Page 12 of Mister Rival

I shuffle my seat closer to the table, fluffing around for a moment to distract myself from his unwavering stare, while alsotrying to forget his last comment. His cologne shouldn’t be legal, it’s a heady mixture of citrus and spice with a definitive musk undertone. But I’m no pushover for a pretty face and designer aftershave. We both know Tristan has little to no substance.

“Why did you invite me to dinner?” I start, figuring we may as well get it out in the open right off the bat.

He tilts his head, not taking his eyes off me. “Excuse me?”

“Stop playing games with me, Lucas. I’ve had enough damage control to deal with for one day.”

“Youinvitedmeto dinner,” he states like I’ve clearly lost the plot, picking up his glass of water. I watch the bob of his annoyingly succulent throat as he takes a large sip. And for once, it doesn’t appear like he’s joking. There’s no smile, no smirk, and definitely no witty comeback.

I let out a breath. “I see you haven’t gotten any less annoying as the hours have passed.”

“Your assistant contacted my assist…” He trails off and presses his lips together in a hard line.

“But Lexi said—” I pause mid-sentence. As we exchange a glance, it doesn’t take long for us to put two and two together.

That conniving little minx, also known as my assistant, has been conspiring with Tristan’s assistant, Mason. “They set us up?”

“Fucking Mason.” He shakes his head, letting out a breath.

I fold my arms across my chest and sit back, not even bothering with the menu as I doubt it’s even going to get that far. Shame, the shrimp appetizer sounded nice. “Would you really believe that I would invite you to dinner after the shit you pulled today?”

That annoying smirk permeates his face again, and I swear to God if we weren’t sitting here in a public place, I’d knock it clean off his shoulders. I’m not even a violent person, but maybe he brings it out in me.

“I needed to talk to my clients.” His stupid voice may be as smooth as honey, but it’s not going to sway with me. “You know how it works, Ali.”

He’s so annoying!I also never gave him permission to shorten my name, but like everything else, he just does what he wants.

“Was that before or after the spray tan?” I glance down to the exposed area of skin just below his throat, and then to his arms, since his shirt sleeves are half rolled up his muscular forearms. There’s no evidence of any kind of spray tan, probably because he always looks tanned and gorgeous and doesn’t need one.

He tilts his head again. “You’re way too serious,Ali Archer. Has anyone ever told you that? Do you ever let your hair down and have any fun?”

“When it comes to work, there is no fun to be had. Shit like that can bring the industry down as well as tarnish your reputation,” I inform him. “Making life difficult for clients isn’t exactly a smart move,Lucas, even for you.”

“We need a drink.” The cocky grin returns and he beckons the server over with the flick of his hand.

“Wait! I’m not staying,” I protest.

“Oh, I think you’re going to want to hear this, Ali.”

“If it means putting up with one more smart ass—” I watch as he pulls an envelope out from under the fan shaped napkin in front of him and waves it in front of me. “And stop calling me Ali!”

His eyes crinkle the slightest smile and that right there tells me he’s enjoying this. “Why? It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Alison,” I reiterate. “My friends get to call me Ali, and you’re not one of them.”

“Say you’ll stay?” His total disregard for anything I’m saying is just typical Tristan Lucas behavior. I know he’s as smoothas velvet with his clients and can’t put a foot wrong. It’s the charming Lucas way.

The server approaches just as I’m about to protest. This is one of the biggest deals I’ve ever been able to pull off, and I’m annoyed that I’m so desperate and needy to have it back in my hands. I try to not show any of this of course. My mask is firmly in place in front of the world’s biggest asshat. “I’m trying to think if you’ve always been this much of a pain in the ass,” I mutter.

“Champagne?” Tristan continues to ignore my jibes, tipping his head suggestively.

I really hope I don’t sound needy when I ask, “Do we have something to celebrate?”

“Maybe.” And that one single word comes out so dark, husky… and sexy.

I want to facepalm myself at my own disregard for his behavior, and my body’s reaction to him. A flicker is stirring low in my belly, threatening to spill further to my lady bits. There’s clearly something wrong with me.

I glance up at the server who’s looking from Tristan to me, then back to Tristan again for an answer on the champagne.

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