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For a split second, my heart stops.
It’s the shock.
I don’t know if it’s the suggestion, or the calm, certain way he says it, as if he knows this is going to happen and I should just climb on board and enjoy the ride.
I meet his gaze, so stunned I forget to be embarrassed. “Are you insane?”
He shrugs, seeming to have recovered from the momentary lapse of having a conscience. “Maybe, but not in a way you should be worried about. When you’re as rich as I am, it’s called eccentric.”
“I am not having dinner with you.”
“You are,” he says immovably. It’s not cocky in the sense that he’s so arrogant he doesn’t believe he can be turned down. He seems almost understanding of the fact that I haven’t given in yet—but also damn sure I will, and this is just a dance we have to do first.
It’s just like last night, but somehow even odder because we’re not in a private dungeon in a depraved sex club; we’re in a beautiful, public ballroom decked out for a wedding.
“No, I’m not,” I say, my tone firmer.
“You are, one way or the other.”
My spine straightens at the subtle threat in his words. “What does that mean?”
“Remember a minute ago when we were discussing the syringe and all that? I’m having dinner with you tomorrow evening whether you accept my invitation and get into the car I send for you or not. It’s your call. I would prefer we do it the easy way since I was already pretty hard on you last night, but if you want to do it the hard way, we can.”
“You cannot make me have dinner with you. And honestly, if you keep harassing me like this, Iwillhave to go to the police. It’s not an empty threat this time, last night I was just trying to stop you, but now—”
“You’re still just trying to stop me. You won’t. You’re wasting your energy, sweetheart.” He flicks a glance at my salad. “Are you a vegetarian?”
Startled, I look at my Caesar salad, then back to him. “No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“If you’re determined to be difficult, I’ll have to hire a private chef to make us dinner at home. Can’t risk you acting out in public.”
I laugh at the sheer absurdity. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t agree to meet you in arestaurantso you think I’ll come to your house?”
“It’s a penthouse and you will. We’ve been over this already.”
He’s unbelievable. I don’t even know what to say to him, honestly. “You’re crazy.”
“If you want me to leave, this is the way. If you want me to stick around, you can keep resisting. Both choices will have the same result: youwillcome to my home tomorrow and we will have dinner together. I say this with 100 percent certainty, and I can assure you, I’m right.”
He’s wrong, and so frustrating that I just want him to leave. Displeasure niggles at me for the lie I’m about to tell, but I know it’s ridiculous to feel bad for lying to this man after what he has done. “Fine,” I say shortly. I won’t actually do it, but for him to believe he’s won, I’ll need to seem angry about it. “What time?”
His lips curve up, pleasure transforming his harsh determination. “Seven o’clock. I’ll send a car for you.”
“I would prefer somewhere public. I would feel safer.”
His smile shifts, taking on a sinister tilt. “You are as safe as I want you to be, Hallie. Always, regardless of our venue.”
My stomach flutters at the dark promise in his words. It flutters as if I’m really going to meet him when I know I’m not.
If I were really going to meet him, I would have a lot more questions.
I’m a little worried about his threat, though. What will he do when I stand him up?
I try to imagine it. Summon a vision of him sitting alone at a table in an expensive Manhattan restaurant a half hour past the time I was supposed to arrive. I picture his commanding presence, his simmering disappointment as he swirls the alcohol in his glass before taking a swig, then sits it down with a decisive thud.
No, wait, that’s not right.
It would be anger, not disappointment.
