A/N: This is a long one, besties! But I promise it's worth it 😉
James lies awake while the grandfather clock across the room ticks softly. It was passed down through the men in the family, and always sat in his father's office when he was growing up.
It's one of those clocks that has to be tweaked and repaired manually - and often. It's a pain in the ass to call someone in, but James insists on keeping it running. He just likes the sound it makes.
His phone buzzes.
[Romanoff]: She'll meet you at 7:00pm.
James smiles.
Perfect.
[Romanoff]: Did some digging into her online.
Yeah, so did I.
[Romanoff]: Wear your dark purple suit and tie to dinner if you want to impress her. It brings out your eyes. She likes color.
He rolls his eyes. Natasha always bugs him about wearing nothing but black, blue, and grey.
I like color.
[Romanoff]: If I can be frank, Mr. Barnes, you dress like a funeral director who raided a Tom Ford boutique. It's charming, but a little intimidating.
Fine. I'll wear the purple suit.
Another text comes through.
[Romanoff]: She undersold you on that bouquet, by the way.
What?
Steve must have mentioned something to her about it. Natasha is a little nosy, but it works out well for James most of the time. Unless she uses it against him. They went out for drinks tonight while James went to check up on Suzy at Club Falcon. She's already doing great, and seems much happier.
[Romanoff]: I looked at her work online. She should have charged you double for that - maybe more.
She's underselling her own work?
[Romanoff]: I think so. When you negotiate price, pay her what she's worth, not what she offers you. I figured you didn't know much about flowers.
He can't help but laugh. He likes Natasha a lot. She's funny, sweet, and mouthy when she needs to be with him and some of his clients. She makes a hell of a cup of coffee, too. She's studying fashion design at night school, but he wants to hire her full time at the hotel and promote her. She's caught on to the business fast.
Natasha is smart, and her quick-wittedness could come in handy.
James hired her six months ago after his last secretary decided she wanted to move to Europe to find herself (i.e. fuck her way through a whole continent - James would never begrudge her that).
He rolls onto his side and taps out another message.
Watch the sass if you want those vacation days, Romanoff.
[Romanoff]: I'm just saying... You'll catch more flies with honey, Mr. Barnes. You seem to like her.
I'll keep the adage in mind. Thanks for taking care of that email, by the way.
[Romanoff]: You're welcome, Mr. Barnes. I'll see you tomorrow. Got the catering taken care of too.
You're a model employee. Do you have Dahlia's number?
[Romanoff]: Sent it to your email.
You're a gem. See you tomorrow.
James closes his texting app, sets his alarm for 6:00am, plugs his phone in, and rolls onto his back. He gets up at the same time every morning to run five miles and lift weights. He forces his eyes to close.
Sleep doesn't come easily, though.
He tries to think about Dahlia and dinner on Tuesday, about those pretty lips and those eyes. Warm and amber in the sunlight. He thinks about the way her skin flushed when he shook her hand and his heart thumps a little faster.
James hasn't quite figured out how he's going to handle this situation. He wants her, there's no doubt about that. He's just not sure how he wants her. James still hasn't figured out if this is just sex or not. It's been a long time since he did anything that even came close to dating, or had a woman have this kind of hold on him. He wonders if she's still thinking about him. The blush in her cheeks tells him she might be.
He grabs his phone and pulls up her Instagram again. She's posted a new photo, lying on her couch with a joint in her hand. Those gorgeous eyes are half-closed and she has a lazy smile on her face.
"Not very professional, Miss Davies," he breathes.
Her tank top is riding up her torso and her leggings cling to her waist, cinching it just a little. James licks his lips, his mind beginning to swirl and conjure ideas about what he wants to do to her. His pulse races in the side of his throat.
He has to see her tomorrow morning.
He screencaptures the picture and locks his phone again, trying to force the thoughts out of his mind. He has to sleep. It's already midnight. James doesn't get enough sleep as it is. Sometimes, the things he's done come back to haunt him. The nightmares are horrific.
He should talk to Father Paul about them, but he'll probably tell him to talk to a professional.
James sighs, staring at the ceiling and closing his eyes again.
He's still furious about Walker. They're going to have to negotiate with him this week if they want to keep the development project moving. He has to meet with architects, interior designers. James likes each tower to look different on the inside.
