Seven #2
The slow blink and unapologetic expression on his face reminded her of the man he’d been on Talk at Sunset.
She shook her head, completely mystified. “I’m surprised you got through the door with an ego that big. It must be a helluva weight to haul around all the time.”
“Look, single’s just easier,” he said like explaining was an inconvenience. “Our winner couldn’t be married or planning a wedding, couldn’t have kids or caring duties, those people have responsibilities.”
“How tiresome.”
“We’re spending months on the road. Most nights we’ll be in clubs. Places which aren’t conducive to calling and catching up with home. Drama is tiresome, to use your word.”
“So you think there would be drama if your winner had to call home?”
“How would you feel if your boyfriend won and you were left behind?”
Despite breaking up with her last boyfriend a couple of months ago, Roxie still cast him in the hypothetical. Imagining how Porter would respond to her going on the road without him was enough to prove Lomond’s point.
She waved it off. “Let’s stop talking about partners.”
“Raw nerve?” he asked, intrigued.
Coy wasn’t a color that suited her. “When I saw you on the show, I thought you were arrogant and smug.”
Another slow blink. “I am arrogant and smug. And proud of it.”
That he owned it granted him some credit. But she still let out a bold, “Ha-ha.”
“I don’t pussyfoot, Lola Bunny. We are who we are, right? Isn’t that why you came out dressed like that?”
“I came out in my pajamas because it’s nighttime, we’re chilling, and I couldn’t care less about tempting you.” Roxie laid it out. “We don’t know each other, I get that, and you don’t pussyfoot. Love it. But me, I don’t do tact or timid. There’s a reason I don’t do lingerie too.”
“I’m looking forward to finding out what that is.”
“No, no,” she said, wagging a forefinger his way. “Don’t flirt with me.” He tried innocence, but his eyes were far too guilty in their innuendo. “Do you even know how to connect with a woman who has no interest in your money or your cock?”
“Give it time, sweetheart, you’ll want both.”
“Oh,” she muttered, drawing out the sound. “You are cocky.”
“I’ve got the goods, sweetheart.”
“Be careful, a guy called me that last night and it caused a riot.”
“Outside my club, I heard… as did the rest of the world,” he said. “What’s the story?”
Time to take a shot at innocence. “I didn’t start it… A bunch of people from the show connected and we went out to eat. Somehow, we ended up at Crimson. I didn’t even know we were going there.”
“You been to any Crimson before?”
“No,” she said. “My roommates, Jane and Toria, are big fans. They spent a small fortune on a special weekend thing in Boston about a year ago. They wanted New York but…”
“Bring them to the opening. Ask Tibbs for whatever you need.”
“Which one’s Tibbs?”
“Right, you haven’t been introduced to anyone.”
“I know Astrid,” Roxie said. “She said you all get caught up in each other and forget there’s a big world beyond your circle… Personally, I think you forget there’s a world beyond your ego.”
“You’re judgmental, aren’t you, Lola?”
He shifted to the edge of the couch to pour himself another drink. After his glass was refreshed, he raised the chilled cocktail shaker toward her.
She shook her head. “I’m still working on mine.”
“If you want to tail me on the club circuit, you’ll have to learn to keep up.”
“I have nothing to prove,” she said, finishing her drink. “You’re so filthy rich that I bet you’re used to everyone always trying to impress you.”
Just as he settled back and raised his glass to his lips, she held her empty one out. Though he semi-glared, he did sit up to take it from her.
Rather than refill the same glass, he took a clean one to rim the edge with sugar. “Rich does give you license to get away with a lot of bullshit.”
She leaned forward a little. “Filthy,” Roxie whispered. “Don’t forget the filthy.” The next look he landed on her was pure swagger. “That won’t work either. You’re not that smooth, Casanova.”
“You’re so sure, why don’t you kick me out?”
“Because, Casanova, you mix a good martini.”
“Imagine what else I might be good at,” he murmured, the bass of his voice rumbling through both of them.
“Stop being sleazy,” she sang, accepting the fresh drink. “It’s never going to happen for you here. My pussy is Casanova non grata.”
Everything just bounced right off him. No concern. No doubt. “You wouldn’t know how to resist if I turned it on.”
“Oh, I think I would. Cocky doesn’t do it for me. I’ll be the one woman who’ll never have a problem resisting you.”
“Just proving how little you know me. Don’t lay down a challenge unless you want me to pick it up.”
“You better stop flirting with me,” she said, dropping her knees to cross her legs in front of her. “Talk about something non-sexy, maybe we’ll get your mind out of the gutter. Tell me about your mom.”
“Dead,” he said, just like that.
Her lips puckered, then she exhaled. “That was a short conversation. What about your dad?”
“Not a feature… Nothing you can’t find out on Wikipedia. Do better research, Lola.”
“Is it some chore to talk about yourself?” she asked. “What about siblings?”
“None of them either.”
“So you have no one to spend all your cents on except yourself?”
“And the business.”
It seemed his work was his life.
“Where did the cents come from?” she asked. “I mean, how did you get your start?”
“My mom died when I was a child. Her father took responsibility for me after that. He paid my tuition at boarding school. When I was a teenager, he received a terminal diagnosis and sold his business. No one knew about the diagnosis until after he passed. I was the only surviving relative. Started out with just under six mil in the bank.”
She could tell he’d given that answer before. “Bet you have more than that today.”
He snickered. “Just slightly.”
“One of my friends corrected the other when she called you a millionaire.”
He inhaled, much more relaxed than he had been upon entering her room. “For someone who’s not interested in money, you talk about it a lot.”
“We can’t talk about sex. All I know about you is sex and money. What do you want to talk about instead? The weather?”
Resting his glass on his thigh, his attention zeroed in. “You. Talk to me about you.”
So she did. For hours. They talked about her roommates and how the three of them ended up at the show.
Her parents, who were still together, her brother and her sister too.
They discussed her work, copyediting and proofreading.
Roxie did some copywriting once in a while too and picked up related work here and there as requested or required.
Whether or not he was taking any of the information in, she didn’t know.
But he nodded along and asked questions, so he seemed to be engaged.
The conversation revolved around her. Why wouldn’t it?
A guy like Zairn Lomond wouldn’t trust a stranger.
Probably wouldn’t trust many people given the media’s interest. Good thing Roxie was a talker, she could keep going all night.