The Duke's Boardroom Affair / Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband. Yvonne LindsayЧитать онлайн книгу.
him, “The Royal Inn.”
“Why are we going to the Royal Inn?” she asked.
“I’m taking you to Les Régal De Rois for dinner,” he said. He expected an argument or an immediate refusal. Instead she just looked amused, which rubbed his already frayed nerves.
“Is that an invitation?” she asked.
“No. Just a fact.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“What about my car?”
“It’ll be fine in the parking garage overnight. I’ll arrange for my car to pick you up in the morning.”
She mulled that over, looking skeptical. He steeled himself for the inevitable argument. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He needed a target to vent a little steam. Even though he was supposed to be convincing her to stay, not using her for target practice.
Instead she said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll go to dinner with you, but only if I get to choose the restaurant.”
He shrugged. “All right.”
“And you have to let me pay.”
Absolutely not. He never let women pay. It had been hammered into him from birth that it was a man’s duty—his responsibility—to pick up the check. As far as his mother was concerned, chivalry was alive and kicking.
“Considering your current employment status, it might be wise to let me cover it,” he said.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Let me worry about that.”
Would it hurt to let her think she was paying? But when it came time to get the bill, he would take it. It’s not as if she would wrestle it out of his hand. At least, he didn’t think she would. She may have been independent, but he knew from experience that deep down, all women loved to be pampered. They liked when men held doors and paid the check. Expected it, even.
“Fine,” he agreed.
She leaned forward and instructed the driver to take them to an unfamiliar address in the bay area. For all he knew she could be taking him to a fast-food establishment.
The driver looked to Charles for confirmation, and he nodded.
What the heck. He was always up for an adventure.
Six
It wasn’t a fast food restaurant.
It was a cozy, moderately priced bistro tucked between two upscale women’s clothing stores in the shopping district. The maître d’ greeted Victoria warmly and Charles with the proper fuss afforded royalty, then seated them at a table in a secluded corner. It was quiet and intimate and soaked in the flickering glow of warm candlelight. Their waiter appeared instantly to take their drink orders—a white wine for Victoria and a double scotch for him—then he listed the specials for the evening.
“I recommend the prime rib,” Victoria said, once he was gone.
Charles drew the line at letting his date order for him, and he used the term date very loosely. Besides, his encounter with Ethan had pretty much killed his appetite.
“I take it you come here often,” he said.
“I love this place,” Victoria said with a smile. An honest to goodness, genuine smile. And the force of it was so devastating it nearly knocked him backward out of his chair. She might not have smiled often, but it was certainly worth the wait.
The waiter reappeared only seconds later with their drinks. Charles took a deep slug of scotch, relishing the smooth burn as it slid down his throat and spread heat through his stomach. Three or four more of these and he would be right as rain, but he’d never been one to find solace in a bottle.
Victoria took a sip of her wine, watching him curiously. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” She propped her elbow on the table, dropped her chin in her hand, and gazed across the candlelight at him, her eyes warm, her features soft in the low light.
She really was stunning. And not at all the sort of woman he was typically attracted to. But maybe that was the appeal. Maybe he was tired of the same old thing. Maybe he needed to spice things up a bit.
The family had put the kibosh on that, though, hadn’t they? And since when did he ever let anyone tell him whom he could or couldn’t pursue?
“What makes you think something is bothering me?”
“That’s why I agreed to dinner,” she said. “You looked as though you needed a sympathetic ear.”
She certainly looked sympathetic, which for some reason surprised him. He never imagined her having a soft side. But he wasn’t one to air his troubles. Although, would it hurt to play the pity card this one time? And maybe, in the process, do his job and convince Victoria to stay with the hotel?
He pulled in a deep, contemplative breath, then blew it out. “Family issues,” he said, keeping it cryptic. Baiting her. But if he expected her to try to drag it out of him, boy, had he been wrong.
She just sat there sipping her wine, waiting for him to continue.
He dropped another crumb. “Suffice it to say that the family wasn’t happy to hear that you’re not staying with the Royal Inn.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ve been instructed to do whatever it takes to convince you to stay.”
If she was flattered, it didn’t show on her face. “But that isn’t what’s bothering you,” she said.
Who was baiting whom here?
Though he’d had no intention of telling her what was really said, he supposed that if anyone could understand a backstabbing, meddling family, it was her.
“I’ve been asked by the family not to pursue you socially.”
A grin tipped up the corners of her mouth. “In other words, don’t sleep with me.”
Her candor surprised him a little, but then, what did she have to lose? This was only a temporary position for her. “That was the gist of it, yes.”
“And that upsets you?”
“Wouldn’t it upset you?”
“I suppose. But then, I don’t have a notorious reputation for sleeping with my employees.”
He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d heard that. “According to whom?”
“The girls in the palace office talk.”
He couldn’t exactly deny it, but still he felt…offended. Whom he dated was no one’s concern. Especially the girls in the office. “What else did the girls have to say about me?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Did he? Did it even matter? When had he ever cared what people thought of him?
But curiosity got the best of him. “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.”
“They told me that your assistants never last more than a few weeks.”
Again, he couldn’t deny it. But that was just the nature of business. Assistants’ positions notoriously had a high turnover rate. Most were overworked and underpaid.
Were the girls in the office taking that into account?
Not to say that he was an unfair employer. But he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
“And I’m not your usual