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“But not too much.” Juniper eyes me cautiously.
It’s my turn to stare.
“I don’t want her to love you too much,” she says again. “Not if we’re breaking up the second you’ve fooled your business guy.”
“You knew Haute by name when I answered the door,” I wonder out loud, remembering.
“Yeah. I can do some research too. Like how to infiltrate a rich guy’s house. You’ve got a pretty big Google footprint and your Instagram follows are public,” she tells me flatly. “Also, it’s insurance.”
“Insurance? What are you—”
“Now that you’ve see what I can do, don’t piss me off again, Dexter. Next time I find my way in here, I’m leaving with your balls.”
I snort loudly. “You’d need the upper body strength to carry them first.”
“Oh my God!”
Still shaking my head, I try grounding us again.
“Hold on, Winkley. First, you’re not sure if I can charm her, then you don’t want me charming her too much. Which is it?” I rub my forehead and sigh at the familiar stubborn expression on her face. “Forget it. It’ll be fine. Can you just stop stressing about this shit for one second?”
“I’ll stop stressing when it’s over—and when three lifetimes of questions from Nana aren’t raining down on our heads.”
I need a drink.
“Tell you what,” I say, getting up and heading to the kitchen. “I know what’ll lighten the mood. Wait here.”
“Like I can go anywhere else. You’ve got a gate!” she calls after me.
Right. Because apparently she can’t let me forget for one second that I’m richer than her and I care about my personal security. Like she’s still grinding that axe of hers against my skull.
She peers over the back of the sofa as I head downstairs into the wine cellar and fish out a twenty-year-old bottle of champagne. The good stuff.
It’s been in the cellar for who knows how long without anyone to drink it with. There’s been good reason to celebrate over the past few years, but Patton likes his exotic cocktails, and Archer prefers his whiskey and beer.
Her eyes widen as I return, put the bottle on the island, and find two glasses.
“To partnership and clearing the air,” I say dryly, popping the cork and pouring us each a glass.
“God, what it must be like to live like you,” she muses, accepting her glass as I sit beside her again. “Drinking your fancy champagne and switching on the fire at the flick of a button.”
“If you’re going to rain on our parade, Miss Winkley, you can leave sober.”
This time, her smile is a little wider after she takes a sip. “Holy hell, that’s—wow. Nose tickling. You must drink this stuff like water, huh?”
“Actually,” I say, irritated by her presumption and the amusement she clearly gets from it, “I’m a social drinker. I like keeping my liver intact.”
“Hmmm. No sweets, no alcohol. No vices, then?” she tuts, her gaze darting up to my face and away again. “Something something makes Dexter a dull—”
“You’re unbearable, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.” She holds up her glass. “But I’m sorry, we were celebrating, right? To misery and company.”
I tip my glass against hers. “To the biggest deal of my life.”
“Can’t argue with that.” She frowns and takes a sip. The crease between her eyes deepens and a shadow passes over her eyes, almost too fast to notice. “You know, come to think of it, we should also toast to the only engagement I’ll ever have.”
I look at her intently, wondering if it’s another joke.
