anything, he just starts making his plate and handing the serving dishes off to me.
I fill my plate with a fresh salad, pasta, and garlic bread, then he pours us each a glass of wine. I can’t help but look around the dining room as we eat. The table we’re sitting at is long and made of a thick, dark wood. I bet we could easily fit 20 people around it. On the far wall is an expensive-looking cabinet filled with fine china and drinkware—crystal, no doubt. There’s more money in this room than I’ve spent in my whole life. I’m sure of it.
“So, tell me about yourself, Poppy,” he says in his deep voice that always makes my heart thrum.
I take a deep breath and wipe my mouth with the cloth napkin. “What would you like to know?”
“Let’s start with our pasts, shall we?”
“Okay,” I agree, allowing my eyes to drink him in—from the top of his neatly combed dark hair to his even darker eyes and sharp, angular jaw. Fuck, if he could just keep his mouth shut, I could easily find myself attracted to him beyond just acknowledging his good looks. Too bad that’s ruined the moment he talks. “Well, I was raised in the country. My father worked at a lumber yard and my mother was a grade-school teacher.”
“Ha!” he scoffs.
“What?” I immediately feel my back stiffen.
He’s chewing and shaking his head. “You were raised by a teacher, yet 90 percent of the memos you craft for me have spelling and grammatical errors. Ironic.”
Are you fucking kidding me? Who says this shit? What an ass. But that’s okay; he’ll pay for it soon enough. “I said GRADE SCHOOL. It’s not like she taught the kids college English. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I grew up in the country and it was fun. I had a good childhood even though my parents didn’t make a lot of money. I never knew the difference until I was a teenager anyway, and by then, I’d already learned that if you wanted something in life, you had to work for it.”
“Well, I’m glad to see that while your parents couldn’t afford the nicer things, they still instilled good values in you.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, believe it or not, I wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves.” I find my left hand balled into a fist under the table with my nails digging into my palm.
“Of course you weren’t. You have a basic understanding of modern technology considering how much time you spend on your cell phone. I wouldn’t expect that from a real-life Mowgli. Please, continue,” he says, urging me on with a wave of his hand. Classic Matthew Lewis—never letting a fucking verbal jab go unsaid.
“I made good grades in school and was in honors classes. I would’ve been valedictorian, but I got beat out by Stella Harris because I got mono my senior year and missed a week.”
“Mono, huh? I had that once too. They call it the kissing disease, you know.”
I draw my brows together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, were you a never been kissed type of girl or were you a girls gone wild type?”
I scoff. “What does that have to do with anything?” I’m trying really hard to not be offended, but it’s a hard feat at this point. It’s like he’s trying to piss me off. That’s when I realize that’s exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to piss me off. And I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
He shrugs. “Just want to know what I’m getting into. That’s all.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend now, if that’s what you’re asking. And you’re not getting into this,” I say dramatically with air quotes.
He chews the food in his mouth and swallows. “That’s part of it, but also, are you a random hookup type of girl? Am I going to have to worry about introducing you to people only to realize you’ve already screwed them?”
Fuck this asshole! “No, I’m not a random hookup type of girl. I think you’ll be safe.”
“I’m just trying to cover the bases here; no need to take it personally.”
My back straightens. “You know what? Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” This way, I can throw insults his way.
“All right,” he agrees, putting his fork down and wiping his mouth. “I was raised here and at our second home in Malibu. My father, as you know, works with the stock market.