“No, I—”
“I just bought the wine. I can’t drink it alone.”
“Yes, but Mark—”
“You’re staying,” I insist, and I’m amazed by how much I like my name on her lips, when I’m used to Mr. Compton or Master. I like it. I like it a hell of a lot.
She purses those too-tempting lips and then sighs. “Fine.” She reaches for her glass. “But if you’re hoping to find out some deep, dark secrets about me that somehow make me a bad employee, you won’t. Not even with the grape in me.” She takes a drink and casts me a coy look. “But I might try to find out yours.”
“You can try. Others certainly have.”
“But you’ve never had me try.”
“No,” I agree. “I’ve never had you try.” And since I’m adamant about my privacy, why do I want her to try?
The waiter returns in the midst of my contemplation and we order dinner. When we’re alone again, Crystal digs into the warm bread he’s left us and I’m drawn to how uninhibited she is. Her lack of walls and barriers must be why I find myself so comfortable with her.
“A hamburger, Mr. Compton?” she queries. “How very rustic of you.”
“I can get my hands dirty when I want to.”
Her eyes twinkle devilishly. “I think I might like to see that.”
There’s a challenge beneath her words. For me to show her? I’d like to show her, but I won’t. I almost think she knows that, and is enjoying taunting me. “And I’d like you to tell me more about you.”
“Translation,” she replies, and flattens her hands on the table. “You want me to convince you that I can handle my job when you’re back in San Francisco and your mom is recovering.” She sits up straighter, as if preparing to give a speech, and delicately clears her throat. “Mr. Compton. I’d like to submit to you my qualifications as sales manager for Riptide.” She grins. “Beatles, baby. Doesn’t that say it all?”
I tilt my head to study her. “Beatles, baby?”
“I guess that just broke all your rules times ten.”
“Who says I have rules?”
She waves off my question. “Oh, please. You have so many rules, your rules have rules. Any woman who dared to date you would need an encyclopedia-sized book to keep up.”
“Any woman who dared date me?”
“Yes. You’re too good-looking and rich for anyone’s good. But I’m sure there are plenty of women who dare. They probably stand in line for a chance to read your rule book.”
From anyone else, being called good-looking and rich would be a compliment. I’m not sure with Crystal. I’m not sure of too much with this woman.
“But not you,” I say, certain that’s what she meant. No. She wouldn’t line up for anyone. She wouldn’t be that easy to conquer.
“I’m a control freak,” she readily admits. “You’re a control freak. We’d be like two bulls after the same red scarf.”
She’s right, and yet my blood pumps faster, just thinking about having her naked and willingly at my mercy. I can’t help but think she’s exactly what I need: a challenge. And how sweet her submission would be, because I’d really earned it.
But I won’t go there. Not with someone I work with, and absolutely not in the deep, dark hell I’m in right now. I’ll just think about it. Probably way too much.
Four
_
Crystal tells me stories about my mother over dinner, making me laugh. I don’t laugh a lot, but I have a soft spot for my mother. Maybe I have a soft spot for Crystal. I’m not really sure what I think about my reactions to her.
“So . . .” Crystal says, mopping up the last of her vanilla ice cream with a forkful of chocolate cake. “Why don’t you work here in New York?”
I drum my fingers on the table. “And here I thought you’d used such great restraint, not prying into my secrets.”
“So you admit you have secrets.”
She’s quick-witted. I like that about her. “We all have secrets.”
“Some more than others.”