He might have a franchise, but each new hotel he puts up gives him the chance to be creative. His father liked uniformity. Same uniforms for staff, same marble flooring in the lobby, and all of the rooms had identical linens and beds. James got rid of all of that, along with every trace of his father when he took over. The only thing he has left from the old man is the grandfather clock.
As he thinks about all of the ways he wants to make Walker's life a living hell, James feels himself drifting off into sleep.
🌺 🌺 🌺
"What are you going to wear?" Wanda asks.
"What?" Dahlia asks.
They're covered in sweat, standing on the sidewalk loading the last of Jenn the Bridezilla's bouquets and centerpieces into the van. It's 7:30am. The store is supposed to be closed today, but they need to get this order out, and it feels like they're standing on the surface of the sun. She's lived in California her entire life and she still fucking hates the heat here.
Dahlia is exhausted. Her body is wrecked from a bad sleep last night. She had anxiety dreams about dinner with James - spilling wine on herself, being late, going to the wrong restaurant despite the very clear directions... the worst one was when they were halfway through dinner and she saw her dad sitting at one of the booths, staring at her with fear in his eyes.
That one had her sitting up straight in bed, breathing heavily. She grabbed Basil and snuggled him close until she fell asleep again.
"To dinner tomorrow night," Wanda laughs.
"Oh," she laughs. "I haven't thought about it."
That's not true. This morning, even in her sleep-deprived state, she rifled through her closet looking for something that wasn't a crop top, jean shorts, or one of those tight ribbed dresses that shows everything. This is supposed to be a business meeting – at least she's pretty sure about that.
"Liar."
"Wanda... one thing at a time please. Besides, I actually have no idea."
"You wanna borrow something of mine?"
Dahlia's brows pinch together in confusion.
"All you own is band t-shirts, jeans, and headbands – or those long ass dresses that make you look like a Victorian ghost child."
Wanda smacks her in the gut and Dahlia doubles over, grunting and laughing.
"Hey, fuck you! They're nice!" Wanda exclaims.
"Yeah, you look like you sell weed to Amish people."
"Amish people don't smoke weed, you dumb shit!" Wanda cackles.
Dahlia keeps going. Their friendship is just one, long, never-ending roast fest.
"You look like you should be on the cover of Puritan Monthly Magazine showing ankle to get the boys all riled up."
Wanda howls with laughter.
"I fucking hate you!"
"Well, you dress like a prude."
"You know I'm anything but that, babes," Wanda replies as she wiggles her eyebrows.
"True. You're a huge slut."
"Damn right." Wanda snorts. "I'm serious, though– hang on–" She checks one of the bouquets to make sure nothing is damaged before turning back to their conversation. "I have other stuff, Dahlia. I have a cute red dress I've never worn. It's kind of short and has short sleeves. It'd look great on you."
"I don't know," she sighs. "Maybe I'll just wear jeans and, like, a crop top or something."
"Oh, and your fucking bright green converse?"
"What's wrong with those?!"
"Nothing!" Wanda exclaims. "But there's a time and a place for your wardrobe choices. You have to dress up. That place is expensive as hell."
She shrugs and Wanda loads another bundle of bouquets into the van while the driver leans up against it on his phone.
"You could help!" She barks.
"I don't start work until 7:45am."
Wanda rolls her eyes.
"Asshole," she whispers.
Dahlia giggles.
"Do you think he's going to pay for your food?" Wanda asks.
"I hope so," Dahlia laughs. "I've got a crumpled one in my purse and I've been playing 'is there money on my debit card right now'?"
"Oh, I love that game!" Wanda laughs. "But I never win."
They laugh and close the doors. Dahlia hands the driver a delivery form and they head inside, back into air conditioned bliss. They watch him from the window until it hits 7:45 and Wanda pounds on it.
"START DRIVING!"
The driver rolls his eyes, puts his phone away, and climbs into the van. When he drives off, Wanda wraps an arm around Dahlia.
"We did it."
Dahlia's not so sure. With people like Jenn the Bridezilla, there's always some kind of residual trauma that comes from dealing with them. It's like when the killer in a horror movie comes back to scare the shit out of you one last time.
"Yeah, I can't wait to get constructive feedback via email from Jenn."
"Block her."
Dahlia cackles.
"I can't. What if she gets divorced and married again in six months?"
"True. We need the money."
"Definitely." Wanda pulls out her phone. "You wanna order breakfast burritos?"
