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Foster scoops out meat from the last shell, dipping it into the butter before he places it in his mouth with an appreciative sigh. “These are delicious.”
“If I want snails, I’ll get them from Central Park.”
“Not even comparable. We’re here for two more days. I want to take you out to dinner.”
“Why two more days? You took care of your deal.”
“I have more business to conduct. I don’t just come here for one thing.”
“Ever the capitalist.”
“And thanks to you, I get to keep my entire company.”
I wipe my mouth and lean back in my chair. “Am I a bother to you?”
Foster frowns and puts his fork on his plate. “Absolutely not. I like having someone to share my home with.”
“But not your life,” I argue.
“That’s not true. I share my life with you. I’ve never shared more with a woman before you.”
“Except, Erika.”
“Erika knew me when I was young and stupid, full of myself. I made mistakes, but I learned from them. Unfortunately, with her, I didn’t learn fast enough. What would you like me to share?”
“When Zane asked for money, why did you turn him down?”
“I was afraid of the investment. His business was not on stable footing. I didn’t simply say no.”
“He said you did.”
“Once he reached out to me, I investigated his financials. I’m sorry he dislikes me.”
“He doesn’t dislike you. He’s unsure of you.”
“I’m sure his opinion will change once we separate,” he says, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “I’ll be the horrible cad who broke his sister’s heart.”
“There’s nothing to break. We aren’t in love.”
“Remember, the non-disclosure you signed forbids you from revealing the true nature of our relationship.”
I throw my napkin on the table and rise from my chair. “I’m well aware. I won’t soil your reputation by making our agreement public.”
“I hope not.”
I stride to the bedroom, anger bubbling in my belly like a hot cauldron. Like a mantra, I remind myself I only have to bear Foster for twelve more months. I spent the day in the bedroom, still groggy from my long nap and jetlag.
When dinner time comes, I don’t feel like eating. Foster pokes his head in the door as the lights of Paris begin to flicker on.
“Would you like dinner?”
“I’m not interested,” I dismiss.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m tired. I might get under the covers and go to bed early.”
“Suit yourself.”
