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Chapter Six
Lukas
The girl named Imogen chokes on her coffee.
I wasn’t even meaning that to sound devious, but I am a devious kind of man deep down, so it sort of comes with the territory.
“I’m sure you can. Thank you, Lukas,” Ariana says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s awfully kind of you.”
I have no idea why I just agreed to dinner. Maybe it’s because I feel like I need to get to the bottom of what happened between her and James. They were together only the month before last, so what could have changed so dramatically? And he’s already hooked up with someone new.
I go in for the kill. “What’s your room number?”
I can feel the tension mounting, as if she’s debating if this is a good idea.
It’s dinner. Not a marriage proposal.
Fuck knows the domineering gene runs strong through the Bentley blood, but I can’t force myself to smile.
What would be great is if Ariana decided what she wanted to do for herself, rather than let her friends tell her. There’s nothing wrong with a woman who has her own mind.
I’ve known a lot of women, not just casual acquaintances, and there is nothing more delightful than a woman that can challenge you. I might want a submissive in the bedroom, but I certainly don’t want one in the dining room. And I’ve always liked Ariana; she’s always been very gracious, even when James was acting like a dick and showing her up in public.
I still feel bad about that.
I may be an arrogant asshole, but there’s a time and a place to have a row with your father with your woman in tow, and it isn’t in a busy restaurant or on the sidewalk for bypassers to hear. I wonder if she even remembers it.
James has had many the tantrum over the years. I should know, his wrath is usually aimed at me.
“Two six five,” she says, glancing down at the little card on the table that holds the room key.
“Her birthday is in two days,” Charlize says. “We could have a little birthday party.”
Woah, hold the bus. Maybe I have overcommitted.
“I’m sure you girls have plenty to be doing on Ariana’s birthday. I can give you the names of a few clubs that might be up your alley.”
I note Ariana wrinkle her nose; she doesn’t like clubs? Good girl.
I’m not a fan of them either, the music is too loud and usually very unimpressive. I own a couple downtown in Seattle but rarely visit them. I gave that shit up about twenty years ago, I’ve been out on the town my whole life, and while it’s very old-mannish to admit, these days I crave the quiet.
I get so little of it in my working life that to have peace, to me, is like finding gold.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I don’t really like clubs,” Ariana speaks up, tossing me another sweet smile. Her eyes are even prettier than I remember, cloudless blue on a perfect day.
She looks a little paler today, and a little tired, but she’s the kind of girl who is naturally pretty. She doesn’t need makeup, and it’d spoil her skin if she did.
Why the fuck do I care?
I try to think of one reasonable explanation as to why I would even think such a thing.
Fucking vacations.They make you insane. Maybe I have cabin fever, and its only day one on the island. I’m fucked.
“Well, I’ll send a message to your room, and if you change your mind, or get a better offer, just let me know.”
Maybe it’s best to stay away. Her friends are cute, but like Ariana, they’re a little too young for me.
My fucking son’s age.