"Where are you getting this money?"
"Pietro loaned me some more until our checks get processed on Friday."
Dahlia sighs. She really feels like shit for putting Wanda in this position, but somehow, their rent gets paid and their lights stay on, so she must be doing something right.
"Yeah, I'll take a breakfast burrito, but you're not spending a dime of your paycheck on Friday. I'll buy groceries and shit."
"Thanks, Dahl."
"No problem."
The doorbell rings and Dahlia looks up to see James stride in. He's in a charcoal suit with a dark blue dress shirt and a black tie. His hair is slicked back and his beard is neatly trimmed down to stubble. His eyes are so bright that at first, they're all Dahlia sees until she manages to scan the rest of him. Wanda almost drops her phone on the floor, fumbling for it and swearing softly. James smirks and Dahlia has to grip the counter to keep from falling over in shock when he steps up to the counter, tilting his head.
"You got my assistant's email," he purrs.
Dahlia stammers. What the fuck is happening? She looks to Wanda, who is just staring at James while her brain tries to reboot. Dahlia has never related to anything more in her life.
"Y– yeah. I, uh..."
James eyes Wanda and raises his eyebrows.
"I'm gonna go do the ordering, Dahl."
"Sure."
Wanda makes her exit into Dahlia's office, closing the door juuuust enough so that she can eavesdrop. James smirks, digging into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slaps two hundred dollar bills on the counter.
"What's this for?"
"The bouquet I bought yesterday."
His voice is like velvet. Her whole body tingles whenever he speaks to her.
"You paid for it."
He stares at her and raises a brow, smiling softly.
"And you undersell yourself, my dear."
Wanda's been telling her that for ages. It's just that if they keep prices low, they tend to get more customers. That's how business works, right?
God, she should be taking those night classes her aunt suggested.
"I–"
He leans over the counter and slides the bills toward her, his tattooed hand brushing up against hers. Her stomach floods with butterflies.
"Take the money, Dahlia," he breathes. She can smell his cologne. Everything about him smells and looks expensive. When those piercing blue eyes land on her lips, she feels like she's going to pass out. "You've earned it."
A rush of breath spills from her lips and she's practically vibrating. He stands up straight, his demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. He glances around the shop.
"I don't want to give you business advice, but you should think about pricing everything up. You and your friend are talented and you deserve to be paid what you're worth. Underselling yourself will kill your profits."
Her throat clenches. It's been a long time since she's heard someone say that to her - that she's worth it.
James is so fucking intimidating that all she can do is nod. He's not even that big - around six feet tall with a lean frame and a trim waist. His suits fit well. She's a little curious about what's underneath them. He looks like he works out.
"Yes, sir – I mean– yeah, you're uh... you're right."
Her face turns bright red and she swears she sees lightning flash in James's eyes. She did not mean to fucking call him sir. What the hell is the matter with her?
Dahlia's hand moves through her hair repeatedly, a nervous habit she picked up from childhood. Her nerves absolutely fried from him showing up at 7:50am on a Monday morning. They're not even supposed to be open. She and Wanda just forgot to lock the damn door.
"I'll see you tomorrow night, then? We'll talk about the fundraiser." He pulls out his phone and Dahlia feels hers buzz. "I sent you some photos of the room so that you know what you're working with, design-wise. If you have concepts, I'd like to see them tomorrow."
She swallows hard.
"Of course, Mr. Barnes."
"Please call me James," he rumbles as he licks his lips, looking her up and down.
"James," she replies. "Got it."
"I'm looking forward to it."
Dahlia nods and his phone rings. His jaw clenches when he looks at it. He doesn't say goodbye, just giving her a curt nod as he picks up the call and starts toward the door.
"This had better be good, John."
The door slams behind him and Dahlia watches him storm down the street, his jaw clenched as he snaps into his phone.
"He's even hot when he's mad," she whispers.
"HOLY SHIT! You could cut that tension with a goddamn knife! I think that Mafia boss is into you," Wanda shouts as she runs to the door to lock it and flip the CLOSED sign over.
Their plan was to do some ordering and fuck around for most of the day without having to interact with customers. Even on her days off, Dahlia is still working.
Dahlia turns around and puts Wanda in a headlock. She starts screeching at the top of her lungs.
"MY HAIR!"
