“We’ll take two of the surf and turfs with extra lobster, please. Lots of extra lobster,” I said to the waiter, completely ignoring Nora’s request for crab linguine. “Sorry, I just think it’s better for the man to order,” I added, turning back to her once the waiter finished taking our order.
She stared at me, eyes slightly widening with surprise. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged casually. “As the more powerful, dominant gender, decisions should be left to us. You know what I mean?”
She frowned. “No, I really don’t.”
“I’m just saying, women are usually small and weak and pathetically emotional. It’s all those period hormones, right?”
Nora narrowed her eyes. “Men are filled with massive amounts of testosterone—which is a hormone, by the way—and that governs their emotional responses a lot. Most violence in the world is committed by men. Angry men. So if anything, I’d say men are the more emotional, hormonal ones who can’t be trusted to make decisions without rashly punching someone in the face.”
I leaned closer with a smirk. “Sounds like you’re already getting a bit emotional over this topic,” I said. “Proving my point for me. Just face it; women aren’t as good at staying neutral and making decisions. Unless it’s a decision about which shoes to wear to which social event.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Agree to disagree,” I said, patting down my pocket. “Shit, I just realized. I forgot my wallet. You can pay for us, right?”
She raised her eyebrows, then nodded slowly. “Sure. I guess it’s the twenty-first century, after all,” she said. “Despite women like me being so emotionally inferior and terrible at decision-making, we actually have money.”
I gave her a beatific smile, ignoring her sarcastic jab at my earlier sexist comment. “Great.”
“Would’ve been nice if you hadn’t ordered two of the most expensive things on the menu with extras, though,” she muttered under her breath.
I ignored her and summoned a waiter to bring us the most expensive wines on the menu, too. Nora was visibly annoyed at me already, as evidenced by her flashing eyes, but to her credit, she was mostly keeping her cool.
“Hold on,” she said after a moment. “If you didn’t bring your wallet, who paid for those drinks you got us back at the bar before we left?”
I waved a hand. “No one. I’m used to getting free shit, y’know? I just walk in and people hand stuff to me. That’s a perk of being really fucking famous.”
She looked horrified at my flippant attitude about not paying for stuff, and I grinned. Truthfully, I’d given the bartender his payment along with a huge tip when Nora quickly ducked down to fix a strap on one of her shoes earlier, but I didn’t want her to know that. I wanted her to think I was the asshole of the century, and giving big tips to bartenders wasn’t conducive to that at all.
“I…um…I suppose that makes sense,” Nora finally replied, clearly forcing a smile. “I guess there’s a lot of perks to being famous.”
“Yeah. Like the women. Fuck, there’s so many. It’s like a pussy buffet,” I said.
“How lovely,” she replied, voice turning frosty.
She quickly gulped down her wine in one big mouthful. Good. I was already pissing her off enough to make her start pounding the booze just to deal with me. She was persistent, though; I’d give her that. After all, she was still here with me, wasn’t she?
“Yeah, you should see this chick who guest-starred on my show a few weeks ago. Biggest tits I’ve ever seen, hot as fuck. Only fifteen. But you know what they say…if there’s grass on the field, play ball.”
Another horrified expression flitted across Nora’s face, and she swallowed hard. “That’s disgusting. She’s fifteen!”
“Aw, come on. It was a joke,” I said with a wink. “But not really. She was hot.”
“Jesus Christ,” I heard her mutter under her breath.
“So what do you do, anyway?” I asked, pretending not to notice how awfully things were going already.
“I’m a consultant for Delos. Basically, we help movie studios ensure that everything is done accurately in the scripts and filming. Like fact-checking, or making sure a particular scientific thing is even remotely feasible. Stuff like that. My specialty is sports, although I do everything else too.”
I yawned loudly. “That’s nice. It’s really cute that you’ve got yourself a little job to occupy yourself with until you get married.”
Nora’s mouth was practically hanging open by now. “Are you serious?”
I held up my hands, palms facing her. “Oops, sorry, I forgot what a feminist you are.”
She looked like she was about to say something, but then shook her head and didn’t bother. She was quite resilient, and I was surprised she hadn’t threatened to leave yet, although to be fair, I hadn’t brought out the big guns just yet. I still had a lot more to give.
I kept the conversation going for another fifteen minutes or so, easing up on her and actually saying some normal, nice stuff for once, because I couldn’t have her storming out of here just yet. No way; I needed her to stay for the entire date.
Just as she looked like she was finally relaxing, I started being a dick again.
“So where do you live?” I asked. “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a mansion in Beverly Hills. Really nice area, as you can imagine. Was pretty cheap; only cost me a few mil. But it’s still probably more than what you’re used to as a normal person, right?”
She glared at me. “I live in Brentwood. I guess it’s pretty nice too.”
“Oh, whereabouts in Brentwood?” I asked. “I know tons of people who live there.”
She hesitated, and I could tell she didn’t want to tell me exactly where she lived, but she also didn’t want to seem rude, despite how rude I was being myself. “In Ellesmere Circle,” she said. “It’s a gated neighborhood. Very big.”
