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“You’ve been here before? And don’t look at me like that.”
“No. I can read, though. It’s a skill, what can I say? One of the many I possess.” Ryder pauses. “And what way?”
“Like you…” I trail off. I don’t want to say like your latest conquest. That’s laughable and I don’t want Ryder Sinclair to laugh at me in that way. “Like you’re making the look part of the act.”
He slides his fingers over mine. “Part of the act? That this is a date?”
“Yes.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a date, fake or otherwise, if I didn’t look at you like you fascinate me.” He lowers his voice to thick, melted chocolate. The darkest kind. “Which you do.”
I swallow. God, he’s a dangerous man.
The waitress chooses that moment to arrive and ask what we’d like to drink. Ryder looks at me with a raised brow and I nod. “Two violet martinis, please.”
And he hands her a black AmEx.
“I think we should strategize the next—”
“Perry.” He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb against my flesh, making me shiver and my thoughts scatter. “No more shop, okay?”
“Sinclair.” I know I should pull my hand away, I know he’s flirting on automatic, but it feels so good, I figure what’s the harm in a few seconds more. “This is your dime, you know.”
“It’s a lot of my dimes. Do you want to be paid in dimes? We can do it, but it’ll probably make life worth it. How about unmarked bills?”
“Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Great sex, a beautiful woman who’s fantastic company, making money, and my work. Did I mention sex?”
I pull my hand back to my side of the table just as the waitress reappears and her eyes widen at my move. I don’t blame her. I must seem like a lunatic to snatch my hand away from such a beautiful man. She places the small black leather folder with the bill in it next to Ryder’s hand and her fingers accidentally on purpose touch him.
He doesn’t even notice, his gaze still on me, as he says thanks.
When she’s gone, he adds, “I mean, you’re the beautiful woman.”
“I’m not beautiful.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You don’t like compliments. You don’t like flirting. You don’t like being the center of attention. What is it you like, Elliot?”
“I’m not the center of attention. I don’t command it the way you do or half the people in here do.”
“You did when you walked in to the event dressed like that.”
I wrinkle my nose at him and glance away for a second. “Costume and bells and whistles.”
“Or,” he says, picking up his drink and taking a sip, “you let yourself shine a moment. Two sides to everything, Elliot.”
He’s flirting again, but I shift the conversation to the night we just had, and soon we’re laughing over some of the silly conversations, some of the outfits of the mega rich who don’t give a damn. Not long after, he starts telling me some of the things he did at college.
“You did not.” I stare at him. I believe him, but I’m trying to imagine Ryder with pink hair.
He whips out his phone and drags up a photo and shows me.
I can’t help it. I start laughing. He looks adorable, ridiculous, and young.
“That’s so rude, Perry,” he says. “It was for a good cause.”
“No. You just told me you dyed your hair bright pink to win a bottle of Wild Turkey.”
