When Sophie arrives, I order another martini and a chicken salad. Callum orders a dozen raw oysters, a terrine of foie gras, a ten-ounce wagyu steak with black truffle sauce, lobster mashed potatoes, and a side of steamed asparagus wrapped in bacon.
Without batting an eyelash at the size of his order, Sophie says, “Should I bring a bottle of Peter Michael as well, sir?”
“Yes. The 2012. Along with a glass of Sancerre with the oysters and Sauterne with the foie gras. And a large Pellegrino.”
“Very good, sir. Thank you.”
Perplexed, I watch her leave, wondering how many other people will be joining us for lunch. From the sound of it, a crew of construction workers will arrive any minute.
“Do you always eat like it’s your last meal?”
He replies in a husky voice, “I have a big appetite,” then takes a swig of his whiskey. His burning dark eyes meet mine over the crystal rim of the glass.
My smile is small and nervous. I’d better get him talking about something else other than his appetite or my vagina will seize control of the rest of my body and stage a coup. I’m liable to jump onto the table, grab his head, and grind my crotch into the poor man’s face.
“You look flustered,” he observes, eyeing me. “Everything all right?”
“Absolutely!” I thunder. Then I cough in embarrassment and lower my volume. “It’s just not every day that a billionaire with an eating disorder proposes marriage to me. I mean, it’s happened before, obviously”—my laugh sounds crazed, like someone’s holding a gun to my head—“just not this week. Oh, that reminds me.”
“Of?”
“You don’t know if I’m already married or in a relationship.”
“Don’t I?” He chuckles and takes another sip of whiskey.
“Blech. There you go being smug again. How annoying.”
When he raises his brows and stares at me, I blush. “I have a tendency to say inside thoughts out loud. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s refreshing.”
I examine his expression for a moment. “Having people kiss your bossy billionaire ass all the livelong day gets boring, hmm?”
He laughs.
It seems to surprise him in an unpleasant way, because he stops abruptly and sets his whiskey on the table with a jarring thud, then looks around, as if to make sure nobody heard him.
His reaction makes me smile. At least I’m not the only uncomfortable one.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you let that slip. It’ll be our little secret.”
He meets my eyes again. His gaze grows assessing. “Are you good at keeping secrets?”
“No. That was just a figure of speech. All my friends know not to tell me anything they don’t want repeated because everyone else I know will hear about it within twenty-four hours. Are you?”
“Yes. Very.”
When I stare at him in silence with my lips pursed, he says, “Don’t overthink it.”
“Telling a woman not to overthink something is as dangerous as telling her to calm down when she’s angry.”
A faint smile lifts the corners of his lips. “I only meant that I have to be good at keeping secrets because of business. I was raised to hold my cards close to the chest. With the position my family is in, we never know who we can trust. So we don’t trust anyone.”
“What, like, nobody?”
“No one outside the family, no.”
I think about that for a moment. “Sounds like a miserable existence.”
“It’s not.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. So I guess this means I’ll have to learn to keep secrets. I mean, since I’m going to be family and everything.” I laugh and swallow the last sip of my martini.
“You still don’t think I’m serious. I assure you, I am.”
I want to roll my eyes again, but he looks so intense, I don’t chance it. I’ve decided he isn’t a murderer, but there’s a ton of gray area between killer and good guy. Besides, anyone who’d ask a stranger to marry him is at least a teensy bit off in the head.
Inside my purse, my cell starts to ring. When I ignore it, Callum says, “I don’t mind if you need to take that.”
“I can talk to her later.”
He looks intrigued. “How do you know who it is?”
“We have a psychic connection.”
He stares at me, narrowing his eyes.
“Just kidding.” I’m not, but I don’t want to sound insane. There’s enough of that going around already. “It’s my girlfriend Daniela. When I sent her the pics of your driver’s license and other stuff, I also told her to call me in exactly thirty minutes to make sure I wasn’t dead.”
“You have an overactive imagination.”
That makes me smile. “Guilty. Comes from reading too many books.”
He chuckles. “So if you don’t pick up the call, she’ll think I’ve done something awful to you and call 9-1-1?”
“You don’t seem terribly worried about the idea.”
He casually lifts a shoulder. “I know the chief of police.”
“You’re saying he wouldn’t care if you murdered me? That’s a little insulting.”
“I’m saying he knows I wouldn’t murder anyone. He’d assume it was a prank.”
“Wait, this is confusing. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you wouldn’t murder anyone.”
“It means I wouldn’t have to do it myself.”
I can’t tell if that was a joke or not, but I’ll think about it later. “What if you snapped?”
