that was the part that worried me.
Nico
“I’M REALLY NOT an asshole,” I insisted, but I couldn’t quite prevent the tiny half smile curving my mouth. Even I couldn’t make that statement with a straight face, but the fact that she handled my curveball without missing a beat was arousing as fuck. I had to know more about this woman—by any means possible. “Okay, how about this... I will answer any question you have for me...over dinner.”
“Dinner,” she repeated with open suspicion. “Why dinner?”
“Let’s be honest...we both bungled this interview. Let’s wipe the slate clean and start fresh. I’m willing to believe that we’re both reasonable human beings, so why not forget this terrible first impression happened and start over. Preferably over a glass of wine.”
Her gaze narrowed, but the tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth told me she enjoyed negotiating as much as I did. Oh, the things people reveal without realizing it. “Dinner, no wine. Purely business. No funny business,” she countered, her gaze glittering as she tacked on, “at a well-lit restaurant.”
I shook my head. “Here.”
“I’d rather a restaurant.”
I knew if I pushed, she’d push back. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was easily impressed or intimidated, so I had to try something else. “May I be completely honest?” I asked. She nodded slowly, curious. “It may come as a surprise, but I love to cook. It’s the one thing that I wasn’t given simply because of who I am. I’ve earned my skills through plenty of trial and error. If I’m going to have a shot of changing your perception of me, cooking you a meal is the best way I know how.”
Her stunned silence was more telling than she knew. What she couldn’t know was that I was being completely honest. I felt most comfortable in the kitchen, and I took great pride in knowing that every skill I had with food was 100 percent legit. Of course, I withheld the mention that I’d discovered long ago that women found men who can cook irresistible. I couldn’t count how many panties had dropped over a seemingly innocent homemade dish of risotto alla Milanese paired with a perfectly roasted leg of lamb.
After a long, contemplative pause, Lauren nodded, accepting my proposal. “You have yourself a clean slate, Mr. Donato. I’ll see you tonight. Seven o’clock,” she said, rising as she thrust her hand toward me to seal the deal. I chuckled and accepted the handshake when I really wanted to brush my lips across that pale, soft skin to watch the goose bumps cause an all-out riot. I wanted to know what stole Lauren’s breath and caused those beautiful dark eyes to darken further—and I definitely wanted to know what she was hiding beneath that ugly dress. However, I played the part of the gentleman, opening her door and watching her leave without a further suggestive remark or inappropriate suggestion.
Pretty proud of myself, actually. I rarely denied myself whatever pleasure caught my eye, but I suspected Lauren was a diamond hidden inside that crusty coal and I was more interested in discovering how to reveal what I was truly interested in.
The question was, what about Lauren turned my clock? Hell, I hadn’t a clue. Generally speaking, I preferred women to be soft and malleable, maybe even a little on the vapid side. But then, I wasn’t accustomed to women actively pushing me away. Usually it was the other way around. Most times I had to shake the women off with a stick.
Got quite annoying, actually.
But not Lauren.
Her employment with Luxe came to mind, as she clearly didn’t fit the blueprint for the self-indulgent magazine.
Hence, the plot thickens, eh?
Everything about the woman intrigued me, and for fuck’s sake, I was bored enough to dig into the mystery.
Lauren
I COULDN’T EXPLAIN what had happened between Nico and me. I’m not entirely sure how he’d managed to turn the tables so neatly, but I had to give the man props for style and finesse.
For all his talk about wanting a fresh start to make a better impression, I wasn’t buying into his story, but there was something about Nico that made me want to play the game.
Was this how it started? There was a saying, “bad judgment made for good stories,” and it certainly applied to my current situation. I should’ve shut him down, told Patrice that Donato wasn’t a good fit for the center feature and moved on. But somewhere between being completely annoyed and defensive to the point where he actually had me anticipating a countermove, my interest level had changed.
I had no doubt he was playing a game with me, but I wasn’t without my own skills. If he thought he could charm the pants off me with an impressive culinary show, he was headed for an aching case of blue balls, but I wasn’t above enjoying a fine home-cooked meal on someone else’s dime and effort.
My ex had come from a wealthy family, and Houston had pulled out all the stops to impress me. Unfortunately, it’d worked on a naive girl, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. Getting knocked up and abandoned did a lot to make a girl grow up.
When I’d met Houston, I’d been just out of college, and much more trusting.
Now I was fairly certain everyone had an agenda.
Except my sweet son.
Oh, crud. Speaking of, I’d have to find a babysitter for Grady tonight. I didn’t want to call my mom because she’d ask questions, but the last time I left Grady with my best friend, Ronnie, he’d gotten Grady hooked on Drag Race. It’d taken weeks to convince Grady that a feather boa was not an acceptable choice for kindergarten attire. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved that Grady was exposed to different lifestyles and completely open to alternative ways to be a human being. But I had a hard enough time as it was with the school administrator each time Grady said or did something that shocked the pants off his teacher.
I called my younger sister, Claire, hoping that she was available. Voice mail.
I chewed my bottom lip, vacillating between calling my mom and calling Ronnie.
I went with Ronnie.
“Hey, babe, you available to watch Grady tonight for me?” I asked, hailing a cab.
“Oh, honey child, why do you do this to me? You know I would die to watch the little man, but I totally have plans already. Unless you don’t mind if I take him with me,” he answered with a dubious tone that immediately set off alarm bells.
“Where are you going?” I asked, wary. “No drag shows.”
“Oh, poo. Well, if you’re going to be like that, then no, I already have plans.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know you can’t take Grady to a drag show. Most are held at a bar.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a private show, and mostly kid-friendly. I think.”
Yeah, I wasn’t about to take the chance. “Not this time,” I said, chuckling. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Grady to be safe with Ronnie, but sometimes my friend didn’t think about how impressionable a six-year-old was, and learning how to effectively tuck a penis wasn’t a skill set I needed my son to pick up anytime soon. “No worries. Enjoy your show,” I said and clicked off.
That left my mom.
Ugh. My mom and I were often on opposite sides of everything. For example, my mom thought I ought to be going after Grady’s dad for child support even though I’d explained that it was better for Grady and me if Houston wasn’t involved. I wasn’t about to