Chapter 20

“It’s not a complaint, anyway,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. There was a slight breeze on the candlelit rooftop, and as she brought a piece of buttery artichoke to her mouth, Marqi simply shivered. It was hard to be dressed with a bare back and low-cut front while Dennis was scrutinizing her over dinner.

“I didn’t necessarily take it as a complaint,” he said, still civilly using a knife and fork. He watched her eat, chewing his food thoroughly before swallowing.

“You’re stalling,” she figured, glancing up at him as she popped another piece of food in her mouth. “God, why does everything taste so good with butter on it?”

He chuckled. “I bet you’d taste good with butter on.”

“Mm,” she countered, “I bet you would, too.”

“We’ll have to see about that sometime,” he said, reaching for the champagne bottle. It was nearly empty and Marqi was already telling herself to quit drinking as he poured the remainder into their glasses. He raised an eyebrow at her as he took a sip. She continued to eat, her starving stomach almost impossible to satisfy. She tried to eat slowly, but every bite seemed more decadent than the last, and she had to force herself not to lick the plate.

“I want photographs of you,” he said as though he expected her to argue.

“Don’t you have some?” she frowned, thinking of the dirty digital camera in his bedroom.

Dennis waved his hand impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous; those are amateur shots. You deserve to be in full color, larger than life.”

Her stomach lurched slightly. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’ll rent a studio,” he said plainly. “I’ll hire the best photographer in the state, we’ll get a consultant to do the whole thing, and when you’re done, I’ll have my calendar girl.”

Marqi’s fingers shook as she reached for her champagne. “You’ve gone mad.”

“Why is that?” he returned to his plate without the slightest bit of concern over her statement.

“Well, I mean… what are you talking about here? I get the feeling I’m not being asked to sit for a Victorian portrait.”

He laughed outrightly. “I do enjoy your sense of humor. No, clearly I’m not inclined to appreciate Victorian portraits, although you, my dear, would look lovely in anything. But all that dark hair, those striking eyes… You’re a wonder in your most natural state.”

“Meaning naked,” she said bluntly.

“I do mean naked,” he returned, his face taking on the look of a seasoned negotiator. She could tell he was prepared to get what he wanted.

“Well,” she raised her chin defiantly, “why should I?”

“Because it would make me happy,” he said, “and I can offer you anything you like in return.”

“Is that so?” she pursed her lips momentarily. “Could you make me happy?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.

“Sure about that, are you?” she narrowed her eyes at him, wiping her buttery fingers on her napkin.

“I’ll take that bet any day of the week.”

There was that look again, Marqi thought; the one that said he meant business and nothing but. She licked her lips. “How can you be so sure of that when you don’t know the slightest thing about me?”

“Absurd; I know plenty about you,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Marqi asked. “What’s my major?”

“Business,” he answered, “but I doubt that’s your passion.”

“Why do you doubt I’m passionate for business?”

“Because I am,” he told her. “You’re not hungry enough to be passionate about it.”

“Is that so?” she said. “So what am I passionate about?”

“I don’t think you know yet,” he said with a smug, knowing smile. “You’re too young to really know just yet.”

“Well, when did you know that you were passionate about business?”

“Hm,” he considered the question and cast it aside in mere seconds, “that’s a story for another day.”

“A man of mystery,” she teased him.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?” he said, tossing his napkin onto his plate. He got to his feet and came around to offer her a hand. Marqi deposited her soiled napkin on the table and took his hand, letting him pull her up. He kissed her tenderly on the lips and she instantly tasted butter. He spoke low and quiet, directly to her as he tugged her toward the exit, “You know deep down that’s exactly why college boys don’t do it for you… You need a man, someone who knows what he wants, someone who has enough experience to properly fill the post.”

She grinned at him as they got in the elevator, and Marqi knew she’d had entirely too much to drink. “I’m going to flunk out of college.”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, nibbling the nape of her neck. He brushed a few loose strands of hair aside and said, “On Monday I’ll make all the arrangements. I want a hatful of photographs; one for every day of the week.”

She giggled as they traipsed into the hotel room. She fell on the bed and closed her eyes with no further thoughts of protest. She was asleep by the time he crawled in beside her. It was bliss in her slumber, and if she had known better, she would have tried to savor it.