“I’ll have my office send you one. Perhaps then you’ll understand just how persistent I can be.”
“I already understand it. What I don’t get is why you’re so fascinated with who I’m sleeping with. Why exactly does that interest you?” I’m treading on dangerous territory, and I suddenly understand that old adage about flirting with danger.
He climbs a step, putting his body in much closer proximity to mine. “There are a number of things about you that fascinate me.”
Oh my. I move carefully up to the next level. “I’m an open book, Mr. Stark.” I ascend one more step.
“You and I both know that’s not true, Ms. Fairchild. But someday …”
He trails off, and though I know better, I have to ask. “Someday, what?”
“Someday you will be open for me, Ms. Fairchild. In so very many ways.”
I want to respond, but I’ve lost the power of speech. Damien Stark wants me. More than that, he wants to peel back the layers and learn my secrets.
The idea is terrifying, and yet also strangely appealing.
Discomfited, I take another backward step up toward the balcony, then wince. Immediately, Stark is at my side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Something sharp on the step.”
He looks down at my still-bare feet.
Sheepishly, I hold out the strappy sandals with the three-inch heels.
“Very nice,” he says. “Perhaps you should put them on.”
“Nice?” I repeat. “They aren’t nice. They’re astounding. They cup my foot, show off my pedicure, slim my leg, and lift my ass just enough to make it look damn hot in this dress.”
The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I recall. Truly, they are amazing shoes.”
“They also happen to be my first and only purchase from my frivolous Los Angeles shopping splurge.”
“Well worth the damage to your checking account, I’m sure.”
“Totally. But they are an absolute bitch to walk in. And now that I’ve taken them off I really don’t know if I can get them back on again. No, correction. I don’t know if I can get them on again and actually walk.”
“I see your dilemma. Fortunately, I’ve made a career out of coming up with solutions to such knotty problems.”
“Is that so? Well, please. Enlighten me.”
“You can stay here on the steps. You can go inside barefoot. You can put the shoes back on and suffer.”
“Somehow I expected something better from the great Damien Stark. If that’s all the brainpower it takes to become the head of a corporate empire, I should have jumped all over that a long time ago.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Staying here won’t work,” I say. “For one thing, it’s cold. For another, I want to say goodbye to Evelyn.”
“Mmm.” He nods and frowns. “You’re so right. Clearly I didn’t fully examine the conundrum.”
“That’s what makes it a conundrum,” I say. “As for going barefoot, Elizabeth Fairchild’s daughter does not go barefoot at social events, no matter how much she might want to. I’m pretty sure it’s a genetic trait.”
“Then your choice is clear. You’re going to have to wear the shoes.”
“And suffer? No thank you. I don’t do pain.”
My words are flippant and not entirely true. He stares at me long and hard, and for some reason, Ollie’s parting words come back to me: Be careful. Then his face clears and he’s looking at me with amusement once again. I about melt with relief.
“There is one more option.”
“Ah, see? You were holding out on me.”
“I can pick you up and carry you into the party.”