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His lip curls. “And you think you are?”
“It’s a partnership,” I say. “Ever heard of it?”
“No,” Dean says seriously. “I’ve always found that there has to be a leader. One person at the top. It’s usually best if that person is me.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, all the Heirs feel that way.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “There’s wanting to be the man. And then there’s actually being the fuckin’ man.”
“I prefer to be the fuckin’ woman.”
Dean laughs. It’s not a mocking laugh. Actually, it’s pretty genuine. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I would, too. If I looked like you.”
He’s already turned back to the stack of books in front of him, but I’m still examining that particular comment in my brain.
Was that a compliment?
Impossible to say, because Dean goes right back to being cold, stiff, and business-like as we work our way through the reading materials for the next hour, muddling through comparisons of banking systems, taking plenty of notes by hand.
Contrary to what he said, Dean actually does cooperate pretty well once we’re in the swing of it. He’s clever, detail-oriented, and organized. We only argue once over whether we should weigh the historical benefits of each banking system or focus on their current strengths and weaknesses.
By dinner time, the frosty tension between us has melted enough that Dean says, “Can I ask you something?”
I’m wary as I give him a slight nod. “Go ahead.”
“Why do you paint your face like that?”
It’s a question I hate, and it immediately makes me lose whatever charitable feelings I was developing over our successful cooperation.
I scowl at him. “Because I like it.”
“What does it mean, though?”
He’s looking at me, genuinely curious. Not trying to give me shit or preparing to make some dumb fucking joke about it.
“You want the real answer?”
“Yes,” Dean says. “Or I wouldn’t ask.”
“Clothes, hair, makeup . . . it’s all part of your personal brand. What represents you. How you want other people to perceive you.”
“So you want to be perceived as . . . dark and scary?” Dean says.
“No. It’s more about how Idon’twant to be perceived. I don’t want people to see me as someone who seeks approval or belonging. I don’t want to be a part of trends or styles. And I don’t want to look like I’m trying to attract anyone.”
“You don’t want to attract anyone?” Dean says, disbelieving.
“No. I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no one I want to attract. I don’t like dating.”
Dean gives me an inscrutable look. I expect him to ask if Leo and I are dating. Or maybe to ask if I like hooking up. That’s usually the next line of questioning—“If you don’t want to date, do you at least want to fuck?”
