Parker
Having a date on a Saturday night was unusual. Having a date with a hot man who created a flutter between my legs when we locked eyes—face mask or no face mask—was unheard of. Not many people had the capacity to shock me, and it was intoxicating. I told Tristan I had to work and would go to our date right from the office. That way, I didn’t have to see him in the doorway to my apartment again. Without the lust-killing pajamas and face mask, I might just pull him inside and jump on him.
I was a little surprised when he texted me the address to a restaurant about three hundred meters from where I lived. Men who were trying to impress me because of whose daughter I was usually picked a fancy restaurant in the middle of town. One had even flown me to Paris on his plane. Apparently, Tristan Dubrow had more down-to-earth tastes. And that meant going to my favorite Italian restaurant.
I knew what I’d order before I sat down.
It also meant I didn’t need to dress up. My favorite jeans and a red blouse with a ruffly collar said that I was making some effort but not too much. My concession to making an effort was strapping on some heels. I was determined to bridge the height gap between Tristan and me even if we were sitting down.
I caught sight of Tristan through the sticker-covered glass of the restaurant door. He looked enormous sat at the tiny table for two in the corner in front of the kitchen. Enormous, and undeniably handsome. He wore a blue shirt that pulled slightly across his arms and his messy hair had streaks of dirty-blond on the ends like it was hanging on to a memorable summer. His jaw was grazed with stubble, and for a second, I wanted to know how it felt against my thighs. If this was a real date, I’d be looking forward to this evening.
I pushed the door open and his gaze shot to mine.
I waved at Antonio behind the till and slid into my seat opposite my handsome date.
“Interesting choice of restaurant,” I said.
“You look beautiful.” His comment came from the back of the throat—raw and guttural, an animal response.
I grinned. “I like your shirt.”
He looked at me like he hadn’t heard me and I looked away, a little unsettled at the intensity of his stare.
“Shall we get a menu?” I suggested.
Tristan cleared his throat as if he had to deliberately knock himself back into the moment. “I’ve ordered already.”
I frowned like a toddler who’d just had her ball yanked away from her. I liked the crab ravioli and the chicken parmigiana. I’d been looking forward to it.
“You want some wine?” he asked.
“You’re asking?” I replied. “That makes a change.” I’d never been particularly good at hiding what I was thinking.
“Trust me.” He gestured for one of the waitresses to come over and ordered a bottle of Franciacorta.
“Not a prosecco fan?” I asked, wondering if he was trying to impress me.
“Hate the stuff. I drink beer mainly. But dinner with a beautiful woman deserves something more. And I’d rather drink cows’ urine than prosecco.”
“Something we have in common.”
He nodded as if I hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know already. “I figured.”
“You know this isn’t a date though, don’t you? I mean, you don’t have to impress me.”
“I paid twenty-five grand for tonight. If it’s not a real date then I want my money back.” The way his mouth curled up slightly told me he didn’t want his money back at all.
“So why this place? You live around here?”
“I live in Notting Hill, but I figured this place was local to you and it has a great reputation. I guessed you’d been here before and enjoyed it. Am I wrong?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t argue with that logic. “I love this place.” Truth be told, the kind of thought Tristan had put into choosing this place was way more impressive than taking a private plane to Paris. Anyone could get their assistant to make table reservations and charter a plane. Tristan had genuinely thought about what I might like.
But I wasn’t running down that rabbit hole. Like all the rest, Tristan was trying to impress my father, not me. He was either interested in furthering their business relationship or getting his hands on some of Dad’s money. Better to find out now which one.
“Tell me how you know my dad.”
He shrugged like there wasn’t much to tell. “He gave me my first break. Spotted potential in me, I suppose. I started doing cyber security for his bank and . . .Long story short, he gave me my career.”