"TOO LATE! LEARN NOT TO TALK TO YOUR BOSS LIKE THAT, BITCH!"
Wanda gets a few good shots in and they tumble onto the floor rolling around before flopping onto their backs.
"I think that's another reason why we don't get much business," Wanda pants.
"Our WWE matches?" Dahlia asks with a grin.
"Yeah. Seems unprofessional."
"People just hate fun."
Wanda giggles as Dahlia gets to her feet and helps her up.
"That's probably true."
Dahlia wipes her hands on her apron and readjusts her ponytail while Wanda checks herself in the reflection of the cooler near the back.
"Are you going to re-price these bouquets like he told you to?"
"I don't know," Dahlia sighs.
"I think he's right."
"I know, it's just a lot of work."
Wanda chuckles.
"That's part of running a business."
"Yeah, but it really gets in the way of my doing nothing time," Dahlia teases.
She's afraid to price things up. It means changing the entire website. She knows they don't have to do it all in one day, but she's afraid she's going to continue to drive away business. Her phone dings. It's an email from Jenn.
"Shit," she mutters. "Bridezilla."
"Well, open it on the big computer so the class can see it!" Wanda laughs.
Dahlia trudges to the counter and opens the email. Her eyes go wide and Wanda's mouth drops.
Dahlia,
The flowers are gorgeous! Thanks for being so flexible about the design! I've got a friend who has a wedding coming up in December. I'll recommend you for sure :)
Jenn
"Aww, that's nice!" Wanda chirps.
"Yeah, well, I never want to work with her again. And what if her friends are bitches too?"
"Bitches with money," Wanda reminds her.
Dahlia cackles and they high five. She puts the email up on the website under the reviews section.
They work for a couple of hours, ordering more flowers and repricing some of the bouquets. They start to change the prices on the website and their Instagram page, even though they only have a handful of followers.
That's the other shitty thing about running a business - you have to do everything when it comes to marketing. Her dad relied on word of mouth, but that was a different time. It's so much harder now, and there are so many other flower shops doing so much better than In Bloom.
By the time noon rolls around, they head home, smoke pot, and spend the day watching 90 Day Fiance, sharing a pot of macaroni and cheese.
The closer it gets to 7:00pm on Tuesday, the more nervous Dahlia gets. Wanda insists on giving her the red dress to try on. It's actually really cute. She pairs it with a pair of black heels that she finds in the back of her closet and packs the outfit in her bag, along with her makeup and a curling iron. She can do her hair and makeup in her office.
She barely sleeps that night, waking up and looking like a corpse. When she checks her phone, there's a text message.
[Unknown number]: It's James. Wondering if you have any food allergies or preferences/dislikes. I'm having the chef prepare something fresh for us tonight. Can't wait, by the way.
She blinks. This is too much to process at 8:00am.
"How is he even hot in text messages?" She whispers. It probably helps that she read it in his husky, velvety voice. She takes a deep breath and types out a reply. It takes her 40 minutes to type out a short reply because she keeps backspacing and putting in too many exclamation points before she winds up with:
No food allergies. I just don't like shrimp.
[Unknown Number]: Perfect 😉
"Oh my God," she whispers. "Not the winky face. That's so cute... I'm fucked."
Out of curiosity, how did you get this number?
[Unknown Number]: Not a lot of women named Dahlia Davies in LA. You gave your number out in a Facebook group.
She frowns. Did she? She might have. She's not exactly careful about that shit. Dahlia decides to get a little playful.
Are you stalking me, Mr. Barnes? 😏
[Unknown Number]: It's James. Remember?
[Unknown Number]: 7:00 tonight. Don't be late.
"Oh," she squeaks.
Did she upset him? She swallows hard and looks around her room, her mouth dry. Her phone dings again.
[Unknown Number]: 😉
"Jesus Christ," she whispers as her legs give out and she has to sit down on her bed. "Stop with the winky face, bro."
He's into her. The way he was looking at her in the shop wasn't a coincidence; it wasn't him just being fucking hot and his face just looking like that... he's into her. He wouldn't have texted otherwise. She puts her head in her hands and sighs.
"I'm too tired for this shit."
Dahlia pads to the bathroom and starts her somewhat lengthy shower process. She uses it as a space to think. About James. The problem is, she barely gets enough time to think through how she's going to approach dinner before Wanda starts pounding on the door.
"I HAVE TO PEE!"
