Protective? Yes.
Control freaks? Hell, no.
“If it makes you feel better to write those terms in there, go for it.” I was never going to need to be “contracted” to treat Riley with respect, but knowing her history, I wasn’t as affronted as I’d been when I called her. “But you could leave out numbers four and five.”
“Not. Happening,” she answered rigidly. “I don’t like men groping my ass in public.”
“How about in private?” I asked hopefully.
“Neither. Seth, none of this is real. It’s supposed to be a ruse to help you.”
She was right. But admitting that didn’t exactly make me happy. “Fine. Write the contract,” I said in a businesslike tone.
I noticed that she hadn’t mentioned number four, and a guy could hope.
If both parties agreed, contract terms could be changed.
If not, I’d just have to be content with spending more time with her. Riley was worth a hell of lot more than just a quick screw.
I wouldn’t deny that I hoped I could persuade her to change her mind about number four. Eventually.
It had been so long since I’d wanted a female this damn badly. Hell, maybe my cock had never been as hard for any woman as it was for Riley.
“Anything else? On your side, I mean?” It sounded like she was taking notes, because the sound of a keyboard was clicking away.
“Signs of affection are a must,” I said thoughtfully. “If we’re supposed to be dating, it will be expected.”
Maybe I couldn’t fuck her or grope her ass, but I refused to not be allowed to touch her in any way. That was too much to ask when we were going to spend so much time pretending to date.
There was silence at the end of her phone until she finally asked, “What kind of affection?”
Hell, she sounded nervous, which wasn’t a good sign at all. “Simple stuff,” I said vaguely. “But no butt grabbing.”
“All right,” she snapped. “I’ll touch you. And you can touch me. Casually.”
My cock twitched, liking the possibility of touching this particular female in almost any way possible. “I’ll pick you up Saturday night. Six thirty?”
The fund-raiser was starting at seven thirty, but it would take us a while to get into San Diego.
“I can drive myself,” she said hesitantly.
“Nope. Hard terms. You always go with me. My girlfriend wouldn’t be driving herself. We’d be together.”
“Okay,” she murmured, still tapping away at her keyboard.
Oh, hell, she sounded uncertain, and that was a part of Riley I definitely didn’t know. And didn’t like.
Generally, the woman was confident to the point of orneriness. And I was starting to like her stubbornness. Most of the time.
“Anything else?” she asked briskly.
“Relax,” I told her in a soothing voice. “I’m not going to embarrass you. Maybe I was a blue-collar guy, but I know how to be cordial and appropriate in public. Unless somebody really pisses me off.”
She let out a startled laugh. “I’m not worried about you. I’m more nervous about me.”
Okay. She didn’t mingle with this crowd. Apparently, the thought made her edgy. “Be whoever you want to be, Riley. Don’t worry about not fitting in. You have nothing to prove to anybody.” I hesitated before I asked, “Do you need anything for these events? I’ll pick up the tab for whatever you need.”
“Like what?” She sounded confused.
“Clothes, shoes, anything. Weapons of self-defense so nobody grabs your ass? I don’t want you picking up the bill for stuff that you’re only going to use to go with me.”
I didn’t really know her financial situation, but I hardly thought that environmental attorneys made a ton of money. I knew for a fact that she was doing the work on this property deal pro bono.
“I’ll manage,” she said hastily. “I’ll pass on the weapons for self-defense. I’m hardly going to shoot someone for pinching my ass.”
“I might,” I grumbled under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said in a louder voice.
“Can I ask you something?” The sound of tapping on her keyboard suddenly stopped.
“Anything. Shoot.”
“Are you really ready to mingle with this crowd? They aren’t exactly your average partygoers.”
Was she worried about whether or not I’d be accepted because I was new money? Or a previously broke construction worker? “I’m not going so I can be inserted into their circle, Riley. I don’t give a damn whether any of them like me. It’s business. I’ve already gone to a couple of events with Eli, which is how I know I need a date to go with me. I already know that the majority of the elites are snobs. They go to events to see and be seen, not for the charity itself. Even Eli won’t associate with most of them outside of a social gathering, and he grew up with that crowd. We can treat it like a game to be played, something we don’t take seriously.”
She let out a breath of what sounded like relief. “I can do that.”
“Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night? Just so we can go over the contract?”
“No need,” she said abruptly. “I can send it to your office.”
I grinned. That was the Riley I recognized.
Stubborn.
Independent.
And totally evasive.
“Okay, send it over,” I agreed, hoping like hell she’d forget all about number four when she wrote the official contract.
CHAPTER 7
RILEY
When Saturday night arrived, I stood in front of my mirror, knowing my mother definitely wouldn’t like my choice of apparel. She never had.
My new cocktail dress was a deep forest green, a hue that always complemented my flaming-red hair. I’d kept it tame. But the hem did end above my knees. However, I’d opted for three-quarter-length sleeves because it was getting cooler.
Is the neckline too low?
I shook my head. Rationally, I was aware that the style wasn’t scandalous. Yeah, the V down the front flirted with my breasts, but it showed absolutely nothing.
I eyed the strappy silver heels I was wearing, knowing my mother would have dictated black for formal wear. But I loved sparkly shoes, and I had a complete adoration for . . . color. Lots of color. I’d gotten tired of wearing basic black when I’d barely been out of my teen years.
Unfortunately, neither my mother nor Nolan had ever encouraged my style choices.
That color is appallingly inappropriate.
Your heels should be black.
Your hair is messy.
Etc., etc., etc.
I smiled at my reflection.
Fortunately, I didn’t need approval from either one of them anymore.
I’d swept my hair up with a large, beautiful silver hair clip, but curly tendrils still framed my face.
Maybe my makeup had required a little heavier hand than usual, but it was far from plastered on.
I sighed and picked up a tiny silver purse and got my black cashmere dress coat out of my closet.
In spite of my pep talk, I was still feeling edgy.
I’d promised myself I’d never go back, but here I was, ready to attend my first of many fund-raisers and social events with my mother’s crowd again.