“I should have asked if you have any dietary restrictions,” he said when they finally sat down and began serving themselves. “Gina wanted to give you a taste of southern cuisine on your first night.”
She grabbed a piece of cornbread. “Restrictions? Are you telling me I should watch my figure and stay clear from this deliciously fattening banquet?”
“Not at all. Though most women I’ve dated would rather eat poison than fried food.”
“How unfortunate.” She finished making her plate and flattened the linen napkin on her lap.
Yes, how unfortunate indeed. What would it be like to date an intriguing woman like Alexa? Not that he was interested. He preferred his women without any ties to virgin auctions. He took a sip of his wine and rocked back in his chair, watching her eat. The easiness from earlier dissipated, and tension thickened in the air with each passing second. He told himself to eat, and managed a few bites, but not stealing glances at her proved too hard.
“So, what’s the next step in the selection process?” he asked, forcing himself to stay on topic.
“You said there’s one more prospect, right?”
“Yes. Very bright and ambitious young guy. He works at a different farm, so we’ll drive there tomorrow.”
“So after we talk to all these guys, we choose one and offer them a deal.”
“All right.” He took another sip of alcohol. “Did you bring the confidentiality agreements?” The document would be beyond handy. He didn’t need his employees worried that their boss would start scouting them for auctions. In fact, if the chosen man had any brains, he wouldn’t tell anyone—and maybe, if Brooks got what he needed from her within the month, the auction wouldn’t even take place.
“Yes, I have them with me. It’ll be critical to have control of the situation.”
“Did you ever have to do much convincing?” he said, thinking of Pamela. Why would a smart woman like her apply to be the main protagonist of a virgin auction? It’s my fault. When they’d had their last disagreement, months after her mother’s untimely death, Pamela had carried a lot of bitterness. He should have understood her when she’d blamed him for her shitty life. She’d been hurt and alone. Instead, he’d played the tough love game and reminded her he’d done all he could for her—offered to pay for her college which she’d dropped out of because she hadn’t felt it was for her. He’d tried to help her, but impulsive as shit, she’d never followed his advice. Still. He’d let their last disagreement linger for too long, and while he’d given her space, she’d made the wrong decision that had cost her life.
“I don’t search for women to sell their virginity, or bully them into it, Mr. Taylor,” she snapped, no doubt emphasizing his surname to put him in his place. “They come to me and do it because they want better lives. They make enough money to go to college, pay off their debts, and build a life for themselves.”
“Sounds so altruistic,” he said, sarcasm lacing his voice before he could stop himself.
“They could lose their virginity to the boy next door or the high school sweetheart who’ll turn out to be an alcoholic prick ten years later. Or they can be in charge of their lives and leverage their coveted hymen.”
“That’s your style. No twisting arms?”
“Never. Will I be persuasive when I try to sell the idea to the man we choose? Yes. But I’d never waste my time with someone who’s not cut out for this or who double guesses the concept. Gives me more work down the line.”
He finished his drink, pouring some more immediately after. Was this part of her spiel, or did she really not act in a dishonest way to conduct her business? Sooner or later, he’d find out—and he’d have to deal with the consequences.
…
Alexa chugged the rest of the wine, enjoying every drop of the lush drink. “You know, I can’t shake the feeling that you don’t approve of what I do. Not that I need your approval, but how can you do business with me if you’re so conflicted about it?” Her stomach curled, the rush from the alcohol still stirring her blood. If this was a joke to him, he should tell her now. She had no time to waste.
During dinner, he’d asked her questions, but a pang of accusation or veiled criticism lurked in the air like puffs of cigar smoke. It was like he was trying very hard to hide his real opinion.
He tilted his head to the side, his expression growing more serious. “I’m asking you questions because I need to know what to tell people. I’ll come across people who love the idea and some who hate it—and I need your level of knowledge to deal with them.”
She played with the edge of the empty wineglass, but when he lifted the bottle to pour some more, she withdrew her glass. She didn’t need to feel any looser around this man. “All right.”
“I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable,” he said, a gleam of honesty flickering in his eyes.
“It’s okay. Sometimes I’m too defensive.”
“You can be yourself around me, Alexa,” he said in a dangerously genuine voice.
She drew in a breath, and when she let it out, a lump formed in her throat. An agony built inside, welling within her, filling and emptying her at the same time. You can be yourself around me. His words echoed in her ears, and tears stung behind her eyelids. When had been the last time she’d been herself with anyone? Hell, what was she really like? The questions mounted in her mind, and she blinked back the tears, clearing her throat and yanking her gaze from his.
She surged to
