“Ginger martini,” she said without hesitation. She suddenly knew what she wanted, and it was something with bite.
“Sounds interesting. I’ll try it, too.” He raised a hand, and a server immediately appeared, as if his finger were a rich person’s version of the Bat-Signal. “Two ginger martinis, please.”
At least he said please. She’d gone on a date with a guy in Manhattan who’d called every server chief and never once said thank you or please. Veronica had wondered if she could ever be attracted to a man in a suit after that, but she’d worked through it.
Dillon wasn’t wearing a suit, but he was wearing jeans that looked very expensive and polished loafers with no socks. She missed Gabe and his beat-up trail shoes.
No, you don’t, her brain scolded.
“That was an amazing show,” Dillon said. “Even better than your columns, which are hard to beat.”
“Thank you.”
The server returned in record time with the drinks, and Veronica noticed that the woman didn’t mention anything about the drinks being on the house. Veronica winked at her. Hopefully, Dillon was a big tipper.
When she took a sip of her drink, Dillon mirrored her. “Good,” he said. “Not too sweet.”
She nodded, enjoying the way the spice o
f it burned her throat. And ginger was good for the stomach, so maybe she could drink ten of them and suffer no ill consequences.
Dillon leaned back in his chair again, looking more relaxed now, as if buying the drinks had returned control back to him. “I wanted to catch up because I liked you in high school and I like you now.”
Well, that was to the point. He watched her as if he expected her to be aroused by his confidence, but she still felt icy cool. He was an investor. He was into the game. He wanted something and he’d go after it. Simple and efficient. An admirable business strategy, really, but she wasn’t any of his business.
“You’re interesting,” he said when she didn’t respond.
“Dillon...” She twirled the stem of her glass in her fingers, watching the candied ginger at the bottom bounce off the glass. “Do you know why I liked you back then?”
He shook his head, his face a blur past the rim of her drink.
“Because you were the only one of Jason’s friends who was ever nice to me.”
“Like I said, I liked you.”
“Right,” she murmured. “I thought you were sweet. That’s why I let you kiss me. Touch my breasts. Put your hand down my pants.”
She finally looked up and saw that he’d lost a little of his confidence. He was frowning again.
“But you weren’t sweet, were you?” Veronica asked.
The perfectly smooth skin of his cheeks turned a little pink. “Roni, I’m sorry about that. Jason was... I don’t know. I guess I told myself it was just normal sibling-rivalry stuff.”
“He wasn’t my sibling.”
“Right. Well, stepsibling, then. I don’t know. He was my friend, and you were his little sister. I was embarrassed that he called me out on messing around with you. I didn’t know what to say.”
“So you made fun of me,” she said.
“It wasn’t like that. I was just making excuses. Trying to get him off my back.”
“Right. Off your back and right onto mine. He made my life a living hell for three years, Dillon. And instead of making things better, you made them worse. So I don’t understand why you think I’d be interested in dating you now.”
“Because I’ve grown up,” he answered without hesitation. “We both have.”
She laughed. “The first thing you asked me about was Jason! Like he’s still your hero. Like you still think it was excusable high school stuff. I was nobody before he moved to town, but he made me into nothing. Do you get the difference? He mocked me and bullied me and encouraged everyone else to do the same. Because if a girl is so low that even her own brother treats her like shit, she must be worthless, right?”
His cheeks weren’t pink anymore. They’d gone pale. “Roni, I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know it was that bad for you. I was young and clueless.”