Page 41 of Flirting with the Scrooge

Tatum’s body tenses under my fingertips. My fingers clench into a fist. What kind of mother says that to their daughter? Instead of giving Tamara a piece of my mind, I direct my attention to Tatum. “I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the room tonight.”

Tatum’s gaze lifts to meet mine. A small glimmer of adoration fills her eyes. Luckily, they announce for everyone to find their seats as dinner will be served and our table is far away from theirs.

With my hand on Tatum’s lower back, I escort her to our table that has our names embossed on place settings. Outside of a wedding reception, I’ve never been to anything this fancy. And usually at weddings it’s mostly to keep argumentative family members away from one another. I wonder if that’s the same thing here?

I pull out Tatum’s chair and she takes a seat. As I bend down to sit next to her, I whisper, “I don’t know what you see in him.”

“Who?” She turns toward me, crossing one leg over the other, and reaches for her wine.

“Adam. He’s so full of himself.” I scoot my chair in.

“What are you talking about? You met him for like five seconds. He’s very confident. Self-assured.”

“And completely self-absorbed. And what the hell happened to you when you saw him?”

She gasps in shock. “What did I do?”

“You became a different person. Prim and proper with a stick shoved up your ass. Like you had to be perfect. That’s not the Tatum I know.” I lean back in my chair and swallow a gulp of my whiskey.

“You think you have it all figured out.” She twists so she’s facing the center of the table.

I sit up and lean toward her so only she can hear. “Just be you. That girl has fire and passion inside her. Not the dull and fake person back there. Don’t let anyone steal your sunshine.”

Her blue eyes meet mine and the corners of her lips slightly tip up. I know whoever that person was in front of Adam wasn’t the real her. That was the fakest personality I’ve ever seen, and I’ve encountered many fake people in my life. I saw through that shit immediately. Normally, their motives are for their own selfish needs, like they want something, or they believe they aren’t good enough. So, I can’t figure out why she’d do it.

For the rest of the evening, I make it my mission to make her forget all about Adam and let her be herself.

The server sets a Filet Mignon with roasted potatoes and asparagus in front of me and Tatum gets the Chicken Marsala. I cut off a piece a steak and put it in my mouth. I fight not to moan out loud. It’s melt-in-your-mouth tender and coated in a rich and savory garlic butter sauce.

Cutting off another piece, I hold it out to Tatum. “You have to try this. It’s so good.”

She eyes the fork and then me. “You’re going to feed me?”

“Yes.” I wiggle the fork, coaxing her to open her mouth.

“Adam never fed me, let alone shared his food with me.”

Bending down so my mouth is next to her ear, I whisper, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not Adam. Now open up.”

She releases a small laugh before her red lips part. Then those same lips wrap around the fork before sliding off. It shouldn’t be so hypnotizing, but it is.

For the rest of dinner, we eat our meals while continuing to feed each other small bites off each other’s plate while conversing and joking around. This time I know her laugh is genuine by the way her eyes crinkle in the corners. When I glance two tables over, I catch sight of Adam staring back at us. Judging by the scowl on his face, mission accomplished.

TWENTY

THE HOLIDAY ESCORT

Tatum

Connor surprised the hell out of me during dinner. He was so attentive and oddly affectionate, not that I’m complaining. It just caught me off guard. Throughout the entire dinner, his hand would brush against my leg or my shoulder. He would lean in and whisper in my ear with mostly compliments, but sometimes it would be something that would make me laugh. His presence brought me a sense of calm. I forgot all about Adam and my parents and all the shitty baggage they carry.

Usually, when I’m at these types of events with Adam, I’m dragged around like arm candy as he talks to everyone of importance. But with Connor, it’s different. His focus has been on me and only me. After we finish dinner, a small jazz band serenades the room with a smooth melody.

Connor rises to his feet and holds out an open palm to me. “May I have this dance?”

I flash him a wide grin before placing my hand in his. He leads me to the center of the wood floor, where several other couples gracefully glide as they dance. His fingers intertwine with mine while his other hand presses against my lower back, holding me close to him. The touch is simple but still causes butterflies to take flight in my belly.

“I never would have guessed you could slow dance.”

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