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It had been perfect.
Until last night.
It belatedly occurred to him that Patricia was viewing this as a date. Yet another reason why he’d been stupid to accept the invitation. He should have suggested they meet for lunch in the middle of a workday somewhere a hell of a lot less romantic.
“I’ve heard wonderful things about this restaurant,” Patricia continued.
“I’m sure it’s very nice.” Matt glanced around the small dining room. There were no more than a dozen patrons, all couples, all looking as in love as his brother, Gage, who spent ninety-nine percent of his time these days walking around with damn hearts in his eyes.
Gage, much to Matt’s surprise, had fallen head over heels in love with Penny Beaumont, the quirky woman who had worked in the IT department of Russo Enterprises for seven years. Married not quite a year, it appeared the honeymoon was nowhere near over for Gage and Penny.
It was Gage’s marital state that had opened his eyes to Patricia’s changing view of their—fuck it—association. What they’d shared had not been a relationship, and he didn’t give a shit if Patricia took offense to that word. Last night, she’d wondered aloud if all Russo men made good husbands before suggesting the two of them get married. He’d dismissed the idea out of hand, but she’d doubled down, and that was when he had known it was time to cut his losses.
Patricia put her wineglass down, then leaned closer in a blatant attempt to draw his attention to the cleavage revealed by her low-cut dress. She had seduction in mind.
The small table ensured they were too close for Matt’s comfort, especially when she reached out and cupped his cheek in a way that, from any other woman, might feel like affection, but from her felt more like a calculated move.
He reached up and grasped her hand, pulling it away from his face. “Patricia,” he started, ready to set her straight.
“I was unhappy with the way things ended last night.” She’d said as much on the phone this morning when she called to invite him out to dinner.
If he’d been clear-headed, he would have pushed her off, suggested the lunch date, but Scotch, a lack of sleep, and fucked-up feelings about Liza had worked against him, and his brain had failed to engage.
“I handled things poorly,” he said.
Patricia lit up, her smile wide, and Matt realized he’d given her the wrong impression. Score one for the hangover.
She laid her hand on his forearm. “I’m afraid neither of us was at our best. Such a silly misunderstanding.”
He hadn’t misunderstood a damn thing.
Patricia had proposed the marriage idea not because she’d caught feelings but because she coveted power and fame, and she viewed merging her family’s billions with his as a way to catapult herself into the same category as the Bezoses, Mark Zuckerberg and Priscilla Chan, the Gateses—pre-divorce—the Beckhams, and God only knew who else.
As she’d said last night, she wanted more.
And he had more.
“It was an unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said, though he meant it differently than she did. Time for damage control. “I hope the two of us can remain friends.”
He had to hand it to Patricia. Her poker face was rock solid, her smile firmly in place.
“Of course.” She lifted her glass to take a sip of wine. “But I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t continue our previous arrangement.”
Matt wasn’t about to consider that offer, though he was curious about Patricia’s motivation. She was, by society’s standards, a very beautiful woman and heiress to a fortune. Men would line up around the block to marry her, as evidenced by the fact she’d already been engaged four times to men she claimed to feel a romantic attachment to. Matt suspected the reasons Patricia hadn’t made it down the aisle yet had everything to do with the fact those previous fiancés hadn’t had that “more” factor and the only person she would ever truly love was herself.
He shook his head. “No, and I’m sorry if by coming here tonight I gave you the impression I was interested in pursuing that. I’m here because I wanted to make sure there are no hard feelings between us. We’re bound to run into each other from time to time and, as I said, I hope we can do so as friends.”
Friends was a stretch, as that was something they’d never been and never would be. Too many nights out with Patricia had opened his eyes to who she really was. Her stuck-up nature was only surpassed by her narcissism, and neither was attractive.
The waiter returned with their first course. Clearly, Patricia had taken the liberty of ordering more than just the wine. He mentally cursed, annoyed by the prospect of having to sit through a five-course meal with her.
He took a drink of water, relieved to realize the ibuprofen was kicking in, the throbbing in his head reduced to a dull ache.
He braced himself, expecting her to pick up the argument where they’d left it last night—Patricia wasn’t the type to go down without a fight—so he was pleasantly surprised, and somewhat suspicious, when she dropped the subject.
“I understand,” she said genially. “And to show there are no hard feelings…” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small square box. Holding it on the palm of her hand, she presented it to him in what felt like a “voila” manner, which was strange. “Your Christmas present. I intended to give it to you last night.”
Last night, it sounded as if her “gift” was sex with her, so he couldn’t help but wonder if this was purchased today. Matt reached for the box, grateful he’d had the foresight to grab the bracelet at the last minute. He’d intended to use it to “buy” her forgiveness if she persisted in making things difficult.
