Sure Thing(44)

“I work in operations for a London-based company.”

“What does that mean?” She stares at me from across the table, her expression curious and relaxed.

Damn her curiosity.

“It’s mostly analyzing strategies and procedures. Ensuring efficiencies. Minimizing resources. Forecasting trends, etcetera etcetera.” I spout off a bunch of nonsense and hope it was dull enough to answer her and put an end to any additional questions.

“Wait a minute.” She says the words slowly, her eyes narrowing. “I think I’ve got you figured out.”

Shit. “Have you?” I take a sip of my drink and feign nonchalance.

“Yup. Can’t fool me.” She taps her water glass against the tablecloth as she speaks and I wonder if she’s going to fling it in my face.

At least her hand isn’t on the butter knife. Yet.

Fuck, I should have said something sooner. But it’s not as though I lied, is it? An omission isn’t a lie, exactly. I make a mental note not to say that aloud. I doubt it’ll win me any points.

“You,” she says, pointing at me with her finger and a stern expression, “have a job.”

“Correct. And I don’t live with my mum. We established that when you agreed to keep sleeping with me.” I wink, hoping we’re done with this line of conversation.

“I meant you have a good job.” She tilts her head and examines me as if something is just occurring to her. “And you own a home. Even homes in the dodgy section of London are crazy expensive.”

“Dodgy?” I laugh at her. Her expression is so serious, as if she’s about to win a game of Clue. “Americans don’t use the word ‘dodgy’ to describe property.”

“I told you, I have an Anglophile fetish. Stop trying to distract me.” She straightens her silverware and I keep an eye on the knife. “I don’t think your grandmother paid for your trip.”

“No?”

“No. I think you paid for her trip. Am I right?” She sits back in her chair, confident she’s solved the puzzle of me. “You let me think you were Mr. Good Times, but you have your act together, don’t you?”

Not that together, no. But I grin and tell her it’s family tradition to take turns taking Nan on holiday. Then the waiter arrives with our starters and I thank my lucky stars for the interruption.

I’m on borrowed time on this lie. I manage to remain relatively anonymous, being that no one gives a toss about who runs a travel conglomerate and I have a last name other than Sutton, but it’s not impossible to piece together.

The company website is little more than a fancy landing site to direct consumers to the individual brands. The About section on the site only makes a brief mention of the corporation being family-owned, and even then not a name is listed, merely a note of four generations of service. She knows it surely, being an employee, but it’s not my name on her payslip. I’m buried layers deeper than a contract employee of one division would care about.

I need to come clean with her.

“I think I’ve got you figured out as well.” We’ve gotten a cheese board starter and Daisy pauses in the act of spreading raspberry preserve across a tiny crunchy toast and blinks twice.

“You have?”

“I think…” I pause, letting the tension build a moment while a look of unease flashes in her eyes. “I think that you like me.”

She sets the toast on her bread plate and leans in a few inches before speaking.

“I think I’m addicted to having sex with you,” she whispers and there’s not an iota of seduction in her delivery. She presents it as if it’s simply a fact that confuses her a bit. “It’s really good, right? I’m sure I have less experience than you do, so maybe I’m just naïve. Or maybe I need a bigger sample pool? Maybe it’s you and you’re really good at sex and it’s like this for you with everyone? Is it all the same to you? Maybe you’re the common denominator?”

Totally guileless, this girl. She didn’t say any of that from a place of judgement. It’s from a place of curiosity and it’s both endearing and erotic and oh, so totally Daisy.

“How am I supposed to eat this?” she asks, pointing at the cheese board. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Spread the soft cheese onto the toast and eat it with your hands.”

She does as I tell her and pops the food into her mouth, humming a little as the flavor hits her tongue. My cock responds as if she’s just placed me on her tongue.

“This is fun,” she says, doing a little wiggle in her seat. “You’re fun, Jennings.”