“You owe me a favor.”
I froze. Damnit.
It took a long time for me to turn back to face him, but when I did, I threw daggers at him with my eyes. Bastard.
“I said you have to stay for the whole date. That’s the favor. And I’m going to hold you to it.”
He looked marginally desperate, just for a second, before it melted away to that smooth, cocky exterior. What an asshole.
Rage swelled inside me. He was the worst kind of man. The kind who felt entitled to whatever the fuck he wanted. He should be shot for that kind of personality. I didn’t have to fucking stay. I could leave whenever I wanted. Screw him and his stupid favor and… and…
My body walked over to him mechanically. I thought about slapping him again, but didn’t. Because in the end, whatever kind of an egomaniac he was, he was right. I did owe him a favor. And I was a good enough person to hold up my end of the bargain.
Even if I was so goddamned mad that I had heartburn.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll stay for the whole date. Then I’m done. If you text me again after this, I’ll feed your balls to my fish.”
He grinned broadly at me, and okay, I didn’t have fish, but I’d get some just to keep that promise.
He held up his hands to indicate he wouldn’t cross me, but I already knew that was bullshit.
“Whatever,” I grumbled, then stalked past him into the main lobby again.
The same snooty host was at the podium. His smile was snide as I approached him for the second time. “Trent Harvey,” I told him with acid in my tone.
He blanched. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me, Ponyboy. Trent Harvey is the name. Does he have a table?”
The man didn’t even have to look. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and he was nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Harvey. What a pleasure to have you back with us! Please, this way.” His eyes were fixed right over my shoulder where I presumed Harvey was standing.
Bastard.
The host grabbed two menus and escorted us through the crowded restaurant to the back, where there was an exclusive little booth. He seated us there.
“Shall I bring out a wine list?”
“No,” I said at the same time Harvey said, “Yes.”
I scowled at him, but I could guess which of us the host would listen to. He disappeared quickly. What seemed like a second later, a clean-shaven young man came to our table and deposited not only two glasses of water, but a wine list.
“Are you folks ready to order?”
I just folded my arms over my chest, staring daggers at Harvey.
He seemed unconcerned with my venom and smiled at the waiter. “The steak for me; chicken for the lady. And a bottle of red.”
“Steak,” I blurted, even though I’d probably like the chicken better. But I’d be damned if I let this asshole order for me. “I’ll have the steak, too.”
Harvey looked momentarily surprised but smiled and nodded. “The steak for the lady. I like a carnivore.”
“Carnivore either way. Chicken’s still meat, asshole.”
The waiter wisely backed away from the table, slipping out while he still could.
Harvey ignored the asshole comment and leaned over the table toward me. “This is one of my favorite places,” he told me and looked ready to launch into some sentimental story about himself or whatever, but I wasn’t having it.
“This where you take all your hostage dates?”
His smile didn’t flicker as he answered, “Only the ones I really like.”
I rolled my eyes at him and silently admitted to myself that the place was nice. Like, really nice. I wasn’t a poor college student anymore, so I got to treat myself every so often, but not to places like this. This was above my pay grade.
“I love your dress,” he told me, his eyes wisely remaining firmly on my face, not my cleavage.
It must have been a monumental feat for him.
“Thanks.”
The wine came quickly; the dinner would take a while. I debated the wisdom of getting plowed versus dealing with Harvey sober. It was going to be a long night, so I compromised with a sip of wine, coupled with a drink of water. Maybe I could at least dodge the hangover.
“I’m glad you came,” he told me, sincerity all but dripping from his full, sensuous lips.
But I wasn’t interested in sincerity or giving him a chance. In my book, he was still an asshole and would likely remain that way for a good, long while. Prick. “Glad one of us is,” I told him, holding my glass up to him before taking a sip.
If he was disappointed by my statement, he didn’t show it. His expression remained pleased.
When he didn’t add anything, I asked him about this date. “So, dinner? Very original.”
He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, but his smile widened. “It’s actually dinner and a show.”
I deliberately looked around us. I didn’t see any stage, no screens. Nothing to indicate there might be a show in addition to this very nice, very expensive dinner. “Really. And this show is, what, hiding on your phone?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s upstairs.”
Okay, I was a little intrigued. “Upstairs?” From outside, it had looked like a simple one-story place. I thought I saw a gate of some kind along the outside edge of the building, but it hadn’t looked like much.
Smiling, he nodded. “Yes. It’s exclusive, so even most of the guests won’t be staying for it. There are only a handful of seats.”
I’m not impressed, I’m not impressed, I thought to myself, but even my inner self knew that was bullshit.
Suddenly, this date had gotten a lot more interesting.
The steaks took forever, but it was worth it. It was the best damn steak I’d ever had, cooked to perfection with just the right amount of pink in the middle. I didn’t even touch the A1 sauce, not wanting to ruin the flavor.
I ate about half before slowing down, and when I looked up, I saw that Harvey was sipping at his wine, smiling at me. “Good?” he asked smugly.
