“Merina.” He offered an elbow.
“Reese.” She glided her hand over his forearm. He held back a smile at hearing her say his name. At least she hadn’t called him “Crane.”
“I see you charged a dress to my tab as I recommended,” he murmured as they followed the hostess through the restaurant. A few heads turned, and he wasn’t surprised. Merina’s red dress and elegance were enough to draw many a wandering eye.
“This old thing?” She slanted him a gaze.
This time the smile didn’t stay away. He moved his hand to her lower back, a move that shouldn’t have set off his pulse like a missile, but with Merina, he was learning nothing about her was expected.
“Your table, Mr. Crane.” Tucked into the corner, a cozy table for two stood, a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket.
“Thank you.” He pulled out a chair for Merina before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down across from her.
“Champagne,” she said, her eyes going to the bottle. Her skin was as smooth as porcelain but golden in color in the candlelight.
“Tag’s idea, I’m sure,” Reese said.
“Your brother?”
“He arranged this evening.”
“I thought Bobbie arranged this evening.”
“At Tag’s request.” He didn’t want her to have the wrong idea. He didn’t come here to seduce her. He flicked his gaze from the necklace that drew his eyes to her breasts. Probably best he remembered that.
An orderly waiter swept in, poured the champagne, and asked if they’d like the chef’s selection for the evening. “An array of plates designed to unleash passion and bloom romance.”
Jesus.
“Yes, thank you,” Reese told him, keeping his internal reaction hidden. The waiter vanished in a puff of efficiency.
“They don’t linger here, do they?” Merina cleared her throat, showing the first sign of discomfort when she lifted the champagne flute to her lips. If they were going to make people believe they were in love, they’d have to be together without a buffer.
“One of the draws of Armande. The staff understands diners come here to be left alone.” He unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap. “Or rather, left to each other.”
Her eyes moved around the room and Reese found he was unwilling to take his eyes off her face. Her makeup was understated, unlike Rebecca’s dark eyes and bright lipstick, yet Merina was simply stunning.
“I hear this restaurant is known for its aphrodisiacs,” she said. He liked the way her lips pursed when she said aphrodisiacs.
“Chocolate. Watermelon. Oysters. Avocado,” he answered.
“Watermelon is an aphrodisiac?” Her expression was bemused.
“If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“You don’t?” She reached for her champagne again. He thought of her as a force to be reckoned with, yet she had the most delicate hands. Long fingers, blunt nails suggesting she did her own hard work, but feminine as proved by the sheen of pale polish. He found the dichotomy tantalizing. And it hadn’t required a single oyster to feel that attraction right down to his bones.
“No,” he answered. “I don’t.”
“Well, that’s no fun,” she said, sipping from her glass. Then her cheeks colored. “I mean, not that I expect…never mind.”
What did she think? That he’d brought her here to seduce her and take her back to his room and…best not to chase that thought to its inevitable ending. This romance was for show, not indulgence.
The first course came via one of the waitstaff, who set Merina’s plate in front of her, then Reese’s in front of him. “Pan-seared mochi with avocado and a yuzu sesame dressing,” the waiter announced.
“Wow. This is adorable,” Merina said, staring down at the single block of mochi and small square of avocado sitting on the center of a gold-edged white plate.
“Good too.” He lifted a pair of chopsticks from the table and ate it in one bite. After watching him, she did the same. He sipped his champagne and enjoyed the show. He liked her mouth. Liked her appetite. For business and for food.
After she swallowed and dabbed her mouth, he filled her champagne glass, figuring the more of it they drink, the better. This was beyond awkward for two people who didn’t know each other.
“Did you know you have a hashtag?” she asked, licking her lips after another sip.
“Not you too,” he said, his tone dry.
She gave him a flirty smile.
“I know I have a hashtag,” he muttered, refilling his own glass and placing the bottle in the ice bucket.
“Do you know who started it?” she asked.
“I have a good idea.”
“Well, at least it’s flattering.”
“If you find objectification flattering,” he challenged. “Would you like it if someone gave a hashtag to your…” He gestured to her chest.
She tilted her head in thought rather than offense. “Hmm. Fair point. I thought men liked to be told how large their penises are.”
A smile tickled the side of his mouth. Leave it to Merina to use the word penises as casually as she’d used the word horseshit.
“See? You do like it.”
“I’m attached to it.”
Her eyes brightened, and he felt a charge of pride in drawing forth the reaction. Then she laughed, just a small one, and that was even better. The women he normally dated were with him because of who he was, so getting them to laugh—charming them—wasn’t a challenge. But Merina was with him in spite of who he was, so getting that reaction from her was genuinely rewarding.
“You have a lighter side,” she said. “Who knew?”
“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.” The air between them was warm and alive. He could continue this for a while longer.
But then her eyes went to Rebecca and her date being seated at a small table in the middle of the restaurant and her smile faded. A disapproving grunt sounded from her throat.
“That woman,” she said, turning back to him. “Friend of yours?”
