“I hear my wife is keeping you busy.”
“She knows what she likes,” Declan chuckles and Bennett joins him. “But she hasn’t fired me, so I guess I’m doing something right.”
“Don’t get too high on yourself just yet,” I add with the sass I know Bennett loves but, at times, can irritate the hell out of Declan. He takes it well, never losing his grin. I want to make him jealous, but it’s a fine line with Bennett here, so I’ll make sure to gauge Declan’s body language and not push him too far.
Declan introduces us to Marco, the chef I’m considering for the party, and we then take a seat at one of the tables.
“So, Bennett, Nina tells me you’ve been slammed with work lately.”
“That’s a massive understatement, and to be happening this time of year is less than ideal,” Bennett says and then reaches over to hold my hand that’s resting on the table. “Fortunately for me, I have an understanding wife.”
Just as I give him a smile, we are presented with a sculpted Caprese salad.
“So how did you get into steel production?” Declan asks, and I remain quiet as they talk.
“At the time, I was acquiring and renovating vacant buildings when I came across a manufacturing plant that was going bankrupt. I was able to purchase it at a bargain, keeping the owner from going into insolvency. I flipped the place, and next thing I knew, we were up and running, gaining a solid client base.”
“From the ground up,” Declan states.
“Just like your father,” Bennett adds.
I watch Declan’s jaw flex as he grinds his teeth. He takes a sip of his wine and then says, “You two must be proud of yourselves,” with a condescending tone, possibly taking Bennett’s remark as a stab against the fact that Declan is, in a sense, riding on his father’s coattails by going into the family business. But I know Bennett, and no such suggestion was meant on his part.
Bennett notes Declan’s insinuation, and deflects, turning to me, asking, “Are you going to see Jacqueline tomorrow? I thought Richard mentioned something to me about it.”
“Mmm hmm.” I wipe my mouth, and add, “The girls want to make a day at Neiman’s, and I need to find a dress for the party.”
“I thought you couldn’t stand them,” Declan butts in, and I immediately heat in anger that not only is he being grossly inappropriate in exploiting something he thought I was revealing in confidence to a friend, but I also don’t need him raising any red flags with Bennett.
I widen my eyes, letting him know he crossed a line, when Bennett questions, confused, “You don’t like them?”
“Um, no. I mean . . . Declan just meant that . . .” fuck, “Well, I voiced to Declan that sometimes they can be a tad overbearing. That’s all.” Looking into his eyes, I have to wonder if he’s upset that I would reveal something like that to Declan. Something that has nothing to do with the business we are supposed to be conducting while we’re together, so I cover myself, adding, “I had run into one of Jacqueline’s friends at the florist when Declan and I were there. She was being a little snippy, so I loosely made that statement to him. I possibly spoke out of frustration. I like the girls, but you know how it can be when you get us all in one room.”
He buys it, saying, “I’ll never pretend to understand the mind of a woman,” with light laughter, and I smile with him.
“Me neither,” I tease. “And I’m one of them.” Taking my fork and stabbing a basil leaf, I mumble with a grin, “Snarky bitches,” before taking a bite.
Bennett laughs at my crudeness as I give Declan a disapproving glare.
We get halfway through the second course with building tension from Declan when Bennett gets a call from Richard that he has to take. He excuses himself and steps outside of the room, walking down the hall, and when he’s out of sight, I turn and snap, “Your games aren’t funny. I was under the assumption that the few pieces I gave you, pieces you asked for, would remain private and not for you to use when you felt someone was stepping on your dick.”
He leans to the side, grabs the arm of my chair, and abruptly yanks it towards him, quietly gritting, “Your smart mouth is unbecoming, Nina, so watch how you speak to me. And no one steps on my dick, especially your husband—the man you say you love but doesn’t seem to know shit about you.”
“You think you’re cute?”
“Do I look like a man who gives a shit about being cute?”
Narrowing my eyes, I tell him, “You look like a man who’s jealous, but you shouldn’t even be going there with me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m a married woman, and your juvenile accusations are insulting. You don’t know anything about my husband and what he does or doesn’t know about me.”
“You’re a liar,” he accuses.
“Excuse me?”
He leans in closer, mere inches away from my face, and says, “I think you like making me jealous. Am I right?”
In a soft voice that I make sure comes out shaky, I respond simply, “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What do you want from me?”