I spit my tongue out at him, even as my cheeks flushed. “My compliments to the chef.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate a compliment from such a lovely lady.”
I dabbed at my mouth politely with the tip of my napkin. “I’m sure it’s nothing new for him,” I replied. I put my napkin down and reached for my wine again, reminding myself about small sips and water. “Some men are used to gaggles of women at their beck and call.”
Harvey nodded absently. “Some guys are,” he agreed. “But only a few are lucky enough to have a woman like you in their life.”
Okay, that was smooth. Charming, even. But I wasn’t stupid, not now that I knew who I was dealing with. If he thought he could win me over with a good—amazing—steak and some natural charm, he had another thing coming. There was a reason I didn’t trust charming men.
Or men in general, at this point.
“So what’s this show,” I asked, swapping topics. I wasn’t about to make it easy for him to just woo me.
“It’s called Being Earnest. It’s about two men who both pretend to be Earnest—”
“To win over a couple of batty, idiot women who are so hung up on a fucking name that they don’t care who it belongs to,” I finished helpfully for him.
He looked slightly derailed that I was familiar with the story. “You’ve seen it before?”
“Read the book,” I informed him. “I do work for a publishing company.”
He laughed. “That’s an excellent point. I never should have underestimated you.”
“That would be mistake number one, wouldn’t it?”
Wincing, he took another sip of his wine, then set it back down gently. “Courtney, I know you’re angry with me.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it, don’t you think?”
He ignored me and continued. “But I asked you out tonight, because I want a shot. A real shot. Not at being your
virtual boyfriend, but your in-the-flesh one.”
I scoffed. “Meaning you want in my panties.”
His gaze shifted over my body, and there was absolutely no arguing that sexual desire was part of his reasoning. But when his eyes came back to me, full of smoldering lust, I noticed that they were pleading with me. For a wild moment, I wondered if maybe he wanted more than just to get between my legs.
Don’t be stupid, Court, you know better.
But that reasonable part of my brain couldn’t entirely quell the part of me that hoped he did want more. Though I couldn’t fathom why. The whole situation was just fucked-up.
“I’m not going to lie, I’ve thought about it,” he admitted honestly. “But that’s not the only thing I’ve thought about.”
I lifted a brow in question.
“I’ve thought about this. Dinner with you. Being able to talk to you in person, to do things with you.”
I wanted to tell him that he was an asshole—again—and that he was crazy if he thought that I would want something like that, too. Except… I kind of did. No, not with him. Not with a player. But I’d been steadily falling for Malcom, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that now that Malcom was Trent Harvey.
What was I supposed to do with that?
So instead of calling him an asshole, I said, “Guess you’d better milk tonight, then. It’s probably going to be your only shot at any of that.”
He didn’t look scared. Instead, he looked determined. “Challenge accepted.”
We finished dinner and I managed to go almost an hour without calling him an asshole. He paid the bill for dinner before I ever even got to see the bill. Even when I politely asked to pay my half, he insisted that it was his treat.
“Since I’m holding you hostage and all,” he told me with a wink.
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue.
We got up then, and he directed me toward the back of the restaurant. Just before we reached the kitchen, he turned to the right. A set of stairs seemed to appear out of nowhere. They were narrow, so we had to go up single file. I followed him, because honestly it was starting to freak me out a little bit. I mean, it wasn’t a killer’s basement necessarily, but the vibe was similar.
Until we got to the roof.
The door opened up to reveal that the roof was definitely fenced in by delicately designed wrought iron. At the far end of the roof was a large silk screen pulled taught on either side by more wrought iron. Currently, there was a canopy of green superimposed on the screen, twitching every so often as though by the wind. Except that it was a digital image, so probably not.
There were luxurious chairs and love seats set in front of the screen, some already occupied by gossiping adults.
“What do you think?” Harvey asked as a whisper in my ear.
I answered before thinking. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not half as beautiful as you.”
I pursed my lips together, reminding myself that he was an ass—even as I felt a little flutter of pleasure in my belly. Just because he was an ass didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate a compliment.
“C’mon. Let’s get seats.”
He took my hand, and it was warm. His palms were smooth, soft, his fingertips light pinpoints of pressure on my skin. I felt a tingle race up my arm, sending gooseflesh over my skin.
It was nice and awful at the same time. Get a grip, Court.
He led us to a love seat, and before I could complain about sharing the seat, he plopped down and yanked on my hand to bring me down with him. I dropped on the soft cushions in a highly unladylike manner, complete with a small squeak. But as soon as my ass touched the soft, velvety exterior of the love seat, I wasn’t getting up. I had a full belly, it was a warm night, and the lighting was perfect. If I hadn’t been tucked so close to Harvey, I probably would have fallen asleep right then and there.
Either way, I wasn’t getting up.
We sat there quietly for a little while as more guests came and took their seats. I wasn’t sure if there were reservations, first come first serve, or if you just had to know the secret handshake to get up here. But everyone seemed to know where they were supposed to be and settled down easily.
There were a few muted conversations and giggles, but it was soft enough to be little more than background noise.
