It was all nothing more than a designer straitjacket. For the hundredth time she reminded herself she didn’t have to do this. She could tell her Jasper’s family who her real family was—the Athertons. Old Boston money. It’s not like she’d lose her job or her home.
But they’d look at her differently. They’d wonder why a nice girl like her was tending bar. The other waitresses would resent every dollar bill she took in tips when she had millions of them in her trust funds. Word would get around, as it inevitably did, and even her customers would treat her differently. Men didn’t laugh and joke with wealthy women, or ask them what they thought of the Bruins’ chances for the Cup.
No, she’d go along with Sam’s stupid blackmail scheme for now. To keep her secret, as well as taking care of a certain itch Sam was particularly good at scratching.
It was a pain in the ass, but to avoid catching hell from her regular patrons, she went out the back door and walked around the building at six. She wasn’t surprised to find a limo double-parked on the street, with a chauffeur holding the door open. Not wasting any time in the hope nobody watching through the bar window would recognize her, Paulie slid onto the seat and pulled her legs in.
And bumped shoulders with Sam.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said, just as the door closed, leaving them isolated in a dimly lit, expensive leather-scented cave.
“Hello, arrogant ass.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, just so you know.”
“Nice to know some things never change.”
“You’re a funny guy.” She braced her feet so she wouldn’t lean into him as the car turned a corner.
“You look nice tonight,” he said after a few minutes of awkward silence.
“You mean I look like you think I should.”
“Are you going to be like this all night?”
“Like what?”
“Antagonistic.”
“If your question is whether or not I’m going to behave like a woman being blackmailed into doing something against her will, then yes.”
When he threw back his head and laughed, she had to fold her hands in her lap to keep from backhanding him in the gut.
“We both know,” he said, “that you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be and to hell with any threats I may or may not have made.”
“Oh, you made them.”
She braced herself for more wise-ass banter, so she was really thrown off-kilter when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve watched you while you work. You look really happy.”
She was…mostly. Sure, she’d spent more than a few lonely hours lying awake, playing the what-if game. What if she hadn’t bolted from the church? What if she’d vowed to love and cherish him until death did they part? They’d be five years married now and, no doubt, the parents of the golden child—Samuel Thomas Logan the Fifth.
She’d be pearl-necklace deep in managing households and nannies and the endowments that would ensure no door was ever closed to Sammy the Fifth. Serving on charity boards. Attending benefit dinners and balls.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Paulie shifted herself away from Sam. How freaking unfair was it that the man of her dreams came wrapped up with the life of her nightmares?
“Are you happy?” he prompted.
“I was.”
“Was?”
Yeah, or at least she’d thought she was. Until the only man who’d ever heard the L-word cross her lips had strolled back into her life. “Blackmail’s a bit of a mood killer.”
The restaurant was expensive and classy—just the kind of place Paulie went out of her way to avoid—but she had to admit the wine was good. And, so far, Sam had resisted the siren call of whatever latest and greatest smartphone he was using now, giving her his undivided attention.
“You haven’t asked me about your parents,” he said after they’d ordered their entrees.
The rosy glow she’d been nursing while gazing into his eyes over the flickering candle evaporated like a drop of water on a hot skillet. “I look them up on the internet occasionally. Same society pages, different year.”
“Have you called them at all?”
“No.” If he was trying to weasel his way back into her pants, he’d picked the wrong topic of conversation. “What are we doing here, Sam?”
He took a sip of his wine, then shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m here to enjoy a good meal and the company of a beautiful woman.”
“And then what?” He smiled at her over his wine glass, just the way he used to when the evening was winding to a close and making love was on his mind. It wasn’t a cocky look, exactly, and maybe she’d pondered an orgasm or two herself, but she didn’t like the assumption. “What’s your endgame? Payback?”
His smile faded. “I’d almost managed to make myself believe I was over you but, when I saw you again, I realized I’d been lying to myself.”