His gaze steady, he says, “I’m not the snapping type.”
I knew it. He’s totally a control freak.
Just to prove it, he says, “Go ahead. Answer the call. You have my permission.”
“Your permission,” I repeat, my tone dry. “What a relief.”
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out and touches the fork next to his plate. He strokes the tip of his finger slowly down the handle. Then, because he clearly wants me to faint, he moistens his lips again.
The phone stops ringing. Callum and I stare at each other. The phone starts to ring again.
“Answer it,” he commands softly. He strokes his finger back up the handle of the fork, caressing it like a lover’s skin.
Never before in all my life have I been jealous of a piece of silverware. What the hell is he doing to me?
I fumble for my handbag hanging off the back of my chair. Then I fumble around inside it, looking anywhere but at the burning-hot hunk of machismo sitting across from me.
Phone in hand, I start to rise, murmuring, “I’ll just take this outside.”
“Sit,” he orders, his voice low and dark.
I plop back down into my chair so fast, my head spins. Then I sit there, stunned, as Callum’s small smile grows wider.
It must be the martini. It’s gone to my head. There’s no other reasonable explanation as to why I’d obey him so unthinkingly.
I raise the phone to my ear and say something. Pretty sure it’s a hello, but I wouldn’t swear on it.
“Callum McCord?” hollers Dani over the line. “Callum fucking McCord? Are you kidding me?”
“Yes, I’m still alive, thank you very much for asking.”
Blasting right past that, she launches into a series of rapid-fire questions.
“How did you meet him? Is he as hot in person as he is in photos? Does he smell as good as he looks? I bet he smells like a fucking candy store. Where are you right now? What exactly are you doing? And what about the BDE? I bet he’s got major big dick energy, am I right? Jesus Christ, Emery, why aren’t you saying anything?”
She’s shouting so loudly, I’m sure half the restaurant can hear. Callum definitely can, because from the corner of my eye, I see him smirking.
“Good to know you’re so concerned for my well-being, Dani. Remind me to text someone who cares next time I think I’m about to be kidnapped.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please. No kidnappers would ever be able to withstand hearing you go on and on about Jamie Fraser from Outlander. They’d return you in five minutes.”
I say sourly, “You’re too kind. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, but do you even know who Callum McCord is? He’s a huge deal, Em. Like, a really huge deal. He’s pretty much the most eligible bachelor in the world right now!”
I glance at Callum. He winks.
“Gotta go. Thanks for checking to make sure I wasn’t murdered.”
Snickering, she says, “Not yet, anyway. If you’re lucky, that stud will murder you with his giant, throbbing—”
I hang up before she can finish and shove the cell back into my purse.
“What an interesting friend you have,” says Callum, his mild tone underscored with amusement.
“Yeah, she’s a keeper. I wonder if your police chief buddy can get me off on felony charges?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to kill her later.”
A waiter arrives, bearing a tray of food. Behind him follows Sophie holding two wineglasses filled with golden liquid.
“Good afternoon, sir,” says the waiter to Callum, setting a platter in the middle of the table. “Kumamoto oysters on ice and Hudson Valley foie gras with fig compote.”
He doesn’t glance in my direction or acknowledge me in any way. It feels purposeful, but is probably only my imagination. Then he gives Callum a slight bow and retreats without another word.
Sophie sets both wineglasses on the table to Callum’s right. He hands her his whiskey glass and says, “The Pellegrino?”
She looks stricken. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry, sir! I’ll be right back.”
Bemused, I watch her run away as if being chased by wolves. “Why is that poor girl so terrified of you? Does she think you’ll beat her if she screws up your order?”
I can tell he finds something about that question extremely funny, but doesn’t allow himself to show it with anything more than a faint smile.
“Oh, no,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys.”
“Which guys?”
“One of those rich assholes who likes to shout at people because it makes him feel important.”
He reaches for one of the wineglasses, takes a sip, then looks at me in silent contemplation.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I’m trying to remember the last time someone called me an asshole to my face.”
“And?”
“It’s never happened.”
“Probably because everyone’s scared of you…because you’re an asshole.”
When he only studies me without comment, I send him a winning smile.
“Regretting asking me to marry you already, aren’t you? I could’ve told you I was a pain in the butt back at the shop, but watching you figure it out for yourself has been so much more fun. Would you mind if I tried a sip of that? Sophie forgot my martini, and as she’s probably sobbing into your mashed potatoes at the moment, I doubt I’ll see it any time soon.”
Without waiting for his answer, I grab the other wineglass from the table and lift it to my lips. Then I swallow a mouthful of something so rich, delicious, and decadent, my eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, astonished. “What is this?”