"WAIT LIKE FOUR SECONDS!" Dahlia shouts.
Wanda lets out a helpless wail and Dahlia rolls her eyes, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower. She wraps a towel around herself and whips the door open.
"You're overly dramatic."
"If I hold it in I'll explode!" Wanda yelps. "Get out! Get out!"
She pushes Dahlia out of the bathroom, both of them laughing.
"I'm getting!"
Dahlia runs to her room and changes into a pair of light blue jeans and a pink tank top. She blow dries her hair and curls it, deciding to leave it down for the day. She puts on a little bit of makeup, mostly mascara and concealer to make herself look a hell of a lot more awake than she feels. Quickly, Dahlia packs up the rest of her makeup and shoves it into her bag. She and Wanda grab some bagels on the way to the bus stop and head to the shop.
The day is the slowest day she's ever experienced. She comes up with some combinations for centerpieces for the fundraiser James is holding based on the photos that he sent her. She winds up with some white roses with soft purple accents. They look nice against the stark white marble of the banquet hall.
After that, she and Wanda re-price all of the bouquets, get an order in, and try to keep busy. Dahlia finds her mind wandering to dinner, unable to stop thinking about what's going to happen. Around 6:00pm, they close the shop. Dahlia and Wanda end up sitting on her desk with her office door slung wide open. She's paralyzed with fear. She should back out. She can still do his fundraiser thing, but she should be professional about it and do it over email. Why does she need to go out for dinner with him?
"Are you nervous?" Wanda asks.
"No."
Wanda tilts her head, arching one eyebrow in disbelief.
"When are you going to realize that I've known you since we were like seven years old and you can't lie to me?"
"Fine," she sighs. "I'm freaked out."
"You know what would help?"
"What?" Dahlia asks.
"Getting ready."
Wanda ushers her off of the desk, digs through her bag and pulls out the dress and heels. Dahlia heads into the bathroom to change. The dress actually fits well. It's not too tight, but it also doesn't feel like her. It's a much darker red than she'd normally pick, but it looks nice with her hair flowing down her shoulders in loose curls. Wanda helps her create a little more volume in her hair and gives her a soft pinkish-brown lipstick to swipe over her lips. Dahlia doesn't change her makeup.
"You don't wanna wear too much in case you end up making out with him."
"It's a business meeting, Wanda."
Wanda smacks her upside the head.
"I love you, Dahl, but I saw the way that guy was looking at you. It might look like a business meeting, but he's definitely into you."
Dahlia sighs softly and her phone buzzes. She and Wanda read the message.
[James]: Car will be there to pick you up in 20. Black Lexus.
"Shit," she whispers.
"You have him as James?"
"Yeah."
"Just James?" Wanda inquires with a raised brow.
"I–"
"You're almost ready," Wanda assures her, fluffing her hair up and handing her the heels. Dahlia steps into them and takes a deep breath as she stares at herself.
"I look fucking hot."
Wanda nods, smiling like a proud mom.
"It's why I'm friends with you. You're a babe."
Dahlia rolls her eyes.
"Thanks, Wands."
"No problem. You go... get that flower order... and possibly bang that Mafia boss–"
Dahlia swats her and it turns into a small wrestling match, both of them giggling as they step out of the bathroom. As Dahlia is putting her things in her purse, she hears a horn honk and her heart starts to pound.
"I look okay?" She asks Wanda.
"You look amazing. Go! I'll lock up. I'll see you at home tonight."
"Okay. I'll text you when I get there and when I'm coming home."
Wanda gives her the thumbs up as Dahlia runs out of the shop, slowing her pace to take a deep breath and walk toward the Lexus with confidence. There's a kid standing outside of it. He looks younger than her. He smiles and sticks out his hand.
"Miss Davies?"
"That's me."
"I'm Peter Parker. I'm Mr. Barnes's driver."
She snorts with laughter.
"He doesn't drive his own cars?"
Peter offers a forced smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"He does, but he's also busy, so... that's where I come in."
"Got it."
He opens the back door for her and gestures for her to get inside.
"I can sit in the passenger side–"
Peter shakes his head.
"Mr. Barnes is kind of particular about the way I drive people."
Seems weird. Dahlia shrugs.
"Okay."
She climbs in. The car is gorgeous with a white leather interior and tinted windows. It smells good, too, like it's just been detailed.
