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He frowned at her, then put his napkin down on the table. “Eldon’s cooking is sufficient.”
“I can’t eat it,” she told him. “It’s not you. Trust me. I just . . . I’ll gag if I have to pretend to like another mouthful.”
“You already gagged,” he pointed out.
She wished he would smile so she could tell if he was joking or not. “Yeah, I did. Thank God this dinner party is only for two, right?”
“Is the wine acceptable?”
She nodded and chugged the rest of her glass, determined to wash away the taste of Eldon’s cooking. “It’s very quiet here, too. I find that unnerving.”
“Quiet?” He tilted his head, regarding her as if the idea were foreign to him. “Do you not like the quiet?”
“I live in SoHo,” she told him, and held out her glass for him to refill. “There are cars on the street at all hours, and noisy neighbors, and people going up and down the stairs of my walkup. It’s never quiet. You never feel isolated and alone like you do here. I guess I’m just not used to it.”
“I see.”
She had no idea what he meant by that. “Your house is gorgeous, though. Please don’t take it as a slight against this place.”
“I don’t.” He looked over at her, and she realized that, for the majority of their dinner, he’d taken great care not to look at her.
“Well, I appreciate you letting me stay here, regardless.”
“But you do not like it here.”
“How can anyone not like it here? It’s like a castle.”
“Castles are not pleasant for those in the dungeons.”
“Well, if my room is a dungeon, it’s the most enjoyable dungeon I’ve ever stayed in. Seriously, it’s fine.” She took another sip of her wine. “I can’t believe I’m insulting the grandest house I’ve ever stayed in.”
“Perhaps it is not the house,” he began slowly. “But the lack of company?”
Gretchen smiled gratefully at him. “That’s probably it, yes.”
“What about your cat?”
“Well, Igor’s not much of a conversationalist,” she teased.
He got that funny expression on his face again that made her think he was blushing. “I meant you could keep him with you.”
“Oh. That’s very nice of you. I worry he might get lost, though. My room’s larger than my apartment.”
“If he gets lost, I will help you find him,” he said gravely.
She pictured that—the stuffy billionaire on hands and knees, calling her hairless cat—and stifled another smile. “You’re very kind.”
“Would you . . .” He paused again. “Would you like to meet again for dinner tomorrow night?”
A smile curved her mouth. He’d sounded so utterly reluctant saying that, and yet . . . she didn’t think he disliked her. She didn’t know what he thought of her.
“You don’t sound excited by the prospect.”
“It is you who should not be excited. Eldon will be cooking again.”
She laughed. “Can he make a sandwich?”
His expression seemed to thaw a little, though he still did not smile. “He can make a mean sandwich, yes.”
