“No fridges in our hotel rooms,” Owen said. “The food stays with you unless you want it to go to waste.”
They were backing me into a corner, the way they kept trying to do with buy-out negotiations. And I wasn’t making a big deal out of this. I moved the box to sit outside my arm. I’d have Violet take it home or something. “Fine.”
I plucked cucumber slice from my salad and nibbled it far longer than I needed to. The dumplings looked good and smelled better. Why did they have to force my hand?
Kingston wielded his chopsticks with ease as he took a bite of food. His groan was a low, throaty rumble that sent pleasant shivers racing over me.
Own was using a spoon, and his moan was just as tempting. “You’re right. This is incredible.”
Jerks. They were doing that on purpose.
“I know you’re not hungry”—Kingston sectioned off another bit on chopsticks—“but you have room for one bite.” He held the food out.
I could eat that and be delicate, and then we could drop the entire conversation. I leaned in and took the food offering. As I licked my lips, I earned another groan. I was going to bake under the intense heat of Kingston’s gaze.
I must have been bright red as I turned back to my salad. It didn’t look as appetizing now that I had the other flavors on my tongue, but this was about pride and proving a point.
“Would you like another bite?” Owen teased his fork near me.
This was just mean. “I’m fine.”
“You look a bit put out.”
“But you still look fine,” Kingston said. “I’ll agree with that.”
The flirting was going to get old. It hadn’t yet, but I was sure it would. “I’m not that girl.”
“What girl?” Owen put his spoon down.
“The one who says she doesn’t want anything, and then eats half her—” I couldn’t say date or boyfriend “—dining companion’s food. Besides, I have my own, which was thoughtful, if not presumptuous, of you.”
“Fuck, you’re stubborn.” Kingston sounded amused.
“Says the man who refuses to take no for an answer.”
“If you want the food, eat the food. It’s not like you care what we think,” Owen said.
“And you’re infuriatingly logical.”
Kingston laughed. “Isn’t he, though? That’s why he lets me do the negotiating. People want to come to the bargaining table with their hearts, not their minds, regardless of what they say. You, for instance, are looking at our offer mostly based on your heart.”
“I told you this was my passion. You don’t need a psychology degree to figure out I’m not turning you away because of the money.” I didn’t care for being analyzed, even if I was doing the same to them. But Owen had a point, too. If I didn’t care what they thought of me, why was I hesitating to eat? And now I’d done the one thing I didn’t want to—made a big deal out of the food.
“I’m not doing this because you’re right. About anything.” I set my salad aside, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and plucked a dumpling from the broth.
“Of course you’re not.” Owen kept a straight face.
Kingston was smirking though.
It was a good thing they were leaving at the end of the day. They wreaked havoc on my mind and body, and part of me wanted a lot more of the same.
I really wanted the focus off me and my dietary choices. Always, but especially now. “How long are you two going to be in town?” That was polite and gave me information at the same time. It would tell me how long I needed to hide and avoid them.
The glances they exchanged were impossible to interpret.
“Is it a secret?” I asked.
Owen opened his mouth.
“Yes.” Kingston talked over him. “At least for now it is.”
“Ah.” Not that it was really my business, but it was an odd thing to not want to discuss. “Then, how about that gorgeous weather we’re having? Or are your thoughts on that a secret too?” I kept my tone light.
“It was a secret, but then the press caught wind, and social media started talking, and now everyone knows I think the weather is perfect right now.” Kingston finished with an exaggerated sigh, and the corners of his eyes still crinkled with laughter.
If he weren’t gorgeous and rich and completely on top of the world, I might start to think the steady stream of humor was there to mask an insecurity.
“Speaking of the gorgeous weather—” Owen looked like a light bulb had just gone off in his mind —“we’re meeting a few friends up at Strawberry Reservoir on Sunday. They’ve got a huge cabin up there. You should come with us.”
Besides the fact that the invitation was completely out of the blue, the lake meant water meant boats and swimming and most likely people in bathing suits. Not for me. “Why?”
“They come from some of the more influential families around here,” Owen said. “In politics. In money. It’s a good chance to make some connections.”
“Also, they’re fun. Otherwise, what’s the point?” Kingston added.
That still didn’t answer my question. “I’ll be clearer. Why me?”
“You’re smart. You’re an excellent businesswoman.” Owen ticked off bullet points.
I stared at him blankly. “Which doesn’t translate to come hang at the lake with us and meet our rich friends. You barely know me.”
Owen raised an eyebrow. “We’re still trying to make you a business partner, and this is a good excuse to get to know you in a social-but-professional environment.”
And there it was. His answer didn’t bother me the way I thought it should.
“Some people think it doesn’t matter who you know, but it does. Use this to your advantage,” Kingston said.
I hated the idea of owing anyone or calling in favors, but Kingston was right. Their reasons for introducing me didn’t have to be mine. “Don’t suppose any of your friends are connected to the city council.” As in, could they put me in touch with someone who could help me with my zoning issues?
Not that I’d skirt the system that way, but I’d feel a little better about my upcoming hearing if I knew someone.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Owen said.
“Sounds like fun.” I was making a mistake, accepting. But they were here on business, and had made no illusions about it. I doubted they had any false ideas about why I’d join them anywhere else, either.
The conversation drifted back to barely-there small talk. We finished lunch, and dove back into baking.
“The limited edition poster you have for X-10, in the café.” Owen shaped out bagels like a pro. “We called in every favor we could think of, and couldn’t get one of those. How’d you manage it?”
Kingston rolled his eyes. “He’s a fanboy. Don’t get him started, or he’ll never stop.”
“What did you think of how it ended?” My question was leading. A lot of the fanboys had a problem with the way the X franchise had wrapped up. In the final game, the hero confessed his love to the man he’d been sent to execute in Game 1, but whom he saved instead.
If Owen fell into that category, maybe it would be enough to tell my libido to calm the heck down and stop drooling over him.