She added that last part as a clear ‘don’t bother looking for my house, there’s at least fifty or so in that area, so you won’t be able to find me,’ statement, but I smiled to myself, having already gotten what I needed. On our short walk from the bar to this restaurant earlier, she’d mentioned what sort of car she drove and what color it was (because I asked about it in a sneaky way) so all I had to do to get the dog back later was get into the estate and cruise around for a while until I found her place. I actually knew Ellesmere Circle quite well, and it was a relatively upscale estate in the neighborhood. As such, there weren’t many people living there who drove old Toyotas, so it wouldn’t be hard to find her house. I’d also be able to bypass the security gate to the neighborhood, because all I had to do was flash a grin at the guard and tell him who I was.
Easy.
The dog would be back in James’ arms by tomorrow at the latest.
“What about your hobbies?” I asked, changing the subject so as to not make it too obvious that I was trying to scout her address for nefarious purposes.
“I love watching sports,” she said. “And also the usual pastimes, I suppose. Movies, music, cooking.”
“Cool. Nice and basic,” I said, managing to make the word ‘basic’ sound as snide as possible.
“What about you?” she asked, although I could tell that she didn’t really care at this point.
“Serial killers,” I said, setting my knife down on the table with a loud clatter which nearly made her jump in fright. “I’m really into researching them. This one guy used to skin women and make lampshades and other stuff out of them. Even made a bowl out of a skull.”
Our meals had long since arrived by this point, and Nora was mid-bite with a chunk of lobster as I started raving on about skull bowls and skinned women. She looked like she was about to vomit, and she quickly set the food down and took a big gulp of sparkling water.
“That’s um…an interesting hobby,” she managed to choke out after finishing the entire glass of water
.
“Yeah, it is. You know, this other guy started raping and killing women because his girlfriend wouldn’t do anal. Isn’t that fucking awful?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that is awful. What a terrible reason to start killing people. Not that other reasons are any better.”
I plastered on a confused expression. “Huh? No, I meant it’s awful that the girlfriend wouldn’t do anal. I mean, no wonder he went on a killing spree.”
Nora almost choked on the mouthful of food she’d just spooned into her mouth, and she glared at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
“Mostly?” she said, eyes blazing hotter. Christ, she was sexy. Such a shame.
“Well, I mean, you’re right, it’s awful that he was killing people. But seriously, more women need to try anal. I won’t date a girl for more than a week if I know she won’t at least give me a go at the backdoor.”
“Good to know,” she said, gripping her refilled wine glass so tightly that I worried it might shatter in her hand.
“Don’t worry, though,” I said with a cocky wink. “You look like you’d love it. And this meal is gonna cost you nearly five hundred bucks, which I imagine feels about the same as being fucked in the ass for someone on a salary like yours.”
“Okay, that’s it,” she said, loudly pushing her knife and fork into the center of her plate. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry about taking me anywhere, I’ll catch an Uber home.”
I pretended to look confused. “Why? I thought things were going so well.”
“You did?” she said, voice dripping with scorn.
I nodded and leaned forward. “Yeah. I thought you might want me to take you home and continue our date in more…private circumstances. If you catch my drift.”
She stared at me long and hard for an entire minute, and I fully expected her to slap me or tell me to fuck off. Instead, she gave me a brisk nod.
“Okay. Sure,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Wait…what?” I replied, my eyebrows shooting up. What the hell? Had she really just agreed to take me home? Honestly, was this woman crazy? Surely I’d misheard or misunderstood her.
“You heard me,” she said, picking up her purse and arching a brow at me. “My house. Let’s go. Now.”
Chapter Five
Nora
Jacob Archer was by far the biggest asshole I’d ever met in my entire life…and I was going to sleep with him.
Don’t judge me too quickly. I had my reasons. Two, actually.
Firstly, I had a feeling his massively sexist, arrogant, psychopathic attitude was an act. He was an actor after all, so perhaps he was weeding out weak women who couldn’t handle the stress of being with a famous man by acting completely insane to see how much they’d take before snapping. It was a bullshit way to test someone, that was for sure, but I was still quite certain that it was a test nevertheless. His last comment about me being fucked in the ass really solidified that theory for me. Surely even the world’s biggest prick wouldn’t actually speak to someone like that unless they were actively trying to piss them off.
And my god, had he tried…
He’d spent our entire date raving like a lunatic about how rich he was, how hot he was, how many women wanted him, and how into serial killers he was, among other things. There was no way this was his real personality. It just wasn’t possible for one human being to actually be that much of a dick in real life. He was even making me pay for dinner despite being totally loaded, which was surely another test for weeding out all the gold-diggers. Or maybe I was just deluded. I wasn’t sure at this stage, because I was a little tipsy, which brought me to my next point—the second reason I was taking him home.
This one was…erm…slightly more personal. I initially stayed on the date even when it started to become terrible because all I’d been able to hear in my head was Angie’s voice saying, ‘see the date through till the very end or you won’t get that contract,’ so I gritted my teeth and remained seated, trying not to stab Jacob with my fork as he droned on about skull bowls and sexy teenagers.
