Page 106 of Casanova LLC

“So you’re positive he’s the one?”

“He’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

“Not worried there’s an even better one out there for you?”

“You know the saying, ‘A good man is hard to find’? Richard’s a good man.”

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself of that. She started to get up. “If we’re going to get that drink, we should go.” I reached for her glass again, joined it with mine in one hand, and offered her an empty palm. She took it and I hoisted us both to standing. She went to move the painting back to the wall, but I beat her to it. Then, before she could ask, I had her coat held open. As she shrugged into it, I straightened her bent collar. She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

She turned around; I was already holding her glass back out to her. “Just wondering how on earth you’re single.” We were now standing closer to each other than we’d been before. But she didn’t step back. She just considered me.

“I’m not really a one-woman kind of guy,” I said.

“You just haven’t met the right woman.”

“Well, the right woman is hard to find.”

She grinned at me. I grinned at her. We had advanced to banter. We were officially flirting. And she felt safe doing so. Because I knew she was getting married tomorrow and her fiancé was in business with me.

But she wasn’t safe.

She lifted her glass to her mouth. “Maybe we could help you find her.”

“Thanks, but…” I let my gaze linger on her. “I think it might be too late.”

“Too late? How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven, but that’s not what I meant. Why? How old are you?”

“Same.” She sounded like she might stick her tongue out at me and say na-na-na-na-na-na.

I tipped my chin down. “Twenty-seven and you’re never gonna see another man’s twig and berries for the rest of your life.”

She guffawed. It was a deliciously loud burst. “Twenty-seven and you call it ‘twig and berries,’ are you serious? God.” I may as well have been tickling her. Her hand went to her giggling mouth and her enormous ring nearly blinded me under the fluorescents. “It’s like reverse dog years for men. Twenty-seven for me is forty; twenty-seven for you is twelve.”

“Oh, so that’s why you like older men.”

“I don’t like older men.”

“You just marry them?”

“He’s forty-two. That’s eighteen in dog years.”

“Cradle-robber. So what do you like, then? The money?”

“I like Richard! Why does it have to be about anything else?”

There was a part of me that wanted to expose him for who he really was, but that wasn’t why I was here. I had to keep reminding myself of that. “It doesn’t. I get it. He must be quite the man to win a woman like you.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious. He’s a lucky man.”

She was getting embarrassed. “Can I tell you something?”

She was also getting brave. I loved this contradiction. “Anything.”

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