Page 68 of Arrogant Playboy

“You’re such a snob.”

“I like what I like,” I tell her.

“Which is caviar and Cristal,” she teases.

“And?” I argue, defending myself.

“Nothing wrong with that at all. But you’re here in a pub. You should embrace it, you might like it.” She grins.

Doubtful, but she seems to be getting a kick out of it, so I’ll indulge her. “If you’re the connoisseur of English pubs, why don’t you choose my meal for me.”

“You trust me to choose your meal?” Rosie asks. I nod. “You don’t have any allergies or anything?” I shake my head. Her brows pull together as she scans the menu. “I know exactly what I’m going to order for you.” She grins.

“I look forward to it,” I say, genuinely amused by her excitement. The waitress comes back, and Rosie orders our meals and drinks, but she whispers it to the waitress, telling her I’m visiting from France, and she wants to surprise me with an authentic English experience. The waitress gives me a once over and I don’t think she’s impressed.

“I don’t think she likes French people,” I lean forward and whisper to Rosie.

She bursts out laughing. “I don’t think she does either. She might be the first woman to not fall at your feet.”

“Second woman,” I say.

“Second woman?” Rosie questions me with a frown.

“She’s the second English woman to not fall at my feet, you were the first,” I tell her. Then I watch as her cheeks bloom pink and the tips of her ears turn red. But she is saved by the bell as the waitress brings over my pint of ale and a glass of prosecco for Rosie.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass against mine. “To a productive weekend making your country house a home.” Cheesy but cute.

“I know this weekend wasn’t your idea, but I am genuinely excited to show you the home and see what you think.”

“I’m reluctantly excited,” she says, looking at me over her glass. “I have ideas, but I need to see the space first. It’s hard looking online as I can’t always tell the dimensions, but I could also completely change my mind and come up with an entirely new concept when I get there.”

“I’m sure whatever ideas you come up with will be brilliant.”

“You have that much faith in me?” she asks.

“You don’t?”

“Oh, I do.” She smirks.

“Love the confidence,” I say, raising my pint at her.

“You wouldn’t have hired me if you didn’t think I was good enough.” She’s not wrong, but she also doesn’t need to know what lengths I’d go to, to spend more time with her.

The waitress places my plate of food in front of me and it’s like a tower of food. There are thick-cut fries on the bottom, a bowl of mashed peas, two big beer-battered fish sitting on top, and a bowl of white sauce with a couple of lemon wedges on the side. Rosie has the same.

“It reminds me of home, and I wanted to share it with you.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal, popping a fry into her mouth. She wanted to share a bit of who she is with me, she could have chosen anything off the menu, but she chose home. “You’ll like it, trust me.” She grins happily, taking a lemon wedge and squishing it all over her food.

I do the same. “What’s the white sauce?” I ask.

“It’s tartar sauce, it’s mayonnaise with things in it. It’s nice,” she explains, dipping her fry into the concoction. I follow her lead and try it and it’s not as bad as it looks. “Growing up, we had seafood most nights, fresh from the ocean. I think that makes me a snob when it comes to seafood,” she confesses.

“Nothing like fresh seafood.” I grin, then take a bite of the battered fish. Oh my god, this is amazing. It’s crunchy and lighton the outside and the fish on the inside disappears on my tongue. I moan as I take another bite.

“Told you, you would like it.” Rosie grins.

“It’s delicious.” I continue to stuff the food into my mouth.

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