Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,32
Marni, not me and ... oh, forget it.” I cross my arms and sit back in my chair. “I’m asking you for your help here, dude. You being all smart and smarmy isn’t helping.”
“My apologies. I will refrain from being smart or smarmy from now on.”
“You do that.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
We glare at one another for a moment and I wonder if I might break my jaw, I’m clenching it so tight.
“So, Emma. Let’s start again, shall we? You were telling me about your intentions on the show, correct?”
“I was about to, yes.”
“I can only assume your intention is what it is meant to be: to fall head over heels in love with me. Because why else would you come on a reality dating show if not to fall in love?”
Thrown momentarily off my game, I mutter, “Well, there is that—”
“And now you’re telling me you can’t fall in love with me because you’ve got to wear a Regency period costume. Please tell me if I’ve got this wrong.”
He is exasperating, infuriating, irritating. All the “ings.”
“I’m not talking about that intention, and let me tell you something,” I brandish my finger at him, “there are some women out there who I bet are only here for the fame.”
“How shocking,” he deadpans.
So I guess he knows about that.
“And some of them are certifiably insane.”
“I am also deeply shocked by that information,” he replies in the same tone.
I let out an exasperated breath. “I’m gonna be straight with you.”
“Please do.”
“What I wanted to do—other than fall in love, of course—was to showcase Timothy, the activewear label I co-own with Penny, my best friend. Who, incidentally is the reason I’m on this stupid show in the first place.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Stupid show?”
“Well, it is, isn’t it? You can’t tell me you’re actually here to find love.”
He shifts in his seat. “I already told you that is exactly what I intend to do. Why else would I be here? I don’t have an activewear label to promote. Or a friend called Penny, for that matter.”
I eye him up and decide to drop it. He’s sarcastic and enjoying this. And anyway, does it matter to me whether his intentions are genuine or not? Not at all.
“Well, I have both an activewear business and a friend called Penny, and like it or not, the fact I can no longer wear my label on camera because I’m forced to wear Regency stuff means I can’t stay here any longer.”
“I see.”
“But I do genuinely, genuinely hope you find your princess or duchess or whatever she’ll be, and you both live happily ever after with your fifty servants in your posh English castle.”
“Whomever I marry will be called ‘Lady.’ And I don’t have fifty servants.”
“But you still live in a castle.”
“It’s what we refer to as a manor, even though there once was a castle on my family’s land.”
Potato pot-ah-to.
I raise my hands in the surrender sign. “My bad. I really should brush up on the homes of the English aristocracy.”
“You may find it quite educational.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I think I detect a hint of snark in his voice, but I could be wrong. “Anyway, now you know I can’t wear my label while I’m dressed like Elizabeth Bennet every time I’m on camera, so—” I lead.
“Why not simply leave? You are able to do so, you know.”
“I, ah, I can’t do that.”
He raises his brows at me.
“There’s a fine, and cash is a little short right now.”
The understatement of the decade.
“I see. I’m guessing you need me to help you.”
I tap the side of my head. “Handsome, rich, and smart. You’re the triple threat, Seb.”
He chortles. “So, you definitely weren’t dragging me off to have your wicked way with me.”
Right on cue, those darn tingles twinge. “Puh-lease! Neither of us wants that.” I frame it as a statement, but a small part of me wants to pose it as a question.
A part that needs to be stamped out immediately.
His lips quirk. “Indeed.”
“And anyway, we both know you’re not interested in the likes of me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Do we?”
“Heck, yes. You could have drowned in Lisa’s cleavage back there on the terrace.”
“Drowned, you say?”
“Oh, yeah. Dogs drool less over a juicy bone than you did, I’m telling you, dude.”
“Is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Emma?”
“Jealousy?” I scoff. “Do you think no woman is capable of resisting you?”
“Oh, I’m certain there are some who can.”
I shoot him a sardonic smile. “Like women related to you,