“No.” His friends were business colleagues, and even then “friends” wasn’t the right term for who they were. The women he dated, well, the only friendly thing between them was the way they parted after both parties received what they needed.
“But you did sleep with her,” Merina blurted.
“I don’t sleep with my friends.”
“Only strangers?” She rested her glass on the white tablecloth.
That warm attraction between them didn’t fizzle out, but burned hot. She wanted to play hardball? He could do that.
“Who do you sleep with, Merina?”
“Excuse me?” Dark rose colored her cheekbones.
“You brought it up.” He leaned forward. “Just making conversation.”
She shook her head as her eyes darted to the side. “I shouldn’t have, I suppose. I find your love life fascinating.”
“You, the media, and Crane Holdings board of directors.” He sat back, feeling the weight of that admission. How had everything he’d achieved, everything he’d strived for, been watered down to who he had sex with? It was insulting. “I don’t understand. What’s the draw?”
“Are you kidding? A wealthy man who dates a parade of beautiful women, yet none of them can penetrate his cold, unfeeling heart? The public eats that sort of thing up.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Cold. Unfeeling. That’s how she saw him? Not driven, or successful, or willing to do anything to secure his family’s name? In that way, he and Merina weren’t so different.
“I was surprised to learn you had such an aversion to the media since you’ve played into their hands so nicely,” she continued.
“Just because this city is fascinated with the details of my dates doesn’t mean I have to pander.” His voice came out a grumble, every part of him wanting to argue. It was his habit to keep the walls up, so he’d keep them raised.
“They’ll also be fascinated with our lives.”
A sharp glint lit her eyes. “We’re going to be husband and wife. There are things we should talk about. How we met. First date. First time we…”
She let the pause linger in the air and he felt the tension once again settling between them—the good kind.
“…learned each other’s middle names,” she finished on a soft exhalation. The coy expression dashed from her face when he responded curtly.
“Merina, this is our first date. The rest of it we won’t have talked about because the public will assume all we’ve been doing is fucking.”
Her head jerked on her neck and she looked around to see if anyone was listening. As they had the most private table in the room, he wasn’t worried. No one was within earshot.
“I’ve been in the spotlight enough to know that the media assumes I’m sleeping with the women they photograph me with. They’re right half the time.”
“Only half?” Merina asked drily.
“Seventy percent of the time,” he amended with a wry smile. She returned it with one of her own. They ran hot and cold with each other, but no matter the temperature between them, the attraction endured.
Fascinating.
It’d been a while since he’d felt anything. Going through the motions wasn’t a polite way to describe what he’d been doing with the women in his past, but accurate.
“The fewer things we have to make up the better,” he said. “How did we meet? You stormed into my office to demand I keep the Van Heusen as-is. Then you gave me a doorknob.”
Another laugh. She gestured with her glass. “Which I need back, by the way.” She lowered her voice. “Won’t the public suspect something when I end up with the hotel in my name?”
“By then it won’t matter.” He shrugged. “The divorce will garner some attention, but will be buried the next day beneath celebrity hoopla.”
“Or the next woman you take to an opera.” Her words lingered. He let them. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do after Merina, but it made sense that after this hiccup, he’d continue dating much the same as he did before.
“Attention for the Van Heusen isn’t a bad thing,” he said instead of addressing her suggestion. “An article will win you some much needed publicity for the hotel. Mention how charming or quaint or rustic it is. Whatever turns you on about the place.”
“You really do hate it, don’t you?” Her face twisted into something resembling hurt. He didn’t like seeing her hurt. Enraged was one thing; her passion and fight was exhilarating. But this tender look made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I don’t hate it,” he said, telling her the truth. “But why choose a homey hotel over a sleek one?”
“Seriously? Who wouldn’t want a relaxing, warm, family atmosphere?”
“Anyone who is trying to work or get laid,” he answered frankly.
“I’m not running a brothel, Crane.”
Ah, they were back to “Crane.”
“Well, I’m not running an orphanage, Merina.” Their gazes locked. He broke the connection by blinking. “But there are people who see the world the way you do. When you talk to the media, keep your focus on your passion for the hotel. You’ll draw in those bleeding hearts.”
Her mouth flinched, taking his comment for what it was—a teasing jab.
Their waiter delivered two small cups of watermelon soup with mint leaves and a crumbling of feta on top.
Merina scowled. “This looks disgusting.”
“It tastes worse than it looks,” he said, lifting his spoon.
“You don’t like it?” She was still making a face as she dragged her spoon through the chilled soup.
“I do not like it,” he said.
“Sam I Am?” She looked up, spoon full. “Would you eat it in a box?”
Reese blinked. Of all the references. “Dr. Seuss fan?”
“Green Eggs and Ham is the best children’s book ever written.” She pulled her shoulders as if to challenge him. But he wouldn’t argue.
“On this we agree,” he said, a note of surprise in his tone.
“I still have my copy from when I was little.” She dipped her spoon and lifted it again, still unsure about taking that first bite.