“Chateau d’Yquem,” comes the amused reply. “It’s a French white. Do you like it?”
I laugh. “Like it? I want to have its babies! This stuff is incredible!” Just to make sure, I drink more, then nod. “Yep, it’s the best thing I’ve ever put into my mouth.”
When I realize how that sounded, heat rises in my cheeks.
The heat grows hotter when Callum murmurs, “I’m sure we can find something better for you to put in your mouth, Emery.”
I have to brace both feet flat against the floor so I remain upright in my chair. “Okay, you’re gonna have to turn it down, Mr. McCord, because I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with all of this before I’ve even had my chicken salad.”
Lifting his brows, he says innocently, “All of this?”
I sigh. “There you go again, hunting for praise. You know exactly what I’m talking about. All of that.” I wave a hand in his direction, indicating his face, body, and general hotness overload.
“Are you trying to pay me a compliment? Because if so, you’re failing miserably.”
“Grin at me like that again, and I’ll kick you in the shin.”
Laughing softly, he tilts his head back and drinks from his wineglass. I watch in helpless fascination as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
How is such a simple thing so devastating? If I had even a smidgen of this man’s looks, I’d never step away from a mirror.
I finish the rest of the delectable wine in a few big gulps, then set the glass back onto the table with a flourish. A nice buzz is setting in, which should help me navigate the rest of this conversation.
Considering my brain checked out a while back, I’ve got to rely on something.
Sophie arrives with a large glass bottle of overpriced water. She twists off the cap with shaking hands. She pours for Callum first, then me, her gaze lowered and her face red.
I say gently, “Thank you, Sophie.”
She jerks, looks at me with wide eyes, then swallows. “Oh. Um. You’re welcome.” She turns to Callum. “I-is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”
“Just the wine with the main course.”
“Yes. Of course. I won’t forget.”
She turns to go but turns back when I say her name.
“Yes?”
My smile is genuine. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a great job.”
She couldn’t look more shocked if I smacked her right across the face.
She says tentatively, “Really?”
“Yes. I know the restaurant business is tough, what with having to deal with so many assholes.” I feel Callum’s glower without looking at him but ignore it. “I have to deal with the public in my job, too, so I get it. But just remember that you’re the one in charge, not them.”
She glances at Callum, pales when she sees his expression, then looks back at me. It appears to take all her courage to ask, “How am I in charge, exactly?”
“Because all these rich people would starve to death if they didn’t have people like you bringing them food.” I gesture to Callum. “You think this guy knows how to boil an egg? No. He doesn’t even drive his own car. So don’t underestimate your value. And don’t let anybody push you around. In this economy, you could get a job anywhere. Every business owner I know is hurting for good employees. In fact, you should ask for a raise. You deserve it.”
She stares at me with her lips parted, blinking as if in a dream. Then she murmurs, “Thank you,” and drifts away from the table.
I beam at her retreating figure, satisfied that I did my good deed for the day.
“Bravo. What an inspiring speech.”
Callum’s approving words are the opposite of his tone, which is bone dry.
“It really was, wasn’t it?” I enjoy his disapproval. I don’t know why, but it gives me a charge to think I might be the only person in his universe who’d dare to do something so revolutionary as irritate him.
“Maybe next you should march into the kitchen and spearhead an effort to unionize.”
“I would, but my blood sugar is low. Where is that salad?”
“You seem more excited about your salad than my offer.”
“I am. In fact, that reminds me of something you should be aware of if I’m going to be your wife. Sitting down for a proper supper every night is nonnegotiable. In formal wear, preferably. I’m sure you have a tux, right? I’ll wear all my diamonds.”
His steady gaze turns smoldering. “Still don’t take me seriously, I see.”
My confidence bolstered by the liquor, I laugh at him. “Oh, come on! This whole thing is so ridiculous, you can’t expect me to take you seriously. If you really needed a wife, I’m sure there are a million girls in the world more suitable than me.”
Callum’s heated stare burns darker and hotter. He reaches into his jacket. From an inside pocket, he pulls out a small black velvet box. He places it on the table, pushes it across the white linen cloth toward me, then sits back in his chair without a word.
My heart thudding, I stare at the box. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“Open it and find out.”
I hear the smirk in his tone, but can’t rip my gaze from the little black box. It might as well be a bomb for how dangerous it seems.
Callum commands softly, “Open it.”
My hand obeys him before I can decide not to. I pick up the box, flip open the lid, and gasp.
Nestled inside is an enormous diamond engagement ring, sparkling with cold fire.
