I chuckle at this. We have our fair share of celebrities, rock stars, professional athletes, and even business and political figureheads. We cater to anyone willing to purchase a private aircraft. “You’ll get used to it. Pretty soon, you’ll realize all of those people are just like you and me. There really is nothing different about them other than their fame.”
“And their million-and billion-dollar bank accounts,” she snorts.
“Ah, yes. Their money.” I nod in agreement.
“It’s intimidating.”
I frown at her. “It shouldn’t be. It’s money. Doesn’t make them a better person. In the end, it’s just money.”
Her lips tuck in, and I imagine she’s thinking about her past. “I grew up poor, so money intimidates me.” Poor. My heart sinks as she says this. She adds, “Well, not dirt poor. I had clothes and food and a roof over my head, but the clothes were never the latest trends, and I just never really fit in.”
She tips her head back, swallowing the rest of her wine. I reach for the bottle and refresh her glass.
“You know what I appreciate about you, Holt?” She steps over to the edge of the rooftop patio, then leans forward over the short hedges that line the perimeter, giving the patio a more park-like feel.
“What?”
“I like that you have money, but you don’t care. You have nice cars, this house is seriously the shit,” she spins around and looks at me, “but at the end of the day, you’re totally normal and not a complete dick like most rich men I’ve met.” She smiles at me after she’s done.
“Not a dick,” I repeat with a chuckle. “That’s a good thing.”
“That’s a very good thing.” She smirks, then points to the grill that has begun casting a heavy smoke out the vent. “And I think you might want to check the steaks.” She laughs.
I flip the lid and find the steaks actually looking perfect. I kill the gas and plate the steaks, carrying them over to the table. “I’m going to go grab the potatoes. Feel free to start serving yourself.”
When I return, Saige has filled both of our plates with a steak, a dinner roll, and a small side salad for each of us. A fresh beer has been opened for me, and wine for her.
“This smells amazing!” She begins cutting into her steak. “And it’s cooked perfectly. My compliments to the chef.” She pulls a piece of steak off her fork with her teeth. “Mmm,” she hums as she chews. I’ve never found someone eating erotic before, but the way her eyes roll back slightly and she tips her head, along with the sounds she’s making, has totally turned me on.
“I’m glad you like it.” I slide into my chair and join Saige in enjoying our dinner. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she finally pushes her plate away.
“So since all of this,” she twirls her hand around the space between us, “kind of happened on a dare . . .” She bites her lip and fights back a grin. “Let’s play twenty questions.” I raise my eyebrows at her, and she laughs. “Except I’m the one asking all the questions.”
“That’s not fair,” I grumble good-naturedly, taking a sip of beer.
She laughs. “It is fair. Only because I’ve exhausted all means of finding anything about you on the Internet. Next up is a private investigator.”
My stomach turns when she says this, but I play it off because I know she’s kidding.
“My Internet stalking skills are on fleek, and there is zilch about you.”
“On fleek?” I question. Jesus, I feel old.
She nods. “Yeah, like hella good.”
“So you’re a good stalker?” I raise my eyebrows in mock concern.
“When I need to be.” She laughs and takes a sip of her wine. “So anyway, I’m going to ask you twenty questions, and you need to answer them honestly.”
I narrow an eye at her. “What if I need to plead the fifth?”
She shakes her head once. “Not allowed.”
“Christ,” I mumble and take another drink of my beer. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
She rubs her hands together quickly and leans forward, resting her forearms on the edge of the table. She looks at me with a challenge in her eye. “Okay, some of these will be easy or simple, and some will make you cringe. Suck it up, but you have to answer honestly. Question number one. How tall are you?”
“Six-foot-three and a half.” Boom. Easy. “Next.”
She smiles mischievously, as if she knows the difficult questions are yet to come. “Number two. How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
Her cheeks go a little pink, and I smile. “Seventeen.”
“Huh,” she says, and I wonder how old she was. “Number three. Where did you go to college?”
My pulse quickens just a bit, but I answer honestly. “Columbia.”
She nods, approving. “Impressive.”
I shrug. “It’s just a school. I’m sure your education was just as good as mine.”
“For one-sixteenth of the cost too,” she mumbles quietly. “Okay, question four. Tell me about your family.”
Fuck . . . This could be bad. I clear my throat. “Well, my parents divorced when I was in college. I no longer have a relationship with my father. I’m an only child, and my mother is the greatest.” Personal enough, I think.
She takes in what I’ve said, spinning her wine glass between her fingers. I take a deep breath and roll my fingers on the table, hoping she doesn’t press the family question any further.
“Do you like being an only child?” She asks.