“Me too. My mom used to read it to me before bed. I can’t look at that tattered spine without remembering her.” The moment it was out of his mouth, he wanted to retract his words. Never, ever was he sentimental on a date. Stick to business, family only as it had to do with business, likes and dislikes in the most general sense.
Rules Merina had obliterated without trying.
“Your mom has passed?” Sincerity leached into her expression.
“A long time ago. Anyway.” He scooped up a bite of the chilled soup. Yep. As awful as he remembered.
“There’s a gap in our how-we-met story,” she said, letting the topic pass. “What will we say happened between the moment I stormed into your office and, say, right now?”
“The truth. I showed up at the Van Heusen in the middle of the night.”
“Because…?” she prompted.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Apparently champagne made him a drippy sentimentalist. “Your passion,” he corrected quickly. “We’ll say I was smitten.”
“Smitten,” she repeated.
“Completely.” He held her eyes and she held his, and there, with the worst soup ever concocted in front of them, Reese felt a hit low in his gut. A hit of attraction like nothing he’d ever felt before. No, that wasn’t true. He’d felt something like this before. With Gwyneth. He resented the similarity the moment his mind connected those dots.
He needed to get back on point. Like in a meeting when everyone gets off track and needed to be dragged back.
“There are a few details we should discuss tonight,” he continued after another putrid bite. “We need to coordinate our schedules. Do you have an assistant?”
“Are you joking?” She took a bite, her eyes scrunched in morbid expectation. Then they opened and the expression on her face faded into not bad.
“Am I joking about what? And how could you possibly like that?”
“Are you joking about me having an assistant,” she said, then gestured to the soup with her spoon. “What’s not to like? It’s watermelon. It’s refreshing.”
“You shouldn’t have to drink watermelon. Why don’t you have an assistant?”
“Because I like to do everything myself.”
He sighed. Hands-on. Bad business, big heart. That should be a saying.
“Very well, I’ll send you my schedule.” He pulled out his phone.
“Now?”
“Why not?” They were a power couple. Any onlookers would think they did this kind of thing as foreplay.
“Okay.” She reached into her clutch and came out with her iPhone.
He tapped his e-mail icon and glanced over at her, catching her watching him. “It’s Harrington, by the way. My middle name.”
Her lips tipped. “Nicole.”
“Okay, Merina Nicole Van Heusen. Shall we?”
“Let’s.”
* * *
Seared scallops with cayenne and a dollop of crème fraîche and caviar followed the watermelon soup. Dessert was chocolate mousse topped with roasted figs served in an almond tart. She and Reese polished off the champagne, ordered coffee, and camped at the restaurant table until they closed at eleven.
What started out as a nerve-wracking evening with her worrying over what to wear and how she’d handle aphrodisiacs with a man she barely tolerated had ended with Merina feeling better about everything. She and Reese may not be friendly with one another, but in business, they glided. Once their iPhones came out, they’d excitedly shared meeting details and talked shop. They had a lot in common even though her hotel was radically different from his. Although, the head-butting continued when he’d started telling her what to do.
“You’ll need to cancel drinks with Lorelei on Tuesday,” he’d said after dessert.
&
nbsp; “Forget it. I haven’t gone out with her in ages.”
“New fiancé,” he argued, pointing at himself. “Whirlwind romance. Wedding in two weeks.”
Okay. That was fair. The discussion had prompted her to point out how he needed to cancel dinner with a woman named Claudia at an upcoming art show.
“Forgot about her,” he’d commented, then tapped a quick note into his phone.
“Let me guess? Are you having Bobbie send her flowers?”
“No. No date, no flowers. I sent Bobbie a note to cancel and not reschedule.”
Oddly enough, she’d felt a blip of admiration for the way Reese handled dating. Not the way he tore through women like they were disposable, but how he had the confidence to do whatever he wanted regardless of what people said about him.
After Corbin, part of the reason Merina hadn’t dated was because she was beyond embarrassed she’d allowed something so humiliating to happen to her.
The next day at noon on the dot, she strode into Reese’s office for their appointment, one with a public relations person who was hired specifically to help this engagement and marriage go off without a hitch. In Merina’s opinion, the woman was barely needed. Merina and Reese were professionals who were damn good at their jobs. After the combined first date/business get-together last night, there was only the matter of the prenup, the wedding, and then riding things out until the divorce.
Reese was just pocketing his cell phone when she walked in, with an appointment, thank you very much. Bobbie still hadn’t looked happy about letting her through. The doors shut behind her and Merina told him, “Bobbie really hates me.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He strode out from behind the desk, today in a deep gray suit, red tie. “She’s too busy to be cordial.”
“Like you?” She smiled sweetly.
“Very funny.” He made an after you gesture and they walked out of his office via a side door, down a hallway and into a conference room. There, a platinum-blond woman sat, wearing a white pantsuit and a scowl. She was young and very pretty and she looked pissed, which meant only one thing.
“Looks like she didn’t appreciate your flowers,” Merina said as Reese’s hand closed over the doorknob.
The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) Page 7