folded her arms, gazing down at the bold black-and-gold floor design, then up to the vibrant and colorful floral arrangements strategically placed around the area. Vicki would love the color selection and how it offset the dark flooring. She probably would have stood here rearranging the position of the flowers to her liking for a better vantage point, or most certainly would have examined them for the best use of color and variety. Vicki was a perfectionist that way, Janelle thought with an inner smile. Janelle, Vicki and Sandra were all similar in that regard. That was why the Silk Sisters had garnered such rave reviews for their work.
“I hope that smile on your face is because you’re thinking of me.”
His smooth, deep voice interrupted her thoughts and Janelle tried not to be annoyed by that fact coupled with his tardiness. She also tried not to notice how good he looked in his smoke-gray suit with the faintest pinstripe and ice-blue dress shirt and matching tie. There was no doubt that a man who could wear a suit well was tops in her book, but there was also no doubt that she was not supposed to look at Ballard Dubois that way.
“Actually, no, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not pleased to see you,” was her cordial reply.
“Okay, well, we’ll let my bruised ego deal with that later,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Shall we?”
It was a little much, she thought. She didn’t need to walk arm in arm with him to have dinner. Still, she reminded herself that she was doing this for her father, for his precious campaign, as she laced her arm through Ballard’s and walked with him toward the hotel’s very popular lounge.
“I figured you would be tired from last night’s festivities and made reservations someplace close,” he told her as they moved through the glass-door entrance.
Great, she thought, giving him a nod and smile of agreement. She wouldn’t have far to go to get back to her room.
Once they were seated, Janelle allowed herself another indulgent look at her dinner partner. Damn, that suit looked good on him, or was it that the man might possibly look good in anything? She wasn’t sure. A gold watch—she didn’t even guess at the name brand, knowing instinctively it would be expensive—glimmered at his right wrist, a huge signet ring casting the same posh glow on his right ring finger.
“So, your family has made quite a name for itself in the shipping industry. I’ve heard nothing but glowing remarks about Dubois Maritime.”
“Really? Do you work with a lot of clients in the shipping industry?” he asked in what sounded to Janelle like a skeptical tone.
“As a matter of fact, I was born and raised in Wintersage. Our founding fathers made their fortune in the shipping industry. My family’s very active throughout the town, so hearing your company’s name mentioned from time to time isn’t all that unusual.”
So there, she thought, lifting the glass of water the waitress had discreetly placed in front of her for a sip.
“Wintersage,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s about an hour or so away from Boston, correct?”
“Correct,” she replied even though she got the impression he knew exactly where Wintersage was. He’d probably done precisely what she had this morning and researched everything about her family on the internet. She was not fooled by his very calm, very assessing demeanor, not one bit—especially considering how scrumptious he looked wearing that demeanor.
Wow, she really needed to calm her raging and self-deprived hormones.
“So you’re heading the company now. That’s a huge responsibility for someone so young. Has it been difficult for you?” she asked.
He smiled then, slow, knowing, and she shifted a bit in her chair, covering the action by picking up the menu and acting as if that held more of her interest.
“One misstep will not end the date, Janelle,” he commented.
Her head immediately snapped up. “This is not a date,” she stated firmly. “And what misstep?”
His smile stayed in place, the expression a bit on the arrogant side, but she was trying to make this work, for her father’s sake.
“I’m not running the company just yet. My grandfather is still the CEO, my father the CFO. Right now I’m the regional manager, so I handle all of the day-to-day operations.”
He spoke as if he were educating her and Janelle was immediately offended. She had already opened her mouth to fire back when he held up a hand to stop her.
“I’m joking,” he said, chuckling lightly afterward.
Her lips snapped closed and she sat back in her chair, eyeing him suspiciously.
“You looked like you were ready to give me hell, so I figured I’d better clear that up quickly,” he continued.
Janelle had to smile in response. “Not quite hell, but I was going to say a few things.”
He nodded, his laughter subsiding. “I know it. But I’d like for us to have a nice dinner, to get to know each other better. So if it makes you feel better, we won’t call this a date. Besides, it’s probably better that way.”
Now she was offended again, or at least she thought she should be. But maybe not, since she’d been telling herself all day long that this wasn’t a date. She admitted only to herself that for the first time in a very long time, she was thrown off—even marginally—by a man.
“I would like to have a nice dinner, as well. So I won’t ask why it’s better not to call this a date.”
But she just had, hadn’t she? Maybe she should just leave.
“When I date a female, we focus on getting to know each other, and if that’s pleasing to us both, we take it to the next level,” he stated as if he were reading a report at a meeting.
“The next level being sex?” she asked without her normal processing-before-speaking rule.
He lifted a hand and smoothed down his tie, the motion confident, probably overly so, but intriguing at the same time. If she had to sum up Ballard Dubois right at this moment, she’d peg him as a conceited, self-important businessman who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. Which to her and for the purpose she was here for tonight was going to mean she had her work cut out for her, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to go that route just to get his family’s support.
“Yes, the next level being sex,” he answered.
“So you have a very methodical way of dating, I see.” Whereas she had a method of her own—don’t do it!
“I like to look at it as logical structuring,” was his reply. He leaned forward, pushing his menu to the side, his dreamy brown eyes holding her gaze captive. “It is logical to date before sleeping with someone because it clarifies the understanding between the two adults before their focus shifts to more physical pleasures. Once that understanding is perfectly clear, future dealings are smoother.”
“And by future dealings you mean for the time you wish to continue sleeping with her. What happens when that time is up?” she asked, curious and simultaneously annoyed at his candid nonchalance when it came to dating and relationships.
“You’re
