not the one being interviewed.”
His gaze inadvertently dipped to my dress, and I could practically feel his judgment, same as when Patrice openly curled her lip at my fashion choices. I lifted my chin and met his gaze squarely, almost daring him to make a comment so I could shoot him down. I swear, don’t people have better things to do than judge what other people are wearing? Is the world really that shallow? Of course it was... I worked for a fashion magazine and I saw it firsthand.
Nico surprised me when he pulled away, his gaze narrowing as if he’d heard my internal dialogue. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. You don’t like me very much,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why?”
My cheeks flushed with guilt. I really needed to work on my poker skills if he saw through me so easily. Or maybe I hadn’t really tried all that hard to disguise my contempt. Either way, my inability to smother what I was thinking or feeling had just bitten me in the ass—again.
“I like you just fine,” I protested, trying for an earnest expression, but I felt as if I probably looked like the Joker with a pasted-on smile so I tried a different tack. “I mean, fine enough to do this interview. I doubt we have enough in common to enjoy a friendship, but other than that...I’m sure you’re great.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, enjoying my sudden squirming. “Why don’t you like me?”
He wasn’t going to stop pressing. I could lay it all on the line and risk everything or I could try to lie through my teeth and maybe flirt a little. The latter made my dignity shrivel like a raisin, so that left me with pure honesty. I shut off the recorder—again. “Not that it matters for the sake of this interview, but maybe, I don’t care for your personality type.”
“Which is?”
I waved away his question. “Are we really doing this? Look, I’m sure there are plenty of women who would give their right foot to date you, I’m just not one of them.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to date me, I asked why you didn’t like me. But since you brought it up, why wouldn’t you want to date me?”
I hesitated, wondering how I’d lost control of this interview. I should’ve realized the Donatos were master manipulators. I should’ve been more diligent—or walked out when I’d had the chance.
But my chance to right the ship had just sailed.
Nico snorted with derision. “C’mon, you really think I can’t smell your condescension from a mile away? Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be a better actress than that if you’re going to fool anyone into believing that you don’t think I’m a big pile of shit.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn’t finished. “What I don’t understand is why Luxe would insult my family in such a manner as to send someone who clearly hates me to do this interview. I mean, what the fuck? Was this all a joke or something?”
Just apologize and appease his monster-sized ego. The answer seemed so simple, and yet I couldn’t do it. I stiffened, wary. “If you planned on being a dick from the start, why didn’t you let me leave?”
He shrugged. “I was curious but now I’m just bored and irritated.”
“Why should my opinion matter at all?” I countered, feeling reckless. There was something about Nico that I couldn’t quite shake, something that made me want to push when otherwise I might wisely fold.
Or maybe I was just tired of being railroaded for the sake of a paycheck. Patrice had never been my biggest fan, and this colossal train wreck of an interview shouldn’t come as too big of a surprise, right?
Would she fire me?
Maybe?
Nico leaned forward, invading my space. “You think I’m another useless trust-fund baby with nothing better to do than spend my money on hookers and blow or at the very least strippers and booze.” When I didn’t deny it, he barked a laugh at my expense, as if I were an unprepared newb who hadn’t done a lick of research. “My family donates gobs of money to various organizations and charities, but it is scattered among the different companies we own. We choose not to advertise our philanthropic endeavors because we believe that’s private and we aren’t looking for accolades. So we don’t talk much about those things, but because we don’t advertise, you make an assumption that I’m just another rich playboy who wipes his ass with money.”
I had thought all of those things. Had I underestimated him? Was it possible? Right now I felt like an embittered, snarky bitch who hated all men, and it wasn’t a nice feeling at all. “I may have misjudged you on first appearances,” I admitted in a low tone, “but you haven’t done much to disabuse me of my first impression.”
“Was I supposed to? Or were you supposed to come here with an open mind?”
I swallowed, squarely put into my place by the most unlikely of people.
“You were rude,” he stated flatly.
I chewed the side of my cheek before uttering a reluctant “Yes.”
“You admit it?”
I’d have rather swallowed knives but nodded. “I didn’t realize I was being so rude. Please let me start over.”
“I should probably just ask for another reporter. Might be for the best.”
“Please don’t.”
“I think it would be better for everyone involved.”
“I assure you, it’s not. Unless you want an idiot writing your article,” I ground out. For someone who was supposed to be groveling, I was terrible at it.
“Nobody likes to be judged,” he said quietly, and I understood where he was coming from. I suppose not even Nico Donato was free from judgment, though I never imagined that he might care what others thought.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, meaning it this time. “I shouldn’t have come in with a preconceived idea of who you were.” Nico appeared mollified enough to accept my apology. I drew a deep breath and tried a real smile. “Can we start over? Wipe the slate clean? I promise you, even though I might’ve started with a bad attitude, I’m a pretty good writer. No one else at Luxe will do as good a job as me.”
Nico regarded me with speculation, his blue eyes deepening a shade. As much as I wanted to ignore the obvious, Nico Donato was easy on the eyes, and it’d been a long time since I’d allowed a man to enter my thoughts in any sort of sexual way.
Raw energy pulsed between us, parching my throat and leaving me out of sorts. Patching things between us might save my job, but I feared something far more frightening than job hunting in New York with a near-useless degree.
Nico had a thing about him...some kind of sexual voodoo, and I could already feel something happening between us even if it was in fits and starts—but it took only a spark to burn down a forest.
And that was the part that worried me.
Nico
