“I don’t know. Because you seem to have a good time riling me up. Just to be mean.”
“Not to be mean.”
“Then why?”
“To figure you out.”
“Why would you need to figure me out?” Because I suddenly feel uncomfortable, I focus on my glass of wine as I take a long sip.
“You’re my client. It’s my job to figure you out so I can do well.”
“You’re doing perfectly well. I’ve told you before, all I need is someone to act like my husband occasionally, and you’re doing fine with that. Anyway, I’m not that hard to figure out.”
His eyes look bluer than normal in the light streaming in from the large glass doors that lead out onto the terrace. He leans forward, clearly trying to meet my fidgety gaze. “Are you kidding me? Clarke, I’ve never had such a hard time getting a handle on someone as I’m having with you.”
My cheeks are growing warm, which is really quite annoying. “You don’t need to get a handle on...” I’m suddenly hit with visions of his lean, strong hands all over my body. Gulping, I reword the thought. “There’s nothing to figure out here. I’m just a regular, practical, introverted workaholic who’s not all that great with people but tries to be as decent as she can. What’s so hard getting a handle on that?”
“That’s not all you are.”
“Maybe. But I usually say what I think. I shouldn’t be that confusing to you.”
“But most of what you say isn’t what I expect you to say. It’s actually kind of frustrating.” His mouth twists into a faint scowl. “I’m usually really quick about sizing people up and predicting what they’ll say and do. It’s why I’ve always been good at Companions for Hire.”
“Right. That’s why.” Because I’m feeling unreasonably shy and self-conscious, my tone is more sarcastic than normal. “Not because you look like you just stepped off the cover of a romance novel.”
He gives a rather undignified snort. “Thanks a lot.”
“It wasn’t an insult.”
“Sure it was.” Before I can object, he goes on. “It wasn’t intended as an insult, but you basically just told me I’m nothing more than my appearance.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t mean it. And I know you don’t think my job takes more than a certain appearance, but it does. My clients are almost always mature, successful women who know what they want and have the resources to afford my particular services. You’re one of those women. Do you really think being good-looking is all they’re looking for when they hire me?”
“N-no.” I’m even more off stride than ever. I have no idea what’s happening here or why I suddenly feel like the world is shaking beneath my feet. “You’re right. They’re probably looking for a whole experience, and they’re not going to be taken in by a few cheap moves.”
“Exactly. Most of them want more than an empty suit to sit beside them like you do. They want a certain kind of experience. And that means I have to understand them. I have to get to know them incredibly fast so I can give them what they’re really looking for. It’s not easy. And a shallow, stupid man couldn’t do it.”
“I never once thought you were shallow or stupid!”
“I know. I know you didn’t. I was just trying to explain that the reason I’ve always been good at my job is because I know women really well. Not as some sort of fictionalized collective but as individuals. So that’s why it’s frustrating to me that I can’t figure you out.”
“Oh.” I can’t quite meet his eyes. I’m afraid of what he might see in mine. “I guess you’ll just have to live with the disappointment then.”
“Or I can just try harder.”
I gulp and finish my last swallow of wine to hide it.
There’s a longish pause while I try to decide what I should say. Damian ends up rescuing me by asking, “What are you reading?”
“What? A book.”
He gives me a disapproving frown. “I know it’s a book. I wanted to know which one.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Did you not hear anything I just said? I’m trying to get to know you. To figure out what makes you tick. Plus you know what my graduate degree is in, right? Whenever I see someone with a book, I’m compelled to ask what it is. So I want to know what you’re reading. Are you really not going to tell me?”