Hard.
Like a nasty side check into the boards, it took my breath away for a minute. “No,” was all I could get out.
“Beau, use your head, man. This is the answer to your problems. You make this small, leap of faith, show the world you’re Team Gigi, and I guarantee you, the world will fall at your fuckin’ feet.”
“No, absolutely not,” I repeated, leaving no doubt as to what I would consent to.
“I have to agree with Beau on this one. That’s crossing the line. And what would that do to the boys when they eventually find out we aren’t really engaged?”
Quentin looked at Geneviève. “I’m not saying cement a wedding date down. Engagements last years and nobody bats an eye. You guys can pull this off. And look what happened last time you two moved in together? Maybe you guys—”
“No!” I shouted, cutting him off. I slammed the palm of my hand down on the table so hard, the plates and silverware bounced. “Find another way. There’s no way we’re getting engaged.”
Quentin sighed and sat back in his chair. He stood, doing the buttons on his jacket up. “Think about it. This is your only way out.” He hammered his index finger on the table in time to each word. “There’s nothing else left for you.”
As he shoved his chair under the table, he said, “Stay and eat. Discuss what your only option is. Have a nice evening.” Before he left, he nodded his head to both of us.
Geneviève moved her chair back and reached around for her purse. I clamped my hand on hers, then swept my leg behind her chair and pushed her back to the table. “Hold your horses, Martin.”
She looked at me with questioning eyes. “Beau, we should go. There’s no reason for us to stay.”
I glared at her and ran my fingers through my hair. “We can’t even share a meal together? You hate me that much?”
Her shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t hate you, Beau. I just don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s supper, Geneviève. Not a marriage proposal,” I said, feeling a small zing go through me when I said the last two words. “I really need a drink right now. Will you sit here with me for an hour? Order a salad or some other green shit that nobody wants?”
That made her laugh. Those bare, soft shoulders of hers shaking. “I’m not the only person that orders salad and green,” she said, lowering her voice, “shit.”
I waved one of the servers over and turned to Geneviève. “I’m pretty sure you are.” My eyes trailed over her face, down her long, elegant neck, and directly to her cleavage. Christ, she was fucking gorgeous.
Never in my life had I seen a woman this beautiful before.
“My eyes are up here, Beau.”
“Mm hmm,” I answered, still staring at her breasts. What I wouldn’t do to unzip the back of her dress right now, let her straps fall down her arms and—
“Hi, can I get you something to drink?” the server asked, forcing me to rip my eyes off Geneviève’s chest. I ordered both of us drinks. Strong ones.
She shoved my arm after the server left. “I’m not in the mood for Bénédictine.”
“Yeah, but I’m in the mood for you to drink a Bénédictine,” I answered her back right away, my eyes falling to her chest again for a second before I opened my menu.
“What are you having?” she asked as she picked up her menu.
I let out a silent breath of relief, knowing she’d sit here with me for an hour. We discussed the menu—well, I did. Geneviève had chosen some kind of boring salad that was also—not coincidentally, I was sure—the cheapest thing on the menu.
I kicked myself for not remembering she was on a budget.
When the server came back to take our orders, I added on a few entrées I knew she liked.
“He’s got a nut allergy,” Geneviève said, nodding her head in my direction. “If you could let the kitchen know, please.” The server added the note, then rushed off to the kitchen.
“I was just about to tell her that,” I said, peering over at Geneviève.
She nodded and pulled the large, cloth napkin off her plate, setting it on her lap. “I know, I beat you to it.”
Her eyes gazed awkwardly around the restaurant, and it turned me right the hell on to know she was feeling nervous around me.