Page 11 of The Don's Dilemma (Caprice Langden)

He pulled away from the curb but had to immediately stop at the first light on the block.

“This is going to make me sound like an arrogant asshole.” The light changed, and he pulled forward. “But I know women. You’re different.”

“How different? Good different or bad different? I’m not sure I like being called ‘different.’”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. It’s a good different.”

“You think I’m weak?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because you don’t know. You just met me. I could be a badass in disguise,” I teased.

He laughed outright and shook his head. “Yeah. No. No, you’re not.”

I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m not. But I don’t want you to think I’m a pushover.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes lingering in the dark, lighting up my cheeks once again before he looked back to the road. “I don’t think that at all.”

I tilted my head. “Then what do you think?”

“I think that if I answer that question, we won’t make it to dinner.”

His tone said not to pursue the topic any longer. I faced the passenger window and watched the streetlights and signs blur by, but I couldn’t take the silence. I knew that if I let it linger, it’d take over, and I’d retreat.

“Do you live in New York?” I asked, trying to get some personal information from him.

“No. Bridgeport.”

“Oh. That’s a bit out there. Do you work here?”

“No.”

I nodded at his one-word answer. He really didn’t like to talk about himself. My next thought was one I shouldn’t have allowed myself to have. If he didn’t live or work in New York City, then I couldn’t expect too much from him.

“I do come into the city for business. Occasionally, for other things,” he finally volunteered.

Excited to hear more, I pounced. “Oh? What other things? Do you like the shows? The museums?”

“No.” He paused. “I like dinner with pretty girls.”

Plural. I couldn’t let it go. “So, maybe I’m not so different after all?”

“That’s my reason for tonight. Normally, it’s business or I’m here with my family.”

My stomach turned, dreading the worst, though I’d have a hard time believing it. He just didn’t seem to bethattype. “This isn’t when you tell me you’re married, is it?”

I was joking, but Gabriel did not think my comment was funny.

“I would never disrespect you that way, or my wife, if I had one. Ever. I meant my mother and my sister. They enjoy shopping and the shows and museums you mentioned.”

I felt properly scolded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended, but respect means a lot to me. I’m old-fashioned. I believe in one man, one woman. In Sunday dinners and holding doors open for ladies. I’m a modern man, but there are some things that don’t need to change. Treating a woman with respect is one of them.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Secretly, I loved his attitude. While I certainly wanted my independence as a woman, I didn’t mind having doors held open for me or being treated like I was someone special.

My thoughts were premature. This was a first date. I doubt I was being treated any differently than any of the other women Gabriel had dated. Or was currently dating. Maybe he was a player, although that didn’t match his “one man, one woman” line.

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