He was not going to be as easy a target as I originally thought.
Who the hell would have thought that superficial, troublesome Fenway Arlington would have layers?
I should have known.
“Pink champagne,” I told him, watching as his brows furrowed.
“Pink champagne?”
“Yes. I like pink champagne.”
“Like from An Affair to Remember?”
“How do you know that movie?”
“Everyone knows that movie.”
“I literally know one person who knows that movie,” I told him. And Raven only knew it because I made her watch it. She wasn’t a classic movie fan; she preferred romantic dramas.
“Those uncultured swine,” he said, chuckling. “I enjoy classic movies. My grandmother used to have me watch them with her.”
Ugh.
Damn him again.
I certainly didn’t plan on having anything in common with the man.
“Who do you like more. Audrey or Katherine Hepburn?” I asked, wanting to prove he wasn’t as into it as he was saying.
“They both have their merits. But you have to love Katherine. That was a powerhouse of a woman.”
Damn him once more.
I always preferred Katherine. And not just because of her realist forward-thinking, feminist views in real life. I loved her cool confidence in her roles, the elegant way she spoke.
“Clark Gable or Jimmy Stewart?”
“Cary Grant. Obviously.”
“Why obviously?”
“The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, To Catch A Thief, An Affair to Remember.”
“You have a thing for romance movies,” he concluded, making my stomach drop. I never would say that. I would never think that. But faced with my own admission, no other conclusion could be drawn, could it?
“I like all sorts of classic movies. Most of them happen to have a love story attached.”
“Fair enough. So, are you not the least bit curious as to where we are heading?”
“I imagined you would inform me eventually.”
“Have you ever been to Gianyar?”
“Seeing as I have never heard of that, no.”
“It’s in Bali. I have a home there. On the beach. Don’t worry. You will have your own room. As will Alvy. Everything all above-board.”
“Why Bali?” I asked. He had the entire world at his disposal.
“It’s beautiful.”
“There are other places with more things to do.”
“If we get there, and you find yourself bored, we can be in Italy with a day’s notice. Or Venice. Amsterdam for some wild fun. I am wholly at your disposal. Use me any way you see fit,” he commanded, holding his arms out wide.
“Why would you offer to follow every whim of a virtual stranger?”
“It has been far too long since I’ve had a travel companion. I’ve already seen everywhere. It would be interesting to see someone else see it all for the first time.”
That was actually rather sweet.
And I really needed not to be endeared to him on this job. I would inevitably feel guilty for scamming him, breaking his heart, and taking a nice sum of money for the trouble.
I needed to get control of things again.
“Don’t you ever work? Earn your lavish living?”
“The nice thing about owning many different businesses is you get paid when you are sleeping.”
“Don’t you want to work for your money?”
“I do work for my money. For a few days a year when there are meetings. When I acquire failing businesses, then make them profitable again. I earn my money, but I don’t need to slave away to do so.”
“Doesn’t jetting off to random parts of the world at a moment’s notice seem frivolous to you?” I asked, even if I personally would cut off my left tit—in my personal opinion, my better one—to be able to have that sort of freedom in life.
“Incredibly frivolous,” he agreed. “Do you hate me because I’m rich, Wasp?”
This was tricky, wasn’t it?
He wasn’t supposed to be so blunt. Everything I had learned while researching him pointed to light and silly and over the top. Never serious. Never the type to put you on the spot.
“No,” I told him honestly. “My best friend and her husband are filthy rich too.”
“So your objection is to me personally.”
“My objection is to things—and people—without substance. Surface-level interactions, connections, and experiences are a waste of time.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, nodding, face grave. “You are asking me to marry you.”
‘What? Where the hell did you get that?”
“You need deep interaction. I can help you in multiple ways on that front,” he told me, tone suggestive, smirk devilish.
“I don’t believe in marriage,” I informed him, not sure why I felt like I needed to tell him something personal.
“Not even with the right man?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“As the right man for you? Oh, I think you are selling all of mankind short.”
“I think I am selling them just short enough.”
“You know what I think, darling?” he asked, giving me what I could only call a soft look.
“Probably not. But something tells me you are going to tell me anyway.”
“I think all this cold of yours is hiding something really warm and mushy inside. And you’re terrified someone will figure that out.”