Page 3 of Maneater
“I know,” I say with a tip of my head. “I can afford to buy my own drinks. It’s just more fun this way.”
The flicker in his eye—a mix of intrigue, heat, and irritation—is reminiscent of the time I had the unfortunate experience of almost having an entire dinner with him three months ago. He happened upon me on a prearranged date with a man we were pretty sure was embezzling from his company. My date invited him to stay for the meal, an offer Rowan accepted. He spent the entire night glaring at me, only taking the time to speak directly to me when we were alone.
“He’s married, you know,” he had said, when Stephen, my date and target, stepped away to use the bathroom.
I was aware of that, a fact I had been documenting in my spare time and creating a file to send to his wife when we handed over the proof of embezzlement to our client.
A little pro bono work, if you will. Girls supporting girls and all that.
“I’m well aware,” I had said. He hadn’t been good at hiding it, so it was easy for a highly skilled private investigator like myself to pick up on the signs.
“I guess that fits my understanding of you,” Rowan had said.
I fought every instinct not to let my jaw go tight, not to snap at him, instead keeping my pristine mask on and giving him a soft, angelic smile.
“Oh?”
He took a slow sip of his drink, a satisfied smile spreading on his lips as he sat back in his chair.
“It’s just that every time I see you, you’re on a date with some newrich or powerful man.” He looked to the side to where Stephen had disappeared before returning his look to me, now tinged in pity I didn’t need or want. “It’s been that way since college.”
College, because the first time I met Rowan was in my junior year, when I was running an underground business of testing girls’ boyfriends to see if they were cheaters and would fall for my flirting.
Spoiler: so, so many did. At that point, I was targeting different frat boys and trust-fund babies almost every week, using my unique skills to help out my friends and friends of friends.
He judged me back then, too, though I’ll admit, it probably did look strange that I was always out with some other guy.
“And?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re a gold digger. Always trying to lure some poor schmuck into falling into your trap.”
I sat on that assumption for a moment, deciding that it was an okay one, one that would be far safer than the truth, and shrugged.
“Sure,” I said, unwilling to give in to whatever trap he was so obviously setting for me. He raised an eyebrow.
“Sure?”
“You can think whatever you want about me,” I said, leaning back with my wine glass in hand, gently swirling the liquid like I had not a care in the world. His jaw was tight as he looked over me, and I did my own personal thorough onceover to ensure every muscle in my body remained loose and unaffected.
“So, you’re a gold digger?” he pressed.
I shrugged one shoulder before taking a small sip of the expensive wine. I was on a job, which meant this glass had to last me all night, though with the man sitting across from me I could use the whole fucking bottle.
“I don’t owe you an explanation for what I am or am not doing.”
“You’re not going to deny it?”
“Again, I owe you nothing. Not an explanation, not a denial. Nothing. You’re clearly very intrigued by me and my happenings,since this is what? The third time you’ve found a reason to talk to someone I was having dinner with?” His jaw tightened, proving I had hit a nerve. “And, really, I can’t blame you—I have a mirror, after all. But just because you so desperately wish you were the one wining and dining me doesn’t mean you have to be a dick to me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, probably to lie and tell me he wasn’t into me, but then Stephen returned, and his mouth shut. He only stayed a few minutes after our talk, but it didn’t deter him from stopping by anytime he happened to be at the same place as me, chatting with my date and, if not taunting and prodding at me subtly, then completely ignoring me.
This, though, has never happened.
He’s never bumped into me and started a conversation when I was off the clock.
I’m startled when he pulls the chair next to me out and sits down, though I don’t bother to argue and tell him that it’s taken. If I’m being honest, I’m…intrigued by him.
“Seems a little insincere, doesn’t it? A pretty woman flirting with a man she has no interest in just to get a free drink and have some fun at his expense?”
