Page 12 of Tempting the President
"I...haveneverbeen attracted to someone arrogant!"
"So?"
"He's also too controlling, and I've never been attracted to that type of man either. He has no concept of respecting people's personal space and professional boundaries and...and..."
Why did Elissa's eyes just widen like that? Does she think I'm lying? Is that it?
"I'm not exaggerating anything, Lis! That...that jerk is seriously full of himself, and...and..."
Why is Elissa making throat-slicing gestures while staring at something behind me? It's almost like she's telling me without words that...
Oh.
"He's right behind me, isn't he?"
No.
“Yes,” a familiar voice says with obvious amusement. “The arrogant, controlling jerk is right behind you, darling Jayne.”
I close my eyes. Just for a moment. When I open them, Patrizio Steele is standing next to our table, looking devastatingly attractive in dark jeans and a sweater that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad.
And he’s clearly heard every word of my character assassination.
This is exactly the kind of thing that happens in romantic comedies, right before the heroine dies of embarrassment and the hero does something swoon-worthy to make up for it.
Except this is real life, and I’m about to die of mortification.
“Mr. Steele.” I try to sound professional, which is difficult when I want to crawl under the table and hide. “What are you doing here?”
“I own the building.” He gestures around the elegant café with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and cozy reading nooks. “Midnight Tower. This is the ground floor.”
Of course he does. Of course the gorgeous, arrogant man who’s been psychologically dissecting me for two days owns the building where I come to hide from my problems and drink overpriced coffee.
"Amazing."
Elissa's tone is one of unabashed wonder, and my unease grows at how her gaze is darting back and forth between Patrizio and me.
"Seeing you two together—"
I knew it.
"It's just like everything in the book—"
"What book?" Patrizio asks with interest.
Elissa brightens. "It's—"
"—something a man like you will find absolutely boring." I shoot a warning look at my so-called friend as I say this. One more word from her, and I swear our life will be on the next episode ofMy Dangerous Roommateor whatever it is those true-crime shows she loves to watch is called.
"Interesting that you'd say that..."
Patrizio's words have me blinking, and I feel like I'm suddenly lost in translation. I can't recall saying anything interesting—
"What kind of a man do you think I am exactly, darling?"
But now that he's mentioned it, I may have said something rash and foolish instead?
"Um..."