It sounded like he owed my dad a lot. Although I couldn’t ignore the pinch in my heart that told me I’d prefer it if he hadn’t known my father at all, I admired the lack of ego he displayed. Most men wouldn’t fully credit someone else for their success. They might acknowledge they’d had a leg up. Maybe. But to say my father gave him his career? There was something sexy about a man who could recognize the shoulders he stood on.
Our starters arrived and a plate of crab ravioli was placed in front of each of us.
I looked up at him. As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “Antonio told me this was your favorite. Looks great.” He picked up his fork but waited as I tentatively reached for mine. I couldn’t decide if Tristan finding out my preferences was creepy or incredibly thoughtful. All I knew was I was sitting in my favorite restaurant, eating my favorite thing on the menu. Like Sutton said, I needed to just go with it.
“That’s delicious. Must be the lemon,” he said after his first bite.
The way he’d said delicious echoed in my brain and made me shiver like it was me he was eating, not the ravioli.
“I’m surprised you like this kind of place,” I said.
“What? Great food, great wine, great company? Yeah, why would I like that?”
I smiled and he looked up at me from under his eyelashes. He took another mouthful of ravioli and for a split second I wondered how his lips would feel on my neck. How his hands would feel circling and pressing against my body. I needed to keep my imagination in check. Remember why we were here.
“I thought with the whole twenty-five grand bid, you might be a bit flash.”
He chuckled. “I’m wiped out now. Nothing left in my bank account. You should be grateful we didn’t end up on a park bench eating takeaway fish and chips.”
“I like fish and chips.”
“Me too.”
Unable to gauge his seriousness, I felt bad. “Are you being serious? Has your donation left you—”
He chuckled like I was Ricky Gervais. “Don’t worry. I’m still liquid. I’m just not—” He paused as he seemed to try to find the right words. “I like flash in the right circumstances, but not every day. Anyway, you’re Arthur’s daughter. You’ve seen flash before and it’s not like it’s going to impress you. I wanted to do something you’d enjoy. Was I wrong?”
I couldn’t think of anything more right than this evening. If I’d been looking for a date, this one might be as perfect as it got.
Once our starters were cleared away, I shouldn’t have been surprised when the waiter placed a plate of chicken parm in its place. Tristan had the same. “Antonio told you?” I asked, glancing down at my plate.
Tristan nodded. “Looks great.”
“What does a cyber security specialist do? Make sure people are changing their passwords and stuff?”
Tristan chuckled, popped a forkful of chicken in his mouth, and nodded. He swallowed before he said, “That’s exactly it. I make sure all my clients are regularly changing their passwords.”
He was very clearly being sarcastic, but I was genuinely hoping he’d elaborate. “So who are your clients? Companies? Or people like my dad?”
“Both. Anyone who understands the importance of cyber security.”
Why wasn’t he like some normal guy, boastful about how important and successful he was? “Cyber security being . . .?”
“I keep data safe.”
“Data on computers?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Data on phones?”
“Yes. These days most data is stored electronically. So basically all data.”
“This is a lot of talk about data,” I said on a sigh.
His eyes did that mischievous sparkly thing as he smiled. “You started it.”
“I’m trying to get to know you,” I said. As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. I was trying to get to know him, but why? We just had to pass the time until dinner was over and we could go back to our respective lives, but Tristan interested me. Too much.
“You’re trying to understand what I do. That’s not who I am.”
“I can’t remember the film, but in it there’s a scene where a woman says to her boyfriend or ex or something that it doesn’t matter who you are in your head, it’s what you do that counts.”
“Rachel says it to Bruce in Batman Begins: ‘It’s not who you are underneath. It’s what you do that defines you.’ Best of the three Nolan Batmans in my opinion. People loved The Dark Knight but I thought it was overrated.”
I wasn’t going to tell him, but I kind of loved Batman Begins and I kinda loved that he could quote from it. “Okay, Gotham geek, you’ve just contradicted yourself. You said what you do defines you, did you not?”
