The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,27
Contractors coming tomorrow at eight. I’m sure we can cancel your appointment after we meet with Jim Brighton.”
“I think I’ll refrain from making that decision until after we meet with both. Unlike you, I have an open mind and have no problem considering all competent contractors, regardless of who brings them in.”
Weston dropped his napkin on the table and stood. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
“I told you, I’m not dancing.”
“Just one dance.”
“No.”
“Give me one good reason why not, and I’ll sit back down.”
“Because it’s unprofessional. This is a business dinner, not a date.”
“So is fingering you while my belt is tied around your wrists. And you didn’t seem to object to that as unprofessional. Though, if you ask me, leaving me in the state you did the other night wasn’t your most professional moment.”
The waiter arrived to deliver our drinks. Weston continued to stand and wait for me to agree.
When we were alone again, I said, “I’ve clearly had a few moments of insanity. But those are in the past, and I intend to keep things between us professional from now on.”
Weston studied me for a moment. I was surprised when he took his seat again without more of an argument. His thumb rubbed back and forth over his lower lip as he continued to consider me from across the table. After a minute, his face lit up. The only thing missing was a light bulb in a bubble above his head.
He grinned. “You think if we play nice, you won’t wind up with my cock inside you anymore.”
I shifted in my seat. “Must you be so vulgar?”
“What did I say?” He seemed genuinely confused.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Cock. Do you have to say it like that?”
He grinned. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”
I squinted. “You heard me. I know you did.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Maybe. But I really liked hearing you say cock.”
A busboy walked by our table just as Weston spoke. The guy looked our way and smirked, but kept going.
“Keep your voice down.”
Needless to say, he didn’t. “Is it just my cock you don’t like talking about? Or is it all cocks in general?”
I rolled my eyes. “God, you’re such a twelve-year-old boy.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I know what game you’re playing now. You think no fighting equals no fucking.”
“I do not,” I lied. “I’m merely trying to maintain a professional relationship that started out on the wrong foot.”
Weston plucked a breadstick from the middle of the table. “I like the foot it started out on.”
“Regardless, we’re going to do things my way.”
He bit off a piece of the breadstick and waved it at me. “We’ll see.”
Over dinner, I somehow managed to steer our conversation back to business. While we were waiting for the check, I said, “I had Len, the head of maintenance, join me to show the contractor around this afternoon. He was gone before you got there, but I was glad I’d invited him. He was able to walk Sam and Travis through where things were left off with the electric and sprinkler systems that I wouldn’t have known. I asked him to join us tomorrow for the other contractor I have coming in. Perhaps you should invite him to the eight-AM meeting with your guys.”
“Alright, I’ll do that.”
Talking about this afternoon reminded me just how late Weston had been to the meeting. Since we were getting along and doing so well at sharing information, I figured I’d press.
“By the way, why were you so late this afternoon? You never mentioned what your appointment was for.”
Weston’s eyes jumped back and forth between mine before he looked away. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
I sighed. “Whatever. I just hope you’re not playing games, like when you went to the union behind my back.”
“It won’t be a problem.”
The Countess was five blocks from the restaurant, so we walked back together, side by side. On our way, we passed a bar called Caroline’s. I noticed, and immediately looked over to see if Weston had noticed it, too. I found him staring at the illuminated name above the bar. His eyes slanted to mine as they lowered. It felt odd not to say anything.
“I was very sorry to hear about your sister,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Caroline Lockwood was two years older than Weston, but only a year ahead of us in school because of how frequently she was absent. She’d suffered from leukemia from