In fact, I’d nearly dozed off when the music began to play.
I sat up straight and looked around wildly, wondering how long I’d been catnapping. By the look on Harvey’s face, I’d been asleep for at least a couple of minutes.
My cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but I tried to play it cool. “What’s playing, anyway?”
He leaned closer to me, my body pressed against his. “Being Earnest, remember?”
I winced. Good one, Court. Instead of trying to avoid embarrassment, I completely shot myself in the foot. “Oh, right.”
Thankfully, the movie started playing and I was saved from further stupidity.
The movie was about as expected. The book had been infinitely better, and much of the nuances had been lost in the transition to film. Still, I appreciated the fact that everyone was being stupid—not just the men for pretending to be someone else just for the sake of a name.
The women were being dumb, too. After all, it was just a damn name. It didn’t change who the man was.
And just like that, I talked myself into a corner. Because the fact was, I was being hardheaded, just like they were, all because of Trent Harvey’s name. Well, and reputation. Fact was, I’d been taken with Malcom, and if they really were the same guy… did any of my affection change just because his name was different?
Except Trent Harvey is a player and an asshole, a voice in my head reminded me.
I wasn’t sure what to do with what I knew secondhand about Harvey versus the firsthand information I had on Malcom.
Can I trust anything he says? After all, the only thing I know for sure is that he’s lied to me.
By the end of the movie, I hadn’t come to any sort of definitive conclusion. Instead, I was left mulling over the idea of giving Harvey a real chance. Mostly, that seemed like a stupid idea. But I’d connected so well with Malcom.
“Are you ready?”
I blinked rapidly, realizing that the movie was over and that people were getting up. Lights had come on, though they were soft, and I was the last person sitting. My cheeks burned and I stood quickly.
“Um, yeah, sure.” I let him lead me downstairs again.
He nodded politely to the waiter and the host—I assumed he had tipped generously—then took me out to the front. It was dark outside and cool, though not unpleasantly so. Just like the rooftop, it was softer and sweeter for the darkness. I was all about the summer nights, because we didn’t get a lot of truly good weather in Washington.
Standing on the sidewalk, I spun to face him. “Thank you,” I said politely. “For a nice evening.”
I was ready to start back to my car, but he apparently wasn’t ready to let me yet.
“Whoa, whoa! Hold up,” he called, reaching for me and gently pulling me back around to face him. “You owe me, remember? You have to stay for the whole date.”
I raised a single eyebrow. “Um, yeah. Dinner. Movie. Date is over.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not. We haven’t had dessert yet.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Seriously? But we just left the restaurant.”
He waved off my words, then slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. I felt my body react even as I tried to remind myself that this date was the last I would deal with Trent. “The restaurant has great food, but the dessert gets all fancy.”
“Fancy?” I half laughed.
He nodded somberly. “Yes. Fancy. Tiny-ass portions that are as big as your pinky on plates the size of flying saucers, and they think that because they draw on all the extra plate that it means you get way more. It’s stupid. Worse than stupid, it’s just wasteful.”
I did my best to hold i
n a laugh, but a little chuckle escaped despite my efforts. “Okay, fine. No fancy dessert. So what are we doing instead?”
“You’ll see,” he said, overdoing the mysterious tone by a mile and a half. But it was kind of cute, endearing even how hard he was trying.
I let him lead me down the sidewalk and didn’t pull my arm from his.
“When I was a kid, my grandmother used to say that the simplest things in life were the best,” he told me as we rounded the corner. “And as a kid, I thought she was crazy.”
I smiled, picturing a young Trent. Probably adorable and cocky as hell.
“But I had this really bad day,” he continued, his tone turning wistful. “I’d been bullied. Torn my favorite pants. Lost my homework. Even got chased by a dog. By the time I got home, I was a sad, soggy mess—did I mention it rained on me, too? Anyway. I got home and Grams was there. She was sitting in that big overstuffed chair, knitting, because she was the kind of grandmother that did that stuff. And when she looked up at me, she just knew, it had been a bad one.”
His story tugged at my heartstrings. Just the idea of this little Trent getting kicked while he was down… it was horrible. “What did she do?” I murmured softly.
He glanced over at me, then grinned, showing those pearly white teeth. “She said, ‘Honey, the best things in life are the simplest.’ Then she got up and went to the kitchen. She opened up the freezer, and damn it all to hell, the only thing we had in there was vanilla bean ice cream. But she gave me two hearty scoops, and we shared out of a bowl. She hugged me and I knew she was right. The simplest were the best.”
And just like that, I melted. My insides got all gooey, my mouth did that little cat-smile thing when I found things too cute for words, and my cheeks burned. I practically had stars in my eyes. I didn’t mean to, but damn I was like butter in his hands right then.
We stopped suddenly and it took me a moment to realize he’d deliberately taken me somewhere. I blinked to see that we were standing in front of one of those food cart vendors. I thought for a second he’d gotten a wild hot-dog craving, but then I realized the man with the cart wasn’t selling hot dogs. He was selling ice cream.
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