Page 26 of The Arrogant's Redemption

“I’m thirty-eight. Believe me when I say the answer I could give would crush a few of your dreams. You’re too young to be around someone as cynical as me, sweet Alexis.”

“You said you weren’t interested in friendship, sir, so I’m not at risk of being tainted by your cynicism.”

“I’m not the type who makes friends easily anyway.”

“Me neither. So maybe we’re more alike than you think, Mr. Jasper.”

She focuses back on the tablet and, seconds later—as if I’d just sat down and that whole conversation hadn’t happened—starts describing the special of the day.

I already know I’ll order something without the faintest clue what it is. The food no longer matters. What I’m trying to figure out is why Alexis—with her tomboy-ish manner and her so-called almost twenty-three years—has me hanging on every breath she takes whenever we’re near each other.

Poorly dressed, hair pulled back into a messy bun that looks like it could fall apart at any second—which makes me want to run my fingers through it just to see how it’d fall over her shoulders—no makeup, and not making the slightest effort to hold my attention, despite clearly being attracted to me, Alexis has become, in my eyes, an enigma.

I usually like puzzles, but not when it comes to women. With them, my desires are simple and direct.

“So, sir, what will it be?”

I let my eyes roam her again without saying a word. Her cheeks turn crimson—bright as apples—which tells me Alexis isn’t so innocent after all.

“I suggest the sea bass with tamarind sauce and roasted potatoes. For starters, we have oysters.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Now I’m confused. You don’t want to be friends, but you’re asking me personal questions?”

“Is it that hard to answer?”

“I’ve been working here since I finished high school.”

“I thought this restaurant was opened recently.”

“No. What happened recently was that a famous magazine featured us, but we’ve been open for over five years.”

“Keep talking about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“If I were the vengeful type, I’d say I only share personal things with friends.”

“You’re not?”

“What?”

“Vengeful?”

“Oh, I am. Vengeful and spiteful, too. The lie would be the part about only sharing with friends. I don’t have any.”

“How can someone so young not have friends?”

“Were you born thirty-eight? Because according to your words, you don’t have friends either—meaning you were my age once and a loner, too,” she shoots back, and I smile at her audacity.

“I never said I don’t have friends. I said I don’t make them easily.”

“Yeah, fair.” She shrugs slightly. “Well, back to your question. My mom was—is—a fisherwoman, which you probably gathered since I told you I was trying to sell her boat this morning. She used to supply fish to Badger, the owner here. I started doing odd jobs for him, and after high school, I came on full-time.”

“And college?”

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