“But Rachel isn’t talking about Bruce’s job. She’s talking about his actions. Also we’re pre-supposing that Rachel’s right and only actions matter. I never said I agreed with her.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He was right. He was cute. And he was smart, but not in a showy way. He exuded confidence without cockiness. It was a welcome change.
“Do you agree with her?”
He winced. “Yes and no. Yes in the context of Bruce seemingly being an indulgent playboy with the heart of that same great kid he used to be. But more generally I think some actions we take can be a mistake. No one wants to be judged on their worst day. So in that sense, what we do isn’t always representative of who we are.”
I liked that he was listening to me. And that he was interesting to listen to. If I took Tristan at his actions, he had donated generously to Sunrise, and he’d been thoughtful in picking this restaurant and in ordering for me. Should I therefore believe he was a generous, thoughtful man? Was it all for show, or were his actions a genuine reflection of his personality?
“So tell me why you ended up bidding so much for this dinner. What is it that you need from my father?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Need? You think I’m after something?”
“Most people are.”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose so.” He paused and seemed in no rush to continue. Eventually, he said, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Arthur. I didn’t know you were his daughter when I bid. I’d stepped out to take a call and when I came back, the beautiful woman who’d bumped into me earlier that day was on stage. Sans pastry cream, wearing a stunning gown.”
Heat swept over my body like I was stepping off a plane in Dubai. He hadn’t known who I was? A fizzle of excitement spun in my stomach. The hot man opposite had just wanted a date with me without knowing my last name, or the reputation for wealth attached to it?
“You think everyone else who bid was trying to impress your father?” he asked.
“Impress him. Use me. Pick your poison.”
“Wow,” Tristan said, a grin unfurling on his face. “How did you get so . . . cynical?”
“I’m a realist. I don’t expect people to be anything but human and therefore, focused on their own best interests.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe that of the human race, and I don’t believe you believe that, either.”
“You’re really going to sit there and tell me what I believe? It’s true. We’re hard wired to be selfish and fulfil our own needs.”
“Yes, I’m going to sit here and tell you that you don’t believe that. You work for a charity that raises money to help people. Other people. And you’re not the only one—you have colleagues, donors, supporters. If your theory was true, charities wouldn’t exist. People wouldn’t volunteer. I’m not saying people won’t try to fulfil their basic needs. Of course they will. But some of them try to do more than that. Some of us don’t have an agenda other than wanting to donate to a good cause and spend the evening with a beautiful woman.”
He couldn’t be right and charming. That was a step too far.
“There will always be exceptions to every rule.” It was the best response I had. I’d run out of road and his smile was getting to me. Especially when he was pointing out how wrong I was. A little voice inside my head started telling me that maybe he was an exception to the rule. I needed to find the mute button for that voice. There was a good reason I hadn’t had a date since I’d broken off my engagement. Exceptions were rare. And I wasn’t going to fall for another man who pretended to be someone he wasn’t.
A waitress I’d not seen before cleared our plates and reset the table for pudding. Tristan waited for her to leave before he answered.
“Maybe, but I think it would have been an exceptional man in that ballroom who wouldn’t want to be sitting opposite you here tonight. Lucky for me, I get that privilege.”
“So you’re saying you have no interest in impressing my father?” If that was the case, Sutton’s idea of getting Tristan to marry me fell apart—there was no motivation.
“If I was trying to impress Arthur, dating his daughter wouldn’t be the first thing I’d try.”
“So you’d have no interest in marrying me then?”
“You’re proposing? On a first date? I must have impressed you a little at least.”
He was way too cute—I could hear the danger sirens already.
I shrugged as if I’d just told him I’d been planning to split the bill. “Yeah. I mean, if you’d been wanting to impress my father, it would have been a win-win solution to all our problems. But given you don’t, I guess that’s put pay to my idea.”
He chuckled and the sound reverberated across every goosebump that peppered my skin.
“I don’t tend to say yes to marriage proposals on the first date. But like you said, there are exceptions to every rule.”