The Master (The Game Maker #2)(18)

I teasingly said, “Should I be worried about you?”

“You looked me up online—what do you think?”

“Your long trail of brokenhearted blondes tells me your heart is bulletproof. Just like mine.” I said this so confidently, but I could see my interest in him deepening—if he stayed warm like this.

Tiffani returned with our drinks.

After she’d gone, I sipped more crack ambrosia. Over the rim of my glass, I said, “You have excellent taste in wine for someone who never drinks it.”

“Nothing but the best.”

So I’d figured. I was beginning to suspect he’d preferred tall blondes because they represented cachet. He’d had no problems with my looks Monday night or tonight.

“Back to the subject at hand,” he said. “Could I tempt you to tell me about yourself if I paid—”

“No.”

He raised his brows. “I’m to ask you zero personal questions, but you can read whatever you like about me?”

“Should I believe everything I read?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You know my net worth, yet you continue to treat me as if I’m an aggravation.”

“Monday night, I was delighted with you—but then you were cruel to me.”

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then tried again. “That night was . . . different.” He gazed out at the water as he said, “I expected you to do the escort spiel and resented it. I wanted nothing to color the experience.”

What did he mean by different? Surely he expected me to ask. So I didn’t. “I do know your net worth. You should pat yourself on the back for a good job. But it won’t affect my behavior.”

He faced me. “Oh, really?” His words were tinged with ice.

The man thought I was cozying up to him for his money. The irony! “Your wealth is an abstract—it’s leprechaun gold to me.”

Why would I dream about his money—instead of my own? There’d been a few million liquid, but Edward had probably blown through that much searching for me. He still had the mansion, but not Martinez Beach.

Each decade, the strength of the land’s trust eroded; in time, a lawyer like him could figure out a way to circumvent the trust. With resort encroachment on both sides, its value would be through the roof.

Others had had the same idea. Developers had hounded my mother constantly, one reason she’d become a shut-in.

“I could almost believe you,” Sevastyan finally said. When I shrugged, he asked, “How much of your online bio is true?”

“Not a lot.”

“You don’t like dancing, yoga, and shopping? What do you do for fun?”

“I can’t dance, I scoff at yoga, and I despise shopping. I’m a runner, and I don’t have spare time for fun.”

A muscle ticked in his wide jaw. Of course he would take that to mean: I’m always on my back. “I have little time myself. Most of my life is dedicated to business.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

I ran the pad of my forefinger around the rim of my glass. “You could’ve had fun Monday night. You missed out on the time of your life.”

“Did I? Tell me what we would’ve done.”

“The party would’ve begun right after you screwed my ever-loving brains out on the couch. Instead of getting rid of me when I patted your ass, you would’ve laughed. Maybe even tickled me. Wrestling would’ve ensued, and I might have let you win. Then we would’ve had another round of drinks and gone swimming.” I fake-examined my nails. “If you must know, seeing me dive naked would’ve been life-changing for you.”

“Would it, then?” His blue eyes grew lively. His charisma was off—the—charts. “Continue.”

“We would’ve had sex again. In the water. Then, after more drinks, I would’ve ridden you on a lounge chair until your eyes rolled back in your head.”

He groaned low. “MSOG?”

Multiple shots on goal. “Sometimes I forget what a hobbyist you are.”

“The hobbyist and his courtesan. How long have you been doing this?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that you were my first client?”

“Nyet.”

“Wow. Don’t even want to think about your answer?”

“I ‘strong-armed’ an escort into a date and purchased her private line for ten thousand dollars. Before that, I downloaded her goddamned picture to my phone. If I’m to be brought this low, it shouldn’t be at the hands of a rank novice.”

My pique passed. “Is there a compliment in there?” Had he truly downloaded my picture?

“You f*ck too well to be anything but a pro.”

“Thanks?” Maybe he liked the idea of me being a professional. If I convinced him I wasn’t, maybe the thrill would be gone for him.

And did it matter when I’d never see him again?

“Is Cat short for Catherine? Or maybe Catarina or Catalina?”

“I’m just Cat.”

“Tell me your real name.”

“That’s not even on the table.”

“Like I said, everything’s on my table. I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”