“Well, if he's as rich as all these websites claim, then it probably won't be a problem,” Tori mumbled. She'd gotten her laptop out and had already googled Wulf's name.
The Stone Agency owned large chunks of San Francisco. He also had other companies and other realty businesses, owning property in Los Angeles and Beverly Hills and Malibu and Orange County and just about every other rich California town that came to mind. Beyond that, there were articles about investments and possible shell corporations. Wulfric Stone was a very, very wealthy man.
“Why does he want to have dinner?” Katya asked.
“Maybe he could smell the sex-kitten-vibe rolling off you,” Tori suggested.
“I was only a sex kitten for about six hours last night,” Katya said.
“So. Counts, and men like this, they can always smell it.”
“Stop saying smell, it sounds gross.”
“Who cares, Kat? You're meeting a guy you used to have a major hard on for, and you're not the little brat next door anymore. You're a successful, bright, sexy young woman who is coming into her sexual peak, apparently. Go eat dinner on his dime, see what he wants, and if he's halfway nice to you, boff his brains out,” Tori said. Katya started to laugh, but then it died away.
“What about Liam what's-his-face?” she asked.
“What about him?”
“I don't know … are we dating? Was that a date last night? I mean, I can't have sex with him last night, then go on a date with a new guy tonight … can I?”
“Babe, you can do whatever you want. I always wondered why you had so many rules for yourself. Did Liam ask you out again?” Tori asked.
“Well … no,” Katya was honest.
“Okay. Did he get your number?”
“No.”
“Has he had sex with other women in that club?”
“I got the impression he had, yeah.”
“So then no harm, no foul. You're not his girlfriend. Go out with this Wulf guy tonight, who knows, maybe all he wants to talk about is cake. Maybe he wants to eat you out like you're made of cake.”
“I'm seriously going to be sick if you keep talking like that.”
“Either way, you're not tied down or committed to anything, so why not have fun?”
Going out to meet Wulfric Stone didn't exactly sound like Katya's idea of “fun”, but she found herself getting ready anyway. Her hangover was still lurking in the back of her brain, but she downed three extra strength Tylenol and pounded a beer at Tori's suggestion, then dug a decent outfit out of her closet. A skirt short enough to show off her legs, which she thought were pretty nice, but demure enough to be appropriate for a business dinner. Another flowy blouse on top, covering up her arms to balance out the amount of skin showing on her legs.
Then she got in her second shower of the day and scrubbed every inch of her skin. Shaved all the pertinent parts of her body, because obviously, one needed to be squeaky clean for a “business dinner”. After she'd lotioned up, giving her olive-tinted skin a shine, she finally pulled her hair up into a loose, rounded bun, then worked on her make up. She preferred a mostly natural look, light pink gloss on her lips, long delicate lashes, shimmer on her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh faced, that's what she called it. But when she was done, she wondered if she looked a bit … young.
“What do you think?” she asked as her roommate came into her bedroom. The other girl dipped down, looking in the mirror as well.
“Cute. You're so adorable with those beautiful eyes,” Tori teased, blowing kisses at their reflection.
“But I don't want to be adorable. I want to be sexy,” Katya said.
“It is sexy – just in a different way. Your look, it's like … you kinda … when you look as cute and innocent as you do, it makes men want to dirty you up. Defile you,” Tori said.
Hmmm, certainly did the trick last night.
So at seven o'clock on the dot, she found herself standing in the entrance to Mirage restaurant, looking around for the mysterious Mr. Stone. She paced from one wall to the other, tapped her Jimmy Choo against the marble floor, then paced again. Glanced at her phone, as if magically Liam would have somehow gotten her phone number and texted her. He hadn't, and the screen was blank. So she paced some more.
At five past, she began to wonder if it had all been a joke. The assistant chick had made such a big deal about being on time – so where was Mr. Punctual? At ten past, Katya had enough and started heading towards the exit. Just then, the ma?tre d' glanced up from his podium.
“Excuse me, were you looking for someone?” he asked in a polite voice. She smiled at him.
“Yes, Mr. Stone, but he's late,” she said.
“Oh, he's already been seated! My apologies. Please, right this way.”
Katya was once again surprised. That Wulf was already there, and had been seated, not bothering to look out for her. Or obviously not bothering to tell the wait staff that he was expecting someone else. If she hadn't been sure before, then she was definitely sure now that it wasn't a date.
“Mr. Stone, you have a guest,” the ma?tre d' made a big show of pulling out her chair for her, laying her napkin across her lap.
Wulfric Stone stayed seated the whole time, barely glancing up from his menu to acknowledge her. He nodded at the other man, then went back to looking over the food. Katya stared at him for about a minute, unsure of what she should do.
“Are you hungry? The lobster here is fantastic,” he said. He'd spoken to her in the bakery, but she'd been so out of sorts, she hadn't paid attention. His voice was smooth, and much deeper than she remembered it being.
“I'm sorry, are we having dinner?” she asked. He finally looked at her.
“So you have trouble with speaking English and don't understand the basic functions of a restaurant. You see, Katya, in a restaurant, they tend to specialize in producing food, particularly around the socially acceptable hours for lunch and dinner, and possibly breakfast, depending on the establishment.”
Her blood instantly went from stagnant to full boil and she stood up, her chair scooting out behind her. She didn't owe this man anything, didn't even know him, and couldn't give two shits about his order with her bakery. She grabbed her purse and went to storm past him when he grabbed her arm.
“Do not touch me,” she hissed, but his hand didn't move.
“I was being serious – the lobster shouldn't be missed. Sit down,” he said, finally putting down his menu.
“Are you joking? I'd rather eat my own hair than have a meal with you,” she said.
“Well, you can do that at this table, too. Sit.”
She sat down, shocking herself. He smiled at her – a closed mouth, tight lipped number, then retrieved her napkin from where it had fallen next to the table. She took it from him and smoothed it out on her lap.
“What do you want?”
“I was very surprised to see you in that bakery. I wasn't aware you were living in San Francisco,” he said.
“Been here for a long time now.”