“This isn’t about her,” she says, her voice stiff. She raises her chin.
“Then what is it about? Why are you back here? If you don’t want to work for me, fine, but you did once live with me; what’s so wrong with us catching up?”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “You’re kidding me. First of all, I never lived with you, Pascal. I lived with my mother in the servants’ quarters.”
“It’s a guesthouse,” I interject, “and a very nice one. And because it’s my family’s guesthouse and you frequented my house, that counts as living with me.”
“You never even gave me the time of day. You treated me like how you treat all of your servants or really anyone you deem beneath you, which is pretty much everyone.”
“I’m insulted,” I say mildly.
“Oh, sure you are. You’re proud of it.”
“That’s not part of my reputation.”
“And that’s another thing you’re proud of. Your reputation. You’re arrogant, misogynistic, womanizing, vain, greedy, immoral, and slightly off.”
“Slightly off?” I repeat and try not to roll my eyes. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“If you think I’m gleaning this from the tabloids, you’re wrong. I know you. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
“I thought we didn’t live together.”
“We were close enough. You learn a lot about someone when you have to clean up after them. And that’s enough for me to know that I don’t want to work for you.”
Damn. She’s a stubborn-as-hell, feisty little thing. I don’t remember her being that way when she was young, but I have to admit, I like it.
“So what’s the second thing?” I ask.
“Second thing?”
“You said, first of all, you never lived with me. Which is a lie that you’re bending to suit your own truth but whatever, we can overlook it. What’s the second of all?”
I think I’ve caught her off guard because she frowns, thinking. Finally she says, “You’re not the type to catch up with anyone.”
“No?” I ask, holding out my hand and ticking off my fingers. “I believe you just called me vain, arrogant, womanizing, greedy, immoral, and . . . what was the phrase you used again? A little off?”
“Don’t forget misogynistic.”
“Wherever would you get that idea?”
“Goes part and parcel with the womanizing thing,” she says. “Not to mention the fact that you’ve forced yourself in my doorway.”
“Thank God you have that chain across, right?”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you threatening me?”
I lean in as close as I can, and to her credit, she doesn’t move away. “Oh no, my little sprite. I rarely threaten. I just do what needs to be done. Why give warning? Why ruin the element of surprise?” I give her a wolfish smile until she finally looks away. “At any rate, you mentioned I am many types but not the type who wouldn’t catch up. So. Shall we?”
“Shall we what?” she asks cautiously.
“Let me take you out for lunch,” I tell her. “And we can talk. Dare I say, catch up. I haven’t seen you in years.”
She scoffs to herself and shakes her head slightly, still avoiding my eyes. “You act as if we have a past. We have nothing. I was a maid, and you were the rich prick son.”
“My father had two rich prick sons.”
“Yes, well, you were the worst.” She pauses, eyes darting to me. “Almost worse than him.”
I stiffen, my palms feeling clammy all of a sudden. “Worse than who?”
“Worse than whom,” she corrects. “And what will happen to me if I don’t have lunch with you?”
“I’ll keep hounding you.”
“You’re the head of the company now; I doubt you would have the time.”
“I would find the time. I always do for what’s important.”
“You just enjoy harassing women.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Eh. What can I say, I like the chase, and I refuse to believe any woman wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“If I have lunch with you, will you leave me alone?”
My mouth cracks into a grin. “I promise.”
But she probably knows my promises aren’t worth shit.
She tilts her head, a piece of blonde hair falling across her face. I’m itching to reach out and push it behind her ear, but I think she might slam the door on my arm and sever it.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “Do you want me to wait here or in the lobby?”
“You mean now?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Yes, now,” I say. “You look decent enough. Grab your purse and let’s go.”
She sighs as she shuts the door. “Just . . . give me a minute.”