Red Hot Rose Boxed Set (13 page)

A subdued -
pop! -
of the cork coming out caught my attention for a moment, his words sinking in a split-second after.
 
I frowned at his cockiness, saying, “Some things aren’t available just for the taking.
 
You of all people should know that.”

“How so?” he asked, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, his body language telling me he was interested in what I had to say.

My earlier googling was about to pay off.
 
Thank God I’d listened to Jessica when she’d advised me to do a little research.
 
“Your numbers are down in the polls even though you’ve outspent your competition two to one.
 
You’ve kissed babies from Tallahassee to Key West, but it’s not working for you.
 
I assume, because you’re putting in so much effort, that this election - this office - is something you want; and yet, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get it.”
 
I looked up at the bottle as the waiter tipped some sparkling pale pink bits of heaven from it into my tall fluted glass, before finishing without looking at my dinner partner.
 
“So like I said … some things cannot be just taken.
 
They must be earned.”
 
I smiled my thank you at the waiter.

Alexander nodded curtly at the white-gloved man, sending him away without a word.
   
Once we were alone again, he fixed his steely gaze on me.

I returned his stare, refusing to back down.
 
I might be an inexperienced kid in a boardroom, but I knew political campaigns; and I knew his public relations team had to be drowning in misinformation or something, because they weren’t helping him one bit the way they made him look like some old-school geezer running for office twenty years ago.
 
He was young and vibrant and should have been capitalizing on those strengths instead of trying to hide them.

He sat up fully, his back rigid, a smile playing across his lips.
 
“I see you have some opinions about my campaign.”
 
He pulled his napkin off the table and shook it out, dropping it into his lap unceremoniously, resting his hands on his thighs when he was done.

I couldn’t keep the smile completely away.
 
“I might.”

“It sounds like you have some pretty strong ones, actually.”

I shrugged.
 
“I’ve spent the last nearly four years of my life learning the art of public relations and marketing.
 
My teachers come from all over the place and have a lot of experience.
 
One of them worked on Clinton’s re-election campaign.
 
I’ve worked my butt off to learn everything I could about this kind of thing.”
 
I smoothed my napkin and glanced down for a second before raising my eyes to meet his once more.
 
“I’m not going to apologize for that or for having an opinion about anything, so if it offends you, well …” I shrugged.

He took his champagne glass and lifted it from the table.
 
“I wouldn’t want or expect you to do anything of the sort.”
 
He gestured for me to take my flute in hand, holding his own out in front of him.
 
“To new beginnings.”

I lifted my glass, bringing it closer to his.
 
“Or to endings of things that were exciting while they lasted but couldn’t possibly go anywhere.”
 
I didn’t know why I said that - it was a total downer thing to do.

But Alexander didn’t seem to care.
 
In fact, if the gleam in his eye were any indication, he was taking it as a challenge.
 
“A battle of wills …,” he said softly.
 
“I look forward to it.”
 
He moved his glass forward and touched the edge to mine, making a soft -
ting -
float out over the table, its sound waves caressing our ears.
 
It had a finality to it.
 
At least to me it did.

But his devilish smile told me that to him, it was the bell announcing the beginning of some sort of competition.
 
The gates had flown open, and the thoroughbreds were out onto the track, their pace throwing up clods of dirt and their heavy, pounding hooves causing the earth to tremble beneath them.
 
The race was on, but I had no idea where the finish line was or what the prize would be for the winner.

I gripped the edge of my seat with my free hand, uncertain about what to say or do, taking a long sip of my champagne as a way to stall for time, to give myself a moment to think of a witty comeback.
 
But as soon as the sparkling liquid hit my tongue, I decided to just forget it - forget trying to fight him off and stand my ground.
 
Just for now.
 
I was here in a beautiful place, being waited on by men who made serving fine champagne and expertly-crafted meals their career, sitting across from a handsome and powerful man who’d somehow deluded himself into thinking I was better than sliced bread.
 
Another sip of the alcohol and its accompanying tickle on my tongue chased my misgivings almost completely away.
 
Tonight will be the last night I have with Alexander, and I’m going to enjoy it while I have it.

The waiter arrived moments later with our heavy, leather-bound menus, giving me a break from the willful tension that had settled between us.
 
I stared at the pages, realizing at once that this menu had foods and ingredients I’d never heard of before.

“I recommend the steak tartare if you like raw meat.
 
It’s flown in from the Charolais region in France - the best beef you can use for that dish.
 
Or, if that scares you and you prefer seafood, I can recommend the Saint-Jacques à la Crème d’Echalote.”

“What’s in it?”

“Scallops mainly.
 
Some cream.”

I smiled.
 
“I love scallops.
 
Sign me up for that.”

“Do you like foie gras?”

“I don’t know.
 
What is it?”
 
It sounded familiar but I couldn’t remember what it meant.

“It’s goose liver.”

I frowned.
 
“Oh.
 
Isn’t that the stuff that’s, like, banned in some places because of what they do to the goose?”

He nodded.

“No thanks.
 
I’ll stick with the PETA-approved dishes.”

He smiled.
 
“Fair enough.”
 
He put his menu down and took another sip of his champagne, finishing the glass off.
 
“I’m prepared to make you an offer of employment,” he said, “and after hearing your opinion about my campaign, I feel even more strongly about the idea.
 
