“I don’t appreciate being collected like a package,” she insisted. “I’ve had enough of that in my life.”
The reminder wasn’t welcome. Inside, he tensed, but he tried to remain loose and calm on the outside—the last thing she needed was for him to look angry.
He was angry. But not with her.
With Jamie.
Again.
“I’m sorry. I should have called.”
Truth was, he wasn’t in the habit of making arrangements with women. He told them when he was going to meet them, and they accommodated him. That was how it worked with his mother and with his lovers.
It was standard practice.
But there was nothing standard about Samantha.
Nothing standard at all, and that was what concerned him about her.
He hadn’t lied when he said he’d loathed her.
Throughout her marriage, he’d believed her to be a soul-sucking, money-grabbing bitch. Exactly like his mother. He’d hated her on principle, and that was before Jamie had perpetuated the image by describing her in ways that would make even a preacher raise his brows in contempt.
But now, after the loathing was burnt away by the truth of her marriage, he was left floundering.
Josh didn’t like floundering.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She stared up at him, her bright eyes glinting a little as she started to smirk. Surprised, he jolted her arm, jostling her forward. She laughed. “You haven’t called a woman up to make an arrangement with her in a long time, have you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” she retorted calmly, “you call them, tell them to jump, and they’re not even expected to say “how high?” They’re just supposed to be your little dolls.” She cocked a brow at him. “Am I wrong?” She smirked again when he stayed silent, just peered down into those new copper penny—bright eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“Our relationship doesn’t preclude you judging me on the way I date,” he said silkily, urging her forward once more to where the blond assistant was eagerly watching the display before her like she was watching a daytime soap opera.
Josh sighed at the thought, and was relieved Jacobsons made their staff sign strict NDAs. The last thing he needed was to go viral on Instagram over this shit.
“No, I guess not,” she agreed, “Still, I’ll gladly give you some hints and tips if you want to improve your game. Lesson one, don’t have your henchmen barge into your prospective date’s house like a bunch of stormtroopers, and don’t have them frog march her out of the house in front of all the neighbors.”
Inwardly, he cringed. Outwardly, he just sighed again. “It was that bad?”
“Worse,” she countered, sounding surprisingly cheerful.
He eyed her carefully. “You’re not mad anymore?”
“No. I like the hangdog expression on your face. You wear it well.”
He scowled at her. “What?”
“I’ve never seen you apologize before. Not even to Jamie.”
“I don’t do it often,” he said stiffly.
“Because you think you’re above reproach or because you never do anything wrong?”
The sweet tone pricked all his warning defenses, activating them into red alert. “I don’t think I should answer that. I’m not a lawyer, but I can sense a trap forming. Even if it’s only with words.”