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With her hips, she bucks, trying to escape. “Fuck you. It’sbecauseyou’re a Hanson that I want nothing to do with you. Actually, screw that. It’s because you’re an asshole.”
I press into her, our hips aligning as I hold her in place. “How am I the asshole here?”
“Let me go,” she demands, turning away from me and tugging her arms, unsuccessfully trying to free her wrists.
I grab her chin and force her to look at me. “Why is it worse that I’m a Hanson? What do you have against my family?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing. I just don’t like rich dickheads who think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“I don’t care about other women,” I admit, my attention once again drifting to her lips, then roaming distractedly to her jawline, her neck. With the back of my finger, I trace that exact line, relishing the way she shudders beneath my touch. “Why are you fighting this?”
She stares at me defiantly, trying like hell to pretend that I don’t affect her. I let go of her wrists and back away. “Fine, if that’s how you want it, I’ll leave you alone.”
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face before she manages to school her features again. And that’s all I need.
“I thought we were having lunch,” she says quietly.
“You think you can bear to sit across from a dickhead for that long?”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a soft laugh, looking past me as she replies, “I can handle it.”
Damn.
What I hate more than her assumptions about me is that she automatically assumes everyone’s an asshole. What does that say about the people she’s been surrounded by her entire life? She clearly hates people with money, she spends far too much time with Mia, who is one of the most toxic people I know, and she’s always poised for a fight. She’s a living, breathing conundrum. And she wears the best poker face around. I doubt anyone but me even sees her insecurities because she’s so adept at masking them with snark and sass. If she’d take a step back, open her eyes, and seeme, I’d like to think she’d recognize that I’m worth her time. Because for some unknown reason, I want to know everything about her.
Based on our interactions so far, she lives in thetalk is cheapcamp, so I’ll have to use my actions to show her the real me instead. She’s been tasked with handling the ball. My family is paying for it. Looks like I’ll need to be extra involved this year. I hold out my hand to her. “Come on, let’s get lunch then.”
15
SLIDE BY THE GOO GOO DOLLS
CAT
“Champagne?” Jay asks as the waitress drops a bottle of Dom Pérignon on the table.
He didn’t even order it. Am I supposed to be impressed? I imagine many women would be. I grew up around this opulence though, and I would have given just about anything for a glass of iced tea on the porch while sitting with my mother. I’d take one afternoon of that over a lifetime of these lunches any day.
I shrug. “Sure.”
The waitress fills my glass and gives Jay a longing look as he ignores her to clink glasses with me. I get minor satisfaction over his attention, and I’m not too proud to admit that.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, clearly not ready to let her shot with Jonathan Hanson go.
He finally turns to her. “Ask Fred for the works,” he says. Then he turns to me with a grin. “You’re going to love this.”
Doubtful. He still doesn’t get me. He name-dropped the chef like it would impress me. Probably like he thinks his last name does. But if I wanted to live that life, I’d be living as a James.
I take a sip of my champagne, and even I have to admit that it’s nice to be sitting in the Beacon Hotel on a Friday afternoon while sipping a glass of Dom. And Cynthia seemed impressed with me this morning. All in all, it hasn’t been a terrible day. I take a deep breath and decide to give Jay a break. “So what do you actually do during the day, Jonathan Hanson?”
He rolls his eyes. “Please don’t call me that.”
I tilt my head in question. “Don’t like the last name?”
He sighs. “It comes with a lot of expectations.” Then he holds up his hands. “I know, now you’re going to say ‘oh, poor little rich boy is going to complain about being rich,’ but honestly, it’s something you can only understand once you’ve lived this life. I’m fortunate. I know that. But sometimes…”
“It’d be nice to be unrecognizable. To sit and have an iced tea with your mother instead of having to constantly perform.”
His eyes shoot up to mine, and he furrows his brow. “Well, yeah…” He pauses. “But I don’t have a mother so…”
