Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(41)

“Saved by the bell,” he says, holding up his hand to stop me from leaving the table. “Please. Stay seated. I’d like to eat sometime this evening, so I’ve got this.” As he walks away, he adds under his breath, “God knows if you get up from the table, it could be hours before we get to eat our meal.”

“Dinner is served.” He grins when he returns. “Where do you want these?” He lifts two white bags.

“Anywhere on the counter is fine. I can transfer everything to the serving dishes.”

“You don’t need to go to that much trouble, heiress.”

“Sure I do,” I say, on my feet already. “Only the best for you.”

“Or is it for you?”

“For us,” I assure him, hoping we can have a relaxed dinner.

“That table is kind of intimidating.”

“I’ll walk you through it.”

“Do.”

“What?” I stop unpacking the containers.

“Do be so kind as to walk me through it now. Before we eat.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to . . .”

“No.” He shakes his head and steps aside with his arm out. “After you, Miss Banks.”

We return to the dining room, and he immediately asks, “So what do you want me to know?”

“It would be easier if we had our food.”

“Dinner is the trial run. I want the basics. Give me that much, and then you can give me a fair chance to show you I’m a fast learner.”

“Are you?”

He grins his devilish grin. “Never heard any complaints.”

“And there he is.” I laugh. “Good to have you back.”

“Honey, I didn’t go anywhere. You want to be respectable. I respect that. Let’s get to it. I’m hungry.” His phone beeps, and he checks his message.

“Are you expecting an important call?”

“No.”

“Good to hear. Silence your phone before you sit down at any table.”

“Okay.” He does. “And then what?”

“Napkin in your lap. The old rule of thumb is to do this after the hostess does it, but it’s perfectly fine to do it as soon as you sit down.”

He tosses his napkin in his lap. “Now what?”

I cringe when I notice his elbow on the table.

“Something wrong?”

Noticing the irritation in his voice, I try to take a gentle approach. “You don’t want to put your elbows on the table before the meal. It’s too casual and inappropriate.”

“Elbows. Got it.”

“After dinner, it’s okay to be casual and rest an elbow on the table. Some men even lean in and talk to their female counterparts, and that’s acceptable. Before we eat, however, it’s not.”

“I’m with you.” He forces a smile. “Let’s do this quickly so we can move along to the meal.”

“Right.” I tap the table. “Next. Let’s look at silverware order.”

“Looks like a perfect setting for wasted time.”

“It’s more like a perfect place setting.”

“Or a table with too many glasses, plates, and silverware.” He looks up at me. “Do you really think this is necessary?”

“It will be.” I know he’s frustrated, so I offer quick tips. “Use forks with your flat plates. Use spoons for anything served in a bowl.”

“So I’m supposed to use all these forks for one plate?”

“No. I’m getting to that.” I take a breath. “Okay, the best way to explain this is to work from the outside in. You’ll cut with your dominant hand, set down the knife, and take a bite. If something is too far out of your reach, ask for someone to pass it. If someone asks for the pepper, pass the salt and pepper.”

“But if they asked for the pepper, then they only want the pepper.”

“Maybe, but it’s still proper to pass both.”

“I see.” He looks bored. “What else?”

“If you leave the table during the meal, quietly excuse yourself. Place the napkin to the left of your plate. Leave without announcing your reason.”

We go over a few other tips, and James finally announces, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

He abruptly stands before I can move aside. He goes one way, and I go the same. He veers to the right. I veer to the left.

We smile at each other. We’re locked in this tense, unspoken moment.

“Now what, heiress?” He rests his hand on my waist. “The proper thing to do here is what?”

“I, um . . .”

He moistens his lip, and I can’t help but watch that naughty tongue, that slow and decadent swipe.

Is he thinking about kissing me? Do I want him to think about kissing me?

Hell no.

I want him to kiss me.

“I’ll move out of your way,” he says, stepping aside.

“Thank you.”

“After you.” He holds out his arm.

I exhale, running a trembling hand down my sides as I step forward.

Once we return to the kitchen, he stands out of the way and watches me as I fill the dishes in silence. “Do you mind taking the salad to the table?”