“No Chelsea. I’m going to Torrio’s, where more business transactions happen than hook-ups. Where our usual waiter, Lincoln, will serve me and Mr. Baldwin. We’ll negotiate an agreement I find reasonable and then I will leave. Alone.”
Chelsea stands, dropping the muffin wrapper into my trashcan.
“Sure. Okay. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” She waves her hand in the air. “Catch you on the flip side when you’re all hot and bothered and sexually unfulfilled wishing your dildo was the real thing.”
I sit at my desk with my mouth ajar.
“It’s the hormones. They make you crazy.” Victoria sticks up for her friend.
I’m not upset though. What she just did is the reason I hired her. She calls people out on their bullshit and right now I know I’m full of shit. Tonight I’m going to wear a pants suit just to protect myself. I’ll never admit that what she just said is my worst fear and could be my fate come dawn.
“Let me know when you receive the information on the venue.”
“Sure thing.” Victoria steps out of the office glancing down the hall, probably to make sure Chelsea is at her desk and not ready to mouth back to me with some more unwelcome truths.
Chapter Six
“Thank you, Sam.”
I step into the speakeasy whose membership has been in my family for generations. If only they didn’t let assholes like Roarke in here, it’d be the perfect, serene wind down place for me to come after the office.
“My pleasure, Ms. Crowley.”
I nod and head into the bar filled with seventy percent males. I’d love it if they attracted more professional women here. It’s ridiculous how much of a boy’s club it still is.
My gaze sweeps over the room, looking for the king of the good ol’ boys, and I find him immediately. He can’t be missed. While other men have loosened their ties and abandoned their jackets, Roarke looks like he just started his day in a three-piece suit that fits to perfection, not a piece of his salt and pepper hair out of place. Other men’s postures are relaxed in the booths or chairs with their arms loose and legs open, laughing and smiling with the others, but Roarke sits in the booth facing the door with a straight back and his eyes on me.
I don’t get a wave, but his gaze locks with mine. No condescending smile plays on his lips, but I don’t get a welcoming smile either. I feel like I was transported back into that courtroom when he’d give me a fleeting look before whispering to Todd.
This has to be the lowest thing I’ve ever done. Negotiating myself in exchange for a venue. What the hell is wrong with me?
I step down the two stairs and break the distance between us. Smiling at a few familiar faces, I delay my impending doom.
He slides out of the booth, standing at the edge of the table, waiting to greet me. Such a noble prince. Not.
“Nice to see you, Ms. Crowley.”
“I can’t say the same, Mr. Baldwin.” I slide down into my usual booth with the girls, except I’m on Chelsea’s side this time.
Thankfully, Lincoln is as attentive as he always is. “Vesper?” he asks, putting a napkin down in front of me.
“Not tonight. How about scotch on the rocks.”
He nods and heads back to the bar.
“Scotch?” Roarke questions, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.
“Yes. I know you probably think I’m a margarita or a daiquiri girl. Sorry to disappoint you.”
He chuckles lightly to himself, bringing the glass to his lips. “You never disappoint.”
I roll my eyes.
“Let’s just cut the bullshit, shall we?” I place my entwined hands on the table.
He sets his drink down, trying like a champ to hold back his smile.
“Bullshit?” he asks.
My anxiety ticks up a level with his one-word questions to everything I say. Is this the lawyer in him?
“Yes, you’re using the leverage of a venue to reap something from me. I’m not for sale, Mr. Baldwin. I’m here because the venue will work and if you can deliver like you say you can, I’m more than willing to negotiate terms.” I lean forward so he won’t miss a word of the next part. “But let me be clear, I will not be naked and strapped to your bedpost.”
Lincoln’s hand rattles as he sets my drink down, resulting in it tipping and spilling all over the table.
“I’m so sorry.” Lincoln grabs the napkin, but the three by three square isn’t enough to sop up the mess so he races off to the bar.
“Look what you’ve done. You got Lincoln all excited about the possibilities.” Roarke takes his own napkin and stops the rush of liquid before it soaks my lap.
Lincoln runs back with a rag. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Crowley. That’s never happened to me before.”
“It’s okay, Lincoln,” I say.
“I’ll go get you another drink.”
“Thanks for saving my pants,” I begrudgingly say to the man across from me.
“I’d hate to give you an excuse to cut this meeting short.”
Before I can respond, Lincoln delivers a fresh drink from the bar. “Here you are, Ms. Crowley. Again, I’m sorry.”
He’s newer and efficient, although I’m sure they hired him as eye candy for the few women who belong. Too young for me, but the tattoos that peek out of his white linen shirt intrigue me nonetheless.
“Hannah, please and it’s fine.” I smile up at him.
Roarke’s eyes widen. “He can call you Hannah?”
“Yes.” I nod.
Lincoln glances to Roarke. “Another, sir?”
Roarke shakes his head in a dismissive gesture and Lincoln heads to the next table.
“Back to what you were saying about bedposts and ties… Let’s get one thing straight. I would never ask that of you because when I finally have you, Ms. Crowley…” He says my name with maple syrup coated sarcasm. “I won’t need to tie you down to keep you there. You’ll want it.”
I roll my eyes, letting the scotch burn my throat as I take a healthy sip of my drink.
“You’re pretty presumptuous. And if you want me as you say, you went about winning me over the wrong way. I’m not some young girl who’s going to fall on my knees for you.”
“Dare I say there’ll come a time when you will drop to your knees in front of me.” When I spear him with a disgusted look, he chuckles. “Why do you think you intrigue me?”
“You know everything about me. You know how much money sits in my bank accounts. How many properties I have. I’m simply an opportunity to you Mr. Baldwin. If you want me, it’s strictly because of what I can offer you financially and socially.”
He rests his weight on his arms, leaning over the table toward me. The scent of his expensive cologne permeates my senses and I have to will myself not to show him any weakness by leaning back in my seat.
“There you go again, making assumptions.” His finger slides out and runs over the top of my hand. “I’m not Todd. I don’t want a cent from you. When I told you it was you I wanted, that was it. Nothing else. But I would never force that on you either. The choice is yours.”
I push back the burning arousal from his confession. If he’s telling the truth, it sets him apart. No one has ever just wanted me. Including a lot of my friends. There was always some club or designer they wanted me to pull strings for. I have no doubt Roarke is playing me. You’re not raised with the Crowley last name and end up just skipping along the yellow brick road not thinking your next enemy couldn’t be someone you call a friend.