Over the Edge (Bridge #3)(5)

“Studio art. How about you? Oh, let me guess…” She pursed her lips like she was calculating. “Brown.” Her eyes lit up as she said it.

I was silent, momentarily unwilling to admit she was right and in disbelief that she seemed to be enjoying a game I had invented a long time ago for my own smug entertainment.

“Why Brown?”

“Ivy league, because your family could obviously afford it. But trendy and progressive, because you don’t really fit the mold.”

“Is that so?”

“I don’t know a lot of guys with your resources who are getting dirty on construction sites.”

I laughed out loud. “Ah, right. Good thing Tom introduced us properly. No way I was getting a date with you until you could establish my tax bracket.”

She rolled her eyes, and I couldn’t hide the grin splitting my face. Getting under a girl’s skin shouldn’t be this much fun.

“I’d guess what your father does, but I obviously already know.”

“Same,” she said with a tight smile.

Her quick reply knocked the wind out of me a little. My first instinct was always to defend my father to outsiders, but what he’d done was reprehensible. Didn’t change the fact that we were flesh and blood, though.

“There it is. I was waiting for that.”

A flash of remorse flickered in her cool blue eyes, like she wanted to apologize but had too much pride. I didn’t need her apologies or her sympathy.

Under normal circumstances, I might be concerned about our family’s connection. Our fathers had both spent time on Wall Street and no doubt shared several business connections. But I cared less about her parents learning of the proposition I was about to make than how my father’s stained reputation could become an impediment to getting her under me.

I sipped my wine and watched her do the same, enjoying the way her full lips met the delicate rim of the glass. Then her tongue swiping over her lips.

“You’re single,” I said. She’d f*cking better be.

“At the moment.”

“That’s good news for me, but why?”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“Beautiful, the best education money can buy, wealthy family. You should be married off by now. Or am I missing something?”

She looked thoughtfully at her wineglass, twirling it by the base. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I only moved to the city a year ago, and I’m still getting settled. Getting ‘married off’ isn’t exactly a priority for me. Right now, the only thing I care about is helping Cameron and Darren get through this expansion. I’ve devoted myself to the project, and now you’re messing it up.”

I drummed my fingers on the tablecloth. “Is this about the wall?”

“This is about the wall and every other adjustment you plan to make that compromises our vision.”

“What if I said you could have creative control on the renovation from here forward?”

She blinked. “I thought you were on a budget.”

I shrugged and pursed my lips. “Convince me not to be.”

She swallowed, a new light in her eyes. “Well, there are certain aesthetics that will set us apart from everyone else—”

“Convince me tonight. At my place.”

She shook her head slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m saying. I’d like to get to know you better. Quite a bit better, in fact.”

She stared silently, her soft lips parted. “You obviously don’t know anything about me if you expect me to sleep with you after a little dinner and wine.”

“I may know you better than you know yourself.”

She let out a short laugh. “I highly doubt it.”

I riled at the challenge, and after her little comment about my dad, I felt compelled to set her straight.

“You reek of privilege, Olivia. You pretend to be independent, but you still use your parents’ credit cards. Nothing drives you more than social expectation and a looming fear of failure. You’re naturally stunning, but that look of effortless beauty probably costs your parents a fortune. You’re high maintenance. From your designer hair cut down to your manicured little toes. I’d be willing to bet you hit the spa once a month to wax your pretty little cunt too, not because you’re getting laid but because being unkempt goes against your debutante religion.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped.

The murmur of conversation around us died down for a moment, but I didn’t bother checking to see which of our table neighbors we were offending. Instead, I exhaled a frustrated groan because I’d hit a nerve. And because now I couldn’t think about anything except her smooth * in my mouth.

“I’d love to, princess. When’s the last time someone took you to bed and f*cked you properly?”

I half expected her to storm out on me. I’d offended her in multiple ways, and we hadn’t even hit the main course. But the determination in her eyes told another story. That spark of fire spoke of a willingness to hold her ground, or more, to fight back and win.

Her cheeks were pink, and her hand trembled when she went for her wineglass again. If not for her age, I’d have wondered if she was a virgin. Either way, I guessed she was way overdue in the intimacy department.