Bad, bad idea.
Professionalism. I chanted it over and over. That word was the key to everything and I needed to remember it. Needed to remember that he could look as hot as he wanted and we could throw all the dirty words we wanted around but that was all it ever could be—dirty words. Not dirty touches or anything else.
“That purse looks too small for your notebook,” West said after a couple of minutes driving.
“That’s because it is. I don’t have it.”
“Then how are you going to take notes? I assume that’s the point of a market research trip.”
“Yes, but for starters, this was supposed to be your trip, not mine.” I pulled my phone out. “And I’ll be taking notes on this. It’ll look like I’m texting. If I go into a club with a rival owner and start scribbling in a notebook, it’ll look a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
“True. But you assume they’ll know who I am.”
“Is that incorrect?”
“No.”
“Well, then. That was a waste of time bringing it up, wasn’t it?”
He cut his eyes to me. “You look like you need a drink, angel.”
“You’ll be the one in need of alcohol if you call me angel again, except it’ll be to clean out your wounds.”
“Feisty.” He flashed me a grin and pulled into the Rock Solid parking lot.
If I had known he’d just park here, I’d have insisted further that I could drive myself. What could I do?
“Come on, Ms. O’Halloran.”
I pursed my lips as I opened the door and got out of the car. I stunned myself for a moment when my foot hit the floor—I hadn’t realized the car was so low—but managed to straighten and shut the door without any further problems. Honestly, I had no idea what model this car was except sexy as hell and low enough that I could hop up on top of the roof and sit there comfortably.
It was very...Vegas, I realized, as I watched West adjust his rolled sleeves to flatten them. He was very Vegas, if there were such a thing. There had to be if I was thinking it. He wasn’t flashy—car aside—but he was...put together. His shirts were perfectly pressed, there was never a crease in his pants, and his shoes were always shiny. Even now, the dark-brown shoes he was wearing complemented his well-fitting jeans, and I didn’t want to think about how much money that man spent on tailoring.
It had to be borderline unhealthy. Then again, he had the body beneath all the fabric. If I were a guy, I’d want well-tailored clothing to show that shit off too.
“You done staring at me yet, Mia?”
I blinked harshly. “You’ve got dirt on your shirt.”
Lame. Super, super, lame. That’s the kinda stuff ten-year-old boys say to ten-year-old girls when they’re being tiny idiots.
“Nice try. We need to go or I’m hauling your ass in the back seat.”
“Can you try to be professional?” I snapped, stalking around the car. The noise of the Strip carried over, punctuated by the booming music from the building he owned, which was right next to us, but we could talk perfectly clearly. “We have to work together, and I’m not interested in your innuendos.”
“Promises.”
“What?”
“They’re not innuendos. They’re promises.”
“Again!” I stopped and put my hands on my hips. “This isn’t professional, West.”
He stopped too and turned back to me. “West. That’s the first time you’ve called me anything but Mr. Rykman since you got here.”
“I got here yesterday and saw you for the first time not twelve hours ago!”
“And look how frustrated you are.”
Frustrated was an understatement. I was getting downright pissed off with him and his attitude. Fucking hell, why did I always put myself in stupid situations? I should have just agreed to do the research alone.
“I think it’s best if I do this alone,” I said slowly. “Clearly, this isn’t a good idea. I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re driving me to insanity.”
His eyebrow arched, tugging his lips up with it. “A young woman going to various male strip clubs in the middle of Las Vegas all alone? Shit, Mia. Why didn’t I think that was a good idea?”
“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
“And all it takes is one person who’s better at taking care of you than you are yourself. You’re not doing this alone—and we’re not fucking arguing about it. I promise to be professional from now on.”
I stared at him, annoyance still swirling low in my stomach, but he looked sincere, and he was right. I couldn’t go flouncing around male strip clubs alone. That was asking for trouble, and knowing me, I’d attract it.
“Fine,” I half huffed out and walked once more. “But let’s get this straight so there are no suspicions about your presence in these clubs. You’re a friend of my brother. He’s getting married, I’m the maid of honor, and I’m here to find venues for the bachelorette party.”