Liars Like Us

7

It’s a good thing this gorgeous stranger and I aren’t married, because the way the pretty hostess swoons when he approaches her and asks for a table is exasperating.

I mean, it would be. As it is, I’m simply considering this an interesting education in the power of a charming smile.

“R-right this way, Mr. McCord,” she stammers, reddening.

When she turns and starts to walk away, I say drily, “Come here often?”

“Something like that.”

He steers me through the restaurant by my elbow, nodding at people here and there as we pass by. He’s obviously well known around the place, which makes me relax a little.

If he were a murderer, he probably wouldn’t be so popular.

The hostess leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant, next to a window overlooking a tree-lined courtyard with a fountain in the middle. Callum pulls out my chair, makes sure I’m comfortably seated, then takes the chair across from me. He snaps open a white linen napkin and elegantly settles it over his lap.

Without looking at the hostess, he says, “I’ll start with the usual, Sophie. And the lady will have a vodka martini.”

“Yes, sir.” Gaze downcast, Sophie turns to leave, but I stop her.

“Actually, I’d like an iced tea, please.”

Startled, she looks at me with wide eyes. Then she glances at Callum, wanting permission to change my order.

When he inclines his head, I laugh in disbelief.

Sophie scurries away before I can ask her if she’s ever heard of the feminist movement.

I catch Callum looking at me and say, “Don’t mind me. It’s just that I’ve grown so accustomed to making my own decisions that it’s a huge relief to discover I no longer have to.”

He leans back in his chair, rests one hand on the edge of the table, and considers me thoughtfully for a moment.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. “How gratifying to know that your brains equal your—”

I bite my tongue. Heat rises in my cheeks. Mentally hitting myself over the head with my chair, I remain silent.

Leaning in and clasping his hands together, Callum stares intently at me.

“My what?”

I cast around for something that will sound reasonable. “Your…um…I forgot.”

Congratulations, Em. Your brain has left the building.

“You forgot?”

There’s a trace of humor in his voice, but his expression is serious. The tips of my ears begin to burn.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“Tell me what you were going to say first.”

“No.”

His stare is unwavering. The heat in my cheeks burns hotter.

“I mean, no, thank you.”

I want to cover my face with my napkin, slide under the table, and hide, but won’t give him the satisfaction. I remain stiff and embarrassed in my chair, staring back at him with what I hope is convincing confidence.

Holding my gaze, he commands softly, “Tell me what you were going to say, Emery.”

Whew. If I’m going to have to beat my v****a into submission every time this man says something sexy and commanding, my arms will fall off.

I blow out a hard breath and decide to go with the truth. What the hell, this whole thing couldn’t get any weirder.

“Beauty. There you have it. I was going to say that your brains equal your beauty. Now let’s talk about how you know my name.”

“I overheard your employees say it at the restaurant. Then I researched your business. Don’t change the subject.”

“You researched my business?” I repeat, surprised.

“I had to find out where it was located so I could come and make my proposition to you. Don’t change the subject.”

His intensity is alarming. It’s also arousing. I don’t believe I’ve ever been looked at with such perfect focus in my life.

My voice faint, I say, “What was the subject again?”

“You said my brains equal my beauty.”

Honestly, at this point he could tell me I said I’d like to throw a saddle on him and go for a ride, and I’d believe it.

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

“So you think I’m beautiful.”

Put off that he’s hunting for more compliments, I scrunch up my nose. “I take it back. Narcissism is never pretty.”

If that insulted him, he doesn’t show it. He simply says, “I’m many things, but a narcissist isn’t one of them.”

“Which is exactly what a narcissist would say.”

That earns me a smile, his first of the day. To say it’s gorgeous would be a massive understatement. It is, in fact, dazzling.

My palms start to sweat.

Sophie returns with our drinks. As soon as she sets the glass of iced tea in front of me, I turn to her and say, “You know, I think I will have that martini after all.”

When she looks at Callum for approval, I sigh in disappointment.

“Give Miss Eastwood whatever she wants, Sophie,” murmurs Callum, dark eyes burning as they consider me.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers before walking away.

Seriously, what is it with that girl? She’s as meek as a mouse!

“You don’t approve.”

Pulled from my thoughts, I glance at Callum. He’s looking at me with an indecipherable expression, his smile gone.

“Of what?”

“Of Sophie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You don’t approve of her.”

I think for a moment, not understanding where he’s going with this but wanting to be truthful nonetheless. “I suppose it’s just uncomfortable for me to see a woman be so…”

“Submissive?”

That wolflike glimmer has resurfaced in his eyes. Is he laughing at me?

Equal parts annoyed and unsettled, I say, “Yeah. Exactly. It’s like she’s afraid of you.”

“But you’re not.”

I lift my brows and stare at him straight on. “I never said that.”

“You’re not. If you were, you never would have gotten into the car with me.”

“Maybe I’m mentally incompetent.”

Honestly, it would explain a lot.

But he doesn’t think so because he shakes his head. “You sent pictures of my driver’s license, registration, and license plate to your friend. And you made me leave my fingerprints on the water glass.”

“Maybe I’m carefully mentally incompetent.”