Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Stop projecting. Don’t ruin this. I stiffen my spine and murmur my thanks to the server, who pours me a glass of wine.
“Bianca.” Dominic’s voice is low and rich as he turns my way in his chair. He’s handsome like his father but just as smarmy. There’s an intimacy in the way he whispers to me. “Do you have a last name?”
“Sure, I do.”
“Not going to make it easy for me, are you?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, so I don’t say anything. When I glance at Romero, he’s glaring openly at Dominic, but looks away when Callum clears his throat.
I feel like I walked into this situation without knowing all the facts.
“Tatum, it really is a pleasure to meet you,” Jack says, raising his glass like he’s toasting her. “I understand you spent a good portion of this summer in Europe.”
“It was a graduation present,” she explains. Considering she bitched to me for hours about this dinner at home, she’s putting on the performance of a lifetime. Nobody would guess how unhappy she is to pretend.
“And what do you plan on doing after this? Any jobs lined up?” He laughs indulgently, winking at Callum. “I’m sure your father could pull some strings.”
“Tatum will go her own way,” Callum informs him. The tightness in his voice is obvious. This guy needs to tread lightly, or any deal between them is going to die before it goes through.
“And what about you?” Dominic asks in a whisper meant only for me. “Did you tour Europe, too?”
“No, I had a job lined up already.”
“A hard worker.” His leg brushes firmly against mine under the table. “I like that. Too many girls nowadays expect a man to take care of them. All they have to do is sit around, look pretty, and get their nails done.”
Cool. Dinner with a side of misogyny. Exactly what I was in the mood for.
It’s a relief when the chef comes out to describe the tasting menu he’s created for us tonight. Each course will be paired with a specially chosen wine. I’ll be lucky if I can walk by the end of the night at this rate. At least once we’re eating, there will be something for Dominic to do besides flirt, if that’s what he’s doing.
All I know is I wish he wasn’t sitting so close. By the time we’re on the third course, I practically have to angle my knees away from him to keep out of his reach. It doesn’t seem to matter because he keeps finding ways to make contact.
I bump against Callum’s knee, and his eyes cut my way, the corners of his mouth twitching before he rubs his knee against mine. He doesn’t get it, and I can’t come out and announce what’s happening. Tatum’s oblivious, too, commenting on the little plate of lobster risotto and how well it goes with the white wine pairing. Romero only grunts his response. He’d help me, but there’s no way for me to signal for that help.
Finally, I’ve had enough by the time our plates are cleared, and the last sips of crisp white wine don’t do a thing to cool my anger. “Is anything wrong?” I whisper.
“What do you mean?” Dominic whispers playfully, like it’s a joke.
“Is there not enough room at the table? Because you keep bumping into me by accident.”
“Who said it was an accident?”
This guy is nauseating. “Aren’t you supposed to be here to get to know Tatum?”
“If I have to marry her, I will.” I recoil in disgust when, instead of using his leg, he brushes his fingers over my knee. “But my free time is mine.”
“I’m not single. Please, don’t touch me like that.” I’m barely moving my lips, so afraid Callum will hear and lose his mind. This deal has to be important to him. I don’t want to ruin it just because this guy is a piece of shit.
“You have no idea how many brainless brats there are in my world.”
“I could be brainless, too, for all you know.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” My stomach turns when he touches me again, this time grazing my thigh. “I already like what I see. I can’t wait to learn more.”
I don’t know what makes me do it. Disgust, rage, frustration at being ignored when I flat-out told this fucker not to touch me. I want to scream, I want to throw up, I want to slap him across the face in front of everybody.
Instead, I’m a little more discreet. I pick up the fork the server just placed in front of me for the next course and jab it into the back of his hand under the table, out of sight.
Only I think I did it a little harder than I wanted.
“What the fuck?” He shoves himself back from the table, holding up his hand so everyone can see the fork sticking out of the back. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you crazy?”