When she looks down at the seat beside her, she sees a small speck of red and picks at it, watching it flake off of the leather and fall to the floor. Paint, maybe?
Dahlia folds her hands in her lap and breathes in the new car smell. She gets a hint of James's cologne and bites her lip as Peter starts the car, driving toward Barnes Towers.
The drive is quiet. She asks him a few questions about himself, but he mostly just gives her one-word answers. He's originally from Queens and moved to LA with his aunt when he was a young kid. Other than that, he's pretty tight-lipped.
He stops the car in front of Barnes Towers and opens the door for her, walking her to the restaurant. Once they reach the door, he smiles at her and nods.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davies."
A hostess comes out to greet her, smiling wide.
"Dahlia Davies?"
"Wh– yeah."
"Right this way. Mr. Barnes is waiting for you."
Dahlia follows, confused and glancing around the restaurant. It's packed with people laughing and chatting over expensive food and wine. She's never felt more out of place in her life. Suddenly, she just wants to be back on the couch with Wanda smoking pot, drinking a Mountain Dew, and eating shitty mac and cheese out of a pot. This isn't her world and she feels like everyone is looking at her, despite the fact that she's walking confidently in her heels.
The hostess leads her to a back room, pushing the door open. Dahlia's breath catches in her chest when she looks around. There are candelabras clinging to the wall, beautiful art, and statues. The lighting is dim and intimate. Suddenly, this doesn't feel like a business meeting.
Her jaw drops when she sees him in a dark violet suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie. His hair is fluffy again and his eyes twinkle beneath the low light. He pushes his chair out and stands, striding toward her as the hostess slips out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
James sticks out a hand.
"You're right on time," he says softly.
Dahlia shakes it, looking down at the tattoos on his fingers.
"Yeah. Those are cool, by the way."
"Hmm?"
"Your tattoos."
He chuckles.
"I was actually admiring yours the other day," he chuckles. His eyes rake over her right arm, tracing over the linework of her floral sleeve. It feels like he's touching her arm as he pulls his hand away from hers. "They're beautiful."
"Thank you."
Their eyes lock and Dahlia tries to keep herself from trembling. She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and takes a deep breath. James offers a warm smile, stepping back and gesturing toward the table.
"Please, sit. I ordered appetizers. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," she laughs. "I'm starving, actually."
"Good."
He pulls her chair out for her and she blushes.
"Never had a guy do that before."
James leans over her, placing a hand on her shoulder. A jolt of electricity moves through her, making her hair stand on end. His soft voice brushes against her ear.
"I'm a little old school."
"That's–" she clears her throat to get rid of the pathetic squeak as he rounds the table to sit down. "That's cool."
James places a napkin in his lap and Dahlia follows, because it seems like the right thing to do. She's never felt more awkward in her life as she looks down to see a bunch of fancy utensils next to her plate. James chuckles.
"You can use whatever you want," he says.
She nods and he dishes up some bruschetta and pours them both a glass of red wine.
"I came up with some ideas for centerpieces," she announces, digging into her clutch and pulling up the photos on her phone. She hands it to him and James's brows pinch together as he stares at it.
"Are there more?" He asks in a sharp tone.
She gets nervous and nods.
"Keep swiping."
He does and his face breaks out into a soft smile.
"I honestly don't know which one is better." He looks up at her. "You've got quite the eye."
She blushes.
"Thank you."
James slides the phone toward her.
"What do you think?"
"I like the white roses and purple tulips."
He smiles.
"Then that's what we'll go with."
"Really?"
"Absolutely," he replies as he sips his wine.
Dahlia reaches for her glass and sniffs it. James raises a brow.
"You don't like it?"
"It's expensive."
He chuckles.
"$400 a bottle."
She almost chokes on the wine as it's running down her throat. James laughs.
"It's okay, Dahlia. It's acceptable to drink."
"That's a lot for some boozy grape juice. It's nice, though."
"Monte Bello Cabernet."
"I have no idea what those words mean," Dahlia chuckles. "Except for Cabernet."
James grins as she reaches for a piece of bruschetta and takes a bite. It's delicious. She's never had food like this before. It's rich and light at the same time. She covers her mouth.
"I don't mean to be rude, but holy shit that's good."
James bites his lip, staring at her.
"I have to say, it's been a long time since I've had dinner with someone like you, Dahlia."
