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She is. She fucking is. Mixed feelings coil around my stomach. The desire for Mila has been all-consuming. I don’t like it. Especially since it’s been ruling over my willpower and self-control.
“You don’t know her, anyway,” I lie.
“How long before you win the bet?” She forgets the manners again and eats like a lumberjack. She stops her fork halfway to her mouth, because my thoughts are probably showing on my face. She drops the food.
“Enjoy, just don’t attract attention.” I shake my head.
“Back to you, bro. So, what happened to all yourdates?”
“I’m hoping to get her to agree to my conditions.” Paris is the only one in my family who knows about my dating arrangements. Not by choice. Just one drunken night when she came to drown her sorrows over a man, and I talked.
“Gio!” Paris wipes the corners of her mouth with the napkin. “You clearly care enough to agree to drop the phone act for her. You can’t treat her like a business arrangement. If she was one of those women who wants you for the prestige or your money, you’d have signed her already. You can’t scare her with your stupid schemes.”
“She knows, and she understands those are the conditions.”
“Gio, if she wants you for you—not the billionaire, not the most eligible bachelor in New York, not for an Instagram moment, but for you—she would want the same from you. She would want you to trust her enough. Not put her on your contract rotation.”
“That’s not what that is. I’ve had enough bullshit to deal with over the years. As much as I try to be low-profile, I’m not. There is always someone trying to get a piece of me. I have a process in place to deal with that.”
Paris’s shoulders slump and she sags into her chair, frowning. “Oh, why are men so oblivious?”
“I’m being considerate. You should understand. All that shit three years ago impacted you as well. You lost two of your high-profile clients.”
She pouts for a moment longer and then sighs. “Signing an NDA and having conditions laid out before a first date is the opposite of romantic.”
“Well, some of us need to be pragmatic.”
* * *
Mila
Do you know something about the Four Seasons Christmas dinner delivered to my house today?
Depends. Are you happy?
Gio, I can’t accept this.
You wouldn’t let them throw it out, would you?
No, the kids are too excited. Thank you. How did you know where I live?
I have access to the HR files.
Thank you. You made my family happy.
What about you?
I know texting can be deceiving, but why do I feel she is less than happy? Annoyance crawls up my spine.
I don’t want you to see me as a charity case.
Fuck me. I offended her with a gift. But how am I supposed to improve her life if her pride doesn’t let her accept small presents? Paris’s warning from this morning flickers through my mind. She pissed me off with her romantic notions.
All the women I’ve dated have gushed over every gift. Jewelry, spa certificates, flower arrangements, trips. The turkey I sent to Mila was a fraction of the price compared to those. Not that I know. I didn’t put a budget on it when I called my concierge.
Mila
Gio, I’m grateful, I am. It’s a thoughtful gift after our turkey disaster. I just… I don’t need you to buy me.
