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"You wanted to leave? This is your chance."
"After that…that…" She seems at a loss for words.
I mentally fist-pump. Rule number one in any negotiation is to catch your opponent off guard, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Question is, what’s she going to do next?
She seems to get control of her emotions. "You’re an asshole."
"Alphahole." I smirk.
Her gaze narrows. "Do you play chess?"
"Eh?" It’s my turn to be surprised.
"Chess, Whittington. Do you play chess?"
"Do you wish to be beaten at your own game?"
She narrows her eyes. "You wish." She squares her shoulders. "Let’s move our encounter to a more equal footing."
"Ah, so you’re going to see me again?"
She firms her lips.
"You said it, not me," I remind her.
"I didn’t mean to, but you got me so pissed-off, I didn’t realize I was committing myself to seeing you again."
"Are you backing out?"
She tips up her chin. "I don’t go back on my word."
"Neither do I."
"Good." She sniffs.
"Good." I widen my smile.
"Wipe that grin off of your face. You don’t need to look so satisfied."
My phone pings a warning. "A-n-d, our two hours are up. Time sure goes by fast when you’re having fun."
She makes a rude sound. "Whatever."
"Ah, the famous word that’s the last resort when no other insults come to mind." I smirk.
She picks up her bag and slides it over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Whittington."
"Not so fast." I round the table and tuck her arm through mine. She trembles a little. Good. She’s responding to my proximity. Which means, she’ll miss me when I’m not around. Which will help build up anticipation for our next meeting.
When we reach the maître d’s station by the entrance, he steps up with our coats. I hold hers up, and she slips her arms through the sleeves. I smooth it over her shoulders and lean in enough to sniff her hair. Orange blossoms and vanilla tease my senses. My cock lengthens at once. It’s as if I’m hardwired to respond to her at every level. Which is…interesting, to say the least. When the chemistry between us finally explodes, it’s going to be incendiary.
I step back and slide my arms through the sleeves of my jacket the maître d’ holds out for me.
"Thank you, Charles."
"Pleasure, sir. Madam." He tips his head and melts back into the darkness.
Our security detail walks ahead, and I lead her to the door. By the time we step out of the restaurant, my Aston Martin is waiting for us. I open the door, and she slides in. I round the car, slip into the driver’s seat, then ease the car forward.
