She made a sour face. “No. I have a high aversion to paying some guy to act interested in me. I don’t want pity flirting.”
“Pity flirting?”
“You know what I mean.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
He frowned. “No, I don’t.”
She waited until she’d swallowed her food and sipped her drink. “Yes, you do. It’s like the whole concept of a strip club. Or even something as simple as a bartender who’s being flirty just to get a good tip. I feel like in their head, they’re really making fun of you. Oh, look how easily I can fool this clueless chick into thinking I’m interested. They’re playing you.”
Wes stared at her, knowing he had to be giving her a what-the-hell look. “Rebecca, no one would need to be paid to flirt with you.”
She gave him a skeptical look, the compliment seeming to roll off her unheard. “Did you flirt with those women at the shirtless chef party?”
He let out a breath. “Yes.”
“Were you interested in any of them?”
“No.”
She tilted her head in a point-proven way. “There you go.”
He grunted. “Does it help to know that I hated every minute of it? Playing them doesn’t feel any better than being played.”
“Really?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Pretty ladies fawning over you seems like it’d be quite the ego boost.”
“That’s not the kind of ego boost I want. I spent most of my adult life busting my ass and honing my skills to be a chef. I take pride in my food and running a kitchen. But there I was, having to do a job that depended more on my workout routine than what I can cook.” He ran a hand over the back of his head. “I’m sure the guys who work for my friend have a good time with it and are there because they’re into it. But for me, it was fucking humiliating.”
Rebecca’s eyes met his, sympathy there. “I’m sorry, Wes. I didn’t think about it that way. I wouldn’t have teased you about it.”
“I know,” he said with a shrug. “It’s really not that big of a deal. Just not my scene.”
“Why’d you do it at all if you hated it so much? Was it just to help out your friend?”
His jaw flexed, and he looked back down at his meal, prodding it with his fork. “I’m not that altruistic. She needed the help, but I did it for the extra money.”
“The money.” She braced her arms on the table, her attention feeling like a spotlight on him. “For the food truck Devin wants you to buy?”
Wes rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the frustration her question inspired. “For the idea of it. That thing will sell long before I save up enough to buy it. But next time an opportunity like that comes up, I at least want to have the ability to consider it. I don’t want to get complacent and stuck where I am forever. A safe and stable job makes my family happy, but it doesn’t feed that thing inside me that craves the adrenaline and risk of being in charge of my own business. I want to know that I can do it.”
“I get that,” she said, no jest in her voice. “I sometimes get this urge to break out on my own, start my own law practice, to know I could do it without my dad’s help or influence.”
“Why don’t you?”
She smirked. “Because it’d be stupid. I have a gig that lawyers dream of and am close to making partner. People would think I was nuts. Not to mention, my dad would be livid. It’s the family business. I’m supposed to take over a lot of his role if he gets elected. He’s running for state senate.”
“That sounds like a lot of damn pressure.”
She shrugged. “I’m used to it. It’s just part of the deal.”
He watched her, taking in the tightness in the shrug, the not-quite-believable nonchalance. That pressure was more serious than she was letting on. Wes understood pressure. He put it on himself. But he was driven in the opposite way—how not to be like his birth parents, how not to end up broke like he’d been growing up, how not to end up in jail. But even with privilege and money and an involved father, Rebecca’s pressure didn’t sound much better.
“I think you’d kick ass at running your own business,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks. I think you would, too.”
“I’m not so sure of that, based on how things went the last time, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to try again.”
She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her focus on him intent. “Will you show it to me?”