I lift one brow. “Go on.”
“I test out your parties. Give them a shot, talk about that on my show.”
Wait.
“You want to come to my parties as a guest?”
“If you’ll have me.”
The innuendo, so help me God. “You know I love having you, sweetheart,” I say in a low voice.
She dips her face, licking the corner of her lips. “I know you do, Easton.”
I have no choice. I can’t just sit on that. “And you love when I have you.”
With a tilt of her head, she simply shrugs. “Do I?”
I scoot my chair closer to the table, leaning into her. “You do—so fucking much that I bet you were hot and wet and bothered when you went home the other night.”
She pouts in an over-the-top way. “You think I went home to rub a couple out because I wasn’t satisfied? Oh, Easton, I’m sorry you don’t know how to tell when a woman comes. It was that thing at the end when I shouted to the heavens and shuddered. Remember?”
“Ah, so that’s what that was.” Then I stare at her. “My point is, I bet you were so wound up with pleasure that you wanted more.”
“Hmm. I do recall being rather thirsty when I got home,” she says.
I’ll take that as a victory. “Good. Now, you were saying you want to come to my parties.”
“I do. Try them out. See if they work,” she says, earnest and straightforward.
I scrub a hand along my jaw, picturing her circulating at a Carpe Diem event. Seeing other men eyeing her. Worse, watching her chat them up. The thought cuts through me like a sharp blade. I both love and hate the idea of her at my parties. Love that she’ll see the magic of what I do. Hate that other men might have a shot with her. I detest that more than traffic, the Boston Red Sox, and littering.
Yet it’s not my role to tell her what to do. She just got out from a situation where a man she worked with exerted improper influence. I’m not her boss, but I am a guy she’s working with. Ergo, I say, “Okay. And what do I do?”
Her grin is way too satisfied. “I’ll make you an online dating profile.”
I cringe.
“C’mon,” she says. “All you have to do is try it. Just go on one date, okay?”
I growl.
She cracks up. “Do you only communicate in grunts and facial expressions now?”
“Seems I do,” I say. “But I’m not interested in dating. Serious dating, that is.”
She rolls her eyes. “I gathered as much.”
“You did? How?”
“Let’s just say I don’t need to be a genius to read the open book of you,” she says, flapping her hand in my direction.
“And what does the book of me tell you?”
“That you’re quite content as the swinging single man about the city.”
That’s true. That’s been true since Anna died. I don’t want the kind of dates that could lead to a serious romance. That kind of love carries too many risks. Too much potential for hurt. I’m not interested in going through that pain again.
Which means I shouldn’t be too bothered that Bellamy will be looking for love at one of my parties.
And yet I am.
But I need to let that go since I’m not ever going to be the man for her.
She wants love. I don’t.
“Yes, I am quite content with life as I know it,” I say.
“Like I said, you’re easy to read, Easton. So, do you want me to make you a Tinder profile then? Just get you on a hookup app?”
I’ve no choice but to scoff.
“Right. Of course. A smart, sexy, charming, rich guy like you doesn’t need any help getting online,” she says.
I lean back in the chair, soaking up the compliments. “You think I’m charming.”
“That’s the trait you keyed in on? Not sexy? You are not like most men, Easton.”
“Got that right. And yes, charm matters more than those other things. Charm wins hearts,” I say, before I think better of it.
Why did I mention winning hearts when that implies I’d want someone’s?
Nothing gets past Bellamy. “But I thought hearts weren’t on the table? At least, not yours.”
“It’s not,” I say. I’ve got to remember that, especially around her. Because Bellamy’s too easy to like.
“So, we’ll set up this online dating profile—just for one little date,” she says, holding up a thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space.
I’d rather set my shorts on fire. But a bet’s a bet. “What are the stakes?”
Her lips twitch in a grin. The most satisfied one she’s fired my way. “A public reckoning,” she says, then details what she envisions.
This woman’s mind is deliciously dastardly.
“And how do we determine the winner or loser?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Whoever’s happiest with their romantic situation at the end,” she says.