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“I just said you looked nice,” I pointed out. “But I was expecting you how I always expect you. A bit more relaxed. That’s all.”
He fell silent.
“This is the part where you tell me I look nice,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, wondering why it had darkened to begin with.
“You don’t look nice.”
“Well, that’s rude?—”
“You look sexy as fuck,” he stated. “And I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my hands off you during dinner.”
Heat bloomed on my cheeks.
I was wearing a pair of perfectly fitted Japanese denim jeans in dark blue with a purposefully oversized green Vicuña wool sweater that fell off one shoulder. I’d dressed down, even though the dinner was a mockup of what the charity gala would be like.
“Okay that’s a better compliment than the one I gave you,” I admitted with a smile.
“You have the whole dinner to make it up to me. Maybe you can start by paying homage to my fine attributes.”
“Fine attributes. Give me a few ideas about what these fine attributes are,” I teased.
“First, I have the jaw.” He rubbed his chin. “And my hair. Have you seen my hair?”
“I’ve seen your hair. If we slowed down a video of you shaking your head from side to side, you’d be a regular shampoo commercial.”
“Let’s not forget my manly pecs.” He puffed out his chest. “You should feel them. I can make them dance.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started to laugh, and the tenseness I had felt earlier began to dissolve.
Bones looped an arm around me and hugged me to him. “There she is.”
“There who is?” I asked.
“The woman I’m getting to know. You were so formal when you answered the door. I didn’t know if you were playing a part for the evening, or if you were hiding behind a veneer.”
“Hmm. You’re a good judge of character,” I stated. “It’ll come in handy the night of the gala. Come on, I promised I’d feed you.”
“Did you cook?” he asked.
“You’re asking if I cooked a three-course meal?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”
“You’re adorable.” I grinned up at him. “No. I hired a chef and server for the evening.”
He raised his brows. “You did?”
I bit my lip. “Now might be the time to tell you that I normally have a chef, but that she had a family emergency. So, really the only reason you haven’t met her yet is because she’s been gone and I’ve been on my own for a little while.”
“A private chef,” he repeated slowly.
I swallowed. “I have a housekeeper, too.”
“What, no butler?” he joked.
“Stanton still works for my mother.”
He paused. “You’re serious? You grew up with a butler?”