Like you, I believe it’s headed in the wrong direction, but everyone around me is afraid to say anything but
yes
.
 
I need someone not afraid to stand up to me and tell me my baby’s ugly when it’s ugly.”

I choked a little on the sip of champagne I was in the middle of taking.
 
I used my napkin to dab up the drops that had gotten away from me.
 
“Baby?”

“It’s just an expression.
 
I don’t have any children.”

“Good to know.
 
But I wouldn’t go telling any constituents that you’re anti-children.”

“I’m not.
 
Not at all.
 
I just haven’t found the person I’d like to have as their mother yet.”
 
He looked up to acknowledge the arrival of our waiter before turning back to me.
 
“Would you like me to order for you?”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
 
Do I want him to order for me?
 
I mean, I’m capable of doing it, and it’s the independent woman kind of thing to do.
 
But I’ve never had anyone do that for me before…
 
I nodded at him, not trusting myself to speak and not say something silly.

“The lady will have the salade chevre chaud to begin and then the St. Jacques.
 
I’ll take the same salad and the tartare.”

“And the wine, sir?”

“You can bring the Jerico from Mas Montel.”

“And for the lady?”

Alexander looked at me.
 
“Do you prefer white since you’re having the scallops?”

I shook my head, knowing that even if I did prefer it, I’d have no way of knowing which kind.
 
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“As you wish, madame,” said our waiter, giving a short bow after taking our menus, quietly slipping away to leave us in peace once again.

“Thank you for allowing me to do that for you,” said Alexander.
 
“So often these days women find offense in simple gestures of respect.”

“I considered being offended, but I’ve never had someone order for me before, so I thought I’d try it.”
 
No use pretending to be someone I’m not.

“I find your honesty … refreshing.
 
So, how did you like it?
 
Me ordering for you?”

I thought about it a second before answering.
 
“I liked it.
 
I felt … taken care of.
 
Cherished or something.”
 
My face flushed when I realized I had just suggested he loved me.
 
“You know what I mean.”

“I do.
 
All women should be cherished.
 
I’m happy it made you feel that way.”

I looked at him curiously.
 
“Do you really mean that?”
 
I thought for sure he was B.S-ing me.

“Yes, I do.
 
Why?
 
Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.
 
Most guys don’t feel that way, least of all guys like you.”

“Guys like me.”
 
He said it like a statement, all humor gone from his face.

I didn’t say anything back.
 
I wasn’t going to spell it all out for him.
 
He knew what he was, how he looked, the power he had over women and others.
 
Asking me to explain was just him preening his feathers, and I had better things to do with my time.
 
Like drink more of that lovely champagne that was making my head spin just the right amount.

I held out my glass for another round.
 
“Would you?” I asked.

He took the bottle out of the ice bucket, wiping the water off the bottom before filling my glass nearly to the top.
 
“You like it?”

“What’s not to like?” I asked.
 
“It’s sweet but not too much.
 
It has the tiniest bubbles I’ve ever felt on my tongue.
 
And it’s the prettiest pink I’ve ever seen.”
 
I smiled, feeling silly, but not caring much if he thought that of me.

“It’s from one of the oldest champagne houses in France.
 
I’ve been there many times.”

“You speak French?”

He nodded.
 
“I do.”

“How’d you learn?”

“My mother is French.
 
I’ve spent every summer there since I was born.
 
I have many relatives there as well.”

I nodded, sipping more champagne.
 
“I’ve never been to France.
 
Or anywhere, really.
 
I’d love to go sometime.
 
One day I’m going to take a tour of Europe.”

“With a backpack on?” he asked, seeming amused at the idea.

“Heck no.
 
I’m going in style.”

He smiled.
 
“Good for you.”

His face dropped back into its serious mode.
 
“Tell me about your plans for after graduation.”

I put my glass down, folding my hands in my lap and straightening my shoulders.
 
This conversation would be good practice for when I was going on job interviews, and I knew that this was especially true in this case, because no one could possibly be more intimidating than Alexander.

“Well, after I graduate, I plan to send out my resume to all of the major PR firms in New York.
 
I have a friend who said I could stay with her up there until I get my feet under me.”

“Sounds like a good friend.
 
Where does she live?
 
In the city or one of the suburbs?”

“In the city.
 
Greenwich Village.”

He nodded.
 
“Continue.”

“If I can’t get any bites from them, I’ll move to smaller firms.
 
I’m also willing to do freelance stuff or temp work if necessary.
 
Anything to get my foot in the door.”

“You sound determined.
 
And hopeful.”

“I am,” I said, shooting every bit of confidence I had into my words.
 
“I’m smart, I’ve worked really hard and paid attention, and I know I’m going to be really good at this.
 
I was born for it.”

“How so?” he asked, his champagne forgotten.

“Well, I love looking at a person or a product and seeing what’s working, what its strongest features are, and finding ways to capitalize on those things, while also taking note of the weaker issues and then using tools designed for letting them take a back seat or be in the background.
 
I also really like finding silver linings and ways of making bad things look good.
 
Spin-doctoring.”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity?”

“Yes.
 
I guess you could say that.
 
In some cases.”

“Do you agree with that statement?”

“No, I don’t, actually.”

“Give me an example of some bad publicity that might come up in relation to me that couldn’t be spun into something good.”