But as I got progressively merrier on all the wine I was drinking to keep myself from leaping across the table, dragging him into the kitchen and drowning him in a vat of béchamel sauce, I found myself actually wanting to take him home. It didn’t matter what he said or whether or not it enraged me; he got my engine going either way. He was just that attractive. All I wanted to do was drag him into my bed, jump on him and show him once and for all which gender was the truly dominant one.
Yeah, I wanted a bit of angry hate sex. Who didn’t? And yeah, maybe I was setting women back twenty years by wanting to sleep with the asshole bad boy based purely on his looks rather than searching for a quiet nice guy…so sue me.
We were all allowed a slipup once in a while.
I suppose there was also the fact that he was a famous actor. Not many women could say: my ex was an absolute bastard, so I dumped him and had hot, sweaty, angry rebound sex with a gorgeous Hollywood star. But after tonight, I could say exactly that. I hadn’t intended to go further than a kiss on the cheek with whoever my rebound date turned out to be, but hell, a romp with a man as sexy as Jacob Archer could be just what I needed to get out of this funk.
Even if he was a massive ass.
He stared at me from across the table with wide eyes as I stood and gathered my things. “Are you serious?” he said. “You actually want me to come home with you?”
His shock nearly made me laugh, but I kept my composure. “Yeah. You coming or what? I don’t have all night.”
He couldn’t get his things fast enough, including his wallet, which had miraculously appeared in his hand. “You don’t have to pay,” he said hurriedly. “Sorry, I er…I forgot it was in my back pocket.”
I suppressed a smile. A-ha! The ‘making me pay’ thing had almost definitely been a test to weed out gold-diggers all along, just as I suspected earlier. Apparently I passed.
“I suppose with a salary like yours, a five hundred dollar dinner feels like a mere pinkie finger in the ass,” I replied, echoing his earlier sentiments of what it might feel like for someone like me to pay for an expensive dinner.
Once again, Jacob was speechless, and he simply shook his head as if trying to wake himself from a dream before striding over to the hostess to pay the bill. Ha! Who had the upper hand now, Archer?
We walked in silence to his car, which was parked back at Raffles, and I gave him my address to put in his GPS. His car was a swanky-looking black thing—I couldn’t identify the exact make or model, I wasn’t really a ‘car person’—and he steered it carefully through the traffic and then the winding roads which led to the entrance of my neighborhood.
The usual security guard—a tall redheaded man named Clint—was there, and he squinted at the car and raised his hand to inspect us, not realizing it was me.
“Hey, Clint,” I called out as Jacob rolled down his window.
“Oh, hi, Nora. Didn’t realize it was you,” he said. His smile was replaced with an expression of shock as he saw who I was with. “Oh, wow, Mr. Archer. My wife loves your show. Please, go ahead.”
The gate swung open, and Jacob stepped on the gas, pulling up in my driveway just three minutes later.
“So this is your place,” he said, stepping out and appraising my little one-story villa with an unreadable expression. He was probably used to much bigger houses than this, but that was too bad. We were on my turf now, playing by my rules, and he could damn well deal with it.
“Come inside,” I said, unlocking the front door.
Oscar barked like mad as he raced into the hall to greet me, and I kneeled down to pet him. “Hello, gorgeous boy. Miss me?”
He sat back on his haunches and cast a suspicious look at Jacob, and I smiled. “It’s okay, boy. This is Jacob. He’s um…a friend.”
Oscar barked again, and I laughed. “All right, yes, you can go out in the backyard for a while. You probably need to pee
, after all. But no jumping over the fence again!”
I stepped over to the side door and slid it open, and Oscar bounded out, panting with joy.
“Cute dog,” Jacob said, his voice strangely frosty. “Where’d you get him?”
I opened my mouth to tell him, and then I pressed my lips shut again. There was no point opening the ex-files and spilling my guts about James and all the awful shit he’d done. The whole point of tonight was to forget that.
“Just, uh…a local pet shelter,” I finally replied.
Jacob arched a brow, and I got the impression he somehow knew I was lying, although I had no idea how.
“Sit down,” I said, gesturing to the dove-grey sofa in my lounge room. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
I smiled and stepped into my room, and as soon as I closed the door, I made a mad dash to my bathroom to make sure I was sex-ready. Yep, no sneak attack period raising its ugly head. I was good to go.
I walked back into my bedroom and rummaged through my drawers, looking for my sexiest lingerie. Hmm…the black and cream French set would do. The silky fabric covered enough of my body to be coy, but little cutouts with black ribbon laced through them exposed enough to tease and titillate at the same time.
Perfect.
I slipped into it, spritzed a bit of perfume on myself, and then I opened the door and sashayed out. “Jacob,” I said. “I’m…”
I stopped dead in my tracks, the words drying up on my lips.
The room was empty.
Chapter Six
Jacob
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I was doing the wrong thing, as usual, and I couldn’t stop myself. I wasn’t supposed to come back here and sleep with Nora, let alone pay for our dinner and make her think I liked her at all, but the truth was… I did like her. Not only was she hot as fuck, she was obviously a strong-minded woman who was dedicated to her job and independent enough to handle life on her own without taking shit from anyone, especially annoying men like me.
Daddy's Toy-Box (A Daddy's Best Friend Romance) Page 43