Our plates are cleared away, and then he decides to make another decision for me by ordering dessert.
"You'll have to enlighten me on the rules of all of this," I say, once the waiter is no longer within earshot. "This whole 'bending to your will'-thing, does it translate to me acting like a silenced housewife from the 1950s who has no opinion or can’t make choices of her own?"
He shakes his head and laughs.
"You're overanalyzing this, my little Button," he replies. "Why do you always assume the worst? Why so suspicious, when all I did was help you make a choice you were clearly having trouble with?"
"I-"
"You always sit on watch, waiting for someone who's trying to get you. Always trying to be one step ahead of the bad guys," he interrupts. "Is that why you're always so feisty when you're around me?"
I stare at him, dumbfounded and unsure how to respond. I don't even know where this is coming from. All I do know is that I've heard these words before. Brandon said something very similar about me shortly before I ended things with him. And there was another guy a few years back, a guy I had dated for almost an entire year, the longest relationship I ever had, who also said something along those lines. He called me "feisty" and constantly "on edge,” and “ready to burst at any moment.”
I shift awkwardly in my seat, unsure how to feel or what to think. I'm certain this is different, that Jared King is different. None of the other boys were anything like him. Yet they all came to the same conclusion about me.
And Jared doesn't even know me. We've only been living together for a couple of days.
"Hit too close to home there, didn't I?"
His voice rips into my inner monologue, forcing my mind back to the present.
"Maybe," I admit. "I'm sorry. I just don't like when you make dec-"
"I know you're uncomfortable with it," he interrupts me again. "But sometimes you'll just have to trust me."
"I also don't like being interrupted!"
He chuckles, and I think this is the first time that I notice the cute little dimple that appears on his left cheek every time he smiles like that.
"Granted. No one likes that," he says. "I guess you could call this my greatest weakness."
"Interrupting people?"
"Impatience."
He looks at me, a serious expression on his face that seems to come more naturally to him than smiling.
"I'm an impatient man," he clarifies. "I want a lot, and I want it now. Of course, in most cases, that's not possible. Controlling that trait is one of the biggest challenges for me."
He catches my gaze, curious to hear my reply.
"Challenge, huh?" I say. "You're really into that, aren't you? Challenges?"
He nods. "I guess you could say that. Everyone needs goals in life, the more you have, the more you live."
"Is that why you want to be elected to Congress?" I ask. "Because you need a new challenge?"
His nod is accompanied by a sigh this time.
"There will be plenty of time for us to talk about the campaign," he says. "Right now, I want you for something else."
This is the second time that he evades a question regarding his political aspirations. I don't understand why he's so reluctant to talk about it, given that it’s the main reason for my being here.
Or so I thought.
"I'll need to know more about it eventually," I tell him. "I mean, it's kind of my job to know, isn't it?"
He throws me a dark look, wrinkling his brows and licking his lips as he observes me. Something about his expression stirs my insides. It's so damn sexy to be looked at like this by a man like him. I will never understand how I, of all people, deserve his attention.
"Right now, you have a different job, Button," he whispers. "All you have to do for me today is to be a good girl. A good girl who will finish her dessert, thank me for the lovely dinner, and then go home with me to take her punishment, like a good little slut."
My heart jumps at the word, and I'm filled with a variety of emotions, ranging from feeling outraged to feeling flattered and excited. I wish I could say that outrage takes the lead, but it clearly doesn't.
"Punishment?" I ask in a whisper. "For what?"
The smile that appears on his face is laced with mischief. "Oh, so many things. I don't even know where to start."
"Name one thing."
He raises his eyebrows as a warning.
"I'm the one giving the commands here, don't forget that," he warns me. "But if you must know, it’s for rolling your eyes at me, for correcting me in front of my employees, for raising your voice at me… just to name a few things."
I bite my lower lip. "I didn't like that last punishment."
"You weren't supposed to like it."
"Why are you not punishing me for the fire?"
"Because that was an accident and had nothing to do with what is going on between us."
Right then the waiter interrupts our conversation when he delivers our dessert, a tiny portion of crème brûlée with raspberries on the side. Again, it looks so beautiful and fancy that I debate touching it. Of course, Jared has no such inhibitions. He breaks through the hard sugar coating without hesitating. I wonder if I could ever become this indifferent to beautiful things, if I just live this lavish lifestyle long enough. Somehow, I doubt I would.
"I'm still curious," he says, noticing me watching him. "What was occupying you so much that it made you forget about the stove and not notice the fire?"
"I told you before," I reply. "I was writing."
"Yes, but what were you writing?"
Swallowing the first bite of what is undoubtedly the best crème brûlée I've ever had, I look up, and am met with his dark gaze.
"It's... nothing," I say.
"Nothing?"
"It's private."
I evade his eyes, hoping he'll let it go, because I can't tell him. I can't tell him that I was writing about him, about us, about all of this.
He can't know.
Chapter Nineteen
Jared
I take her home the moment I'm informed that the work on my kitchen has been completed. The damage wasn't as bad as expected, and the guys were able to clean it up within a couple of hours. The only thing that's still detectable is a hint of smoke smell.
But I don't care about that right now.
What I care about is her. Little Button, trembling next to me as we step inside the penthouse. She's so responsive to me, even when I'm not actually doing anything to her. A short look, or even a gesture as simple as touching her hand, can be enough to cause her cheeks to blossom in that cute red tone. Blushing suits her, and I don't think she knows it.
The doors of the elevator close behind us, and I watch her flinch in front of me before turning around to look at me with an expectant expression. She doesn't look afraid, like most other girls, but instead she’s filled with anticipation.