.”
He chuckles. “There’salwaysa moral.”
The lights suddenly go dim, and a hush falls over the theatre. Our conversation is cut short by the opening scene of the opera. I decide to let all my worries take the night off. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I need to stop feeling annoyed at Daniel for not being open with me, when he owes me nothing beyond what our arrangement entails.
And I need to stop feeling guilty about accepting his offer.
If other people are so comfortable doing whatever it takes to get what they want, then why shouldn’t I do the same?
I’m enthralled by the opening of the opera when I feel a pressure at my thigh. Daniel’s hand is there, touching the skin exposed by the slit in my dress, his thumb tracking a soothing arc back and forth.
I glance at him, and his eyes are on me. They’re dark, bottomless. Burning. It’s like there’s nothing happening on the stage—no music, no singing, no acting. If I hadn’t understood why he wanted us to be alone in these seats before, now it’s very clear.
He leans over. “Sit on my lap.”
“No.” I glare at him, but it’s no more effective than throwing marshmallows at an avalanche. And it’s bullshit. I want him to touch me, but I also feel the urge to resist him long enough that he knows I’ll do only whatIwant, not simply what he tells me.
“Ava, I would like you to sit on my lap because I very much want to make you come with my fingers.”
Goodlord. This man... This arrogant, sexy, entitled man.