"Inexperienced?"
"Honest," he says softly.
Her cheeks burn and his eyes fall to her lips, making her heart race. She takes another sip of wine to calm her nerves.
"I'd like to pay you $5,000 for the centerpieces."
"Oh, they're not that–"
James reaches out and grasps her hand. She feels sparks and wonders if he feels them too. The look in his eyes tells her that he does. His lips part and he wets them with the tip of his tongue. He does that a lot - bites his lip, runs his tongue over them and chews the inside of his mouth. She can't tell if they're nervous habits or specific tactics that he's using to disarm her. It's working. God, he's so fucking hot. He looks like he's carved out of marble in the dim light.
"Know your worth," he purrs. "Remember?"
She nods.
"I remember."
He pulls back.
"I'd also like to offer you an invitation to the fundraiser. You can bring your friend."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Barnes, but it's not really my scene."
"You don't like free food and free champagne?"
She laughs.
"I love free food and free champagne."
His eyes narrow, sparkling with something devilish as his lips flicker into a grin.
"So what's the problem?"
You, she thinks.
"Nothing," she replies, shaking her head. "I'd love to go."
"I'll text you the address. Don't worry about tickets when you get to the front door. Tell them you're with me."
"Okay," she replies, somewhat meekly. She doesn't mean for it to come out like that but this man oozes confidence, and all of the attitude and wit she normally carries with her leaves the damn room. She hates feeling like this - shy and helpless. Dahlia is anything but that.
James tilts his head.
"Are you afraid of me, Dahlia?"
This man is bold. She's mid wine sip when he asks and takes a bigger gulp. When she sets the glass down, he pours her another.
"I'm intimidated by you."
The words just fall out of her mouth and she almost wants to clap her hands over it to keep herself from saying anything else.
"Why's that?"
"You're super rich and fancy, and I'm not that."
He nods and goes to open his mouth, but they're saved by the door opening. James's eyes go wide.
"Dinner's here."
A chef appears at the table, handing them their dishes. It's bolognese, but the way that it's plated makes Dahlia think that if she ordered this at a restaurant, she'd be out a month's rent.
"Thank you, Antonio. Could you get us two more bottles?" He gestures to the wine.
He nods.
"Of course, Mr. Barnes. I'll send someone in."
"Thank you."
"Enjoy," Antonio says with a smile.
Dahlia glances over her shoulder, watching him leave and turns back to James, who picks up his wine glass.
"A toast?"
She smirks.
"To what?"
"New friends," he says softly.
She shrugs.
"I can get behind that."
They clink glasses and Dahlia drains hers. James chuckles and pours her the last of the wine. She winces.
"Sorry."
"It's fine, Dahlia. I really don't mind. It's been a long time since I've been out for dinner."
"Shit, dude, if I were you I'd eat here all the time."
He chuckles as he takes a bite of his pasta. Dahlia immediately cringes, but he doesn't say anything about it.
"Well, it's not really fun if you eat alone."
"You must have friends," Dahlia replies.
"I do."
"They don't like food?"
He laughs.
"They do. I meant that I don't really have dinner with women very often."
She blushes.
"You don't date?"
She's had too much wine. Why the fuck did she ask that? She could have just left it.
"Not much," he confesses. "What about you?"
"Me neither."
It's like he can tell she's uncomfortable.
"Where'd you grow up?"
Her body relaxes, thankful for the topic change.
"Santa Cruz."
"Ah. Brooklyn."
"You're a long way from home."
"A bit, yeah."
He smirks and takes another bite of his food. An awkward silence nestles itself in between them. It drives Dahlia insane. She's used to hers and Wanda's stupid banter back and forth, or the way Wanda hums and makes weird sounds to keep the quiet at bay. All Dahlia can hear is the sound of forks clanging against ceramic.
"How long have you owned the shop?" He asks.
"About four years."
James nods.
"It was your dad's?"
"Yeah. He passed away."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugs, swallowing that pain and remembering the text she sent her dad last night.
"It's okay. It's kind of my way of keeping his memory alive?"
"What about your mother? Is she involved?"
Dahlia's eyes darken and her jaw clenches. James notices immediately.
"Sore spot?"
"A bit," she whispers. "She's not in the picture."
"Say no more."
Their conversation is stilted and awkward, jumping from subject to subject and flowing nicely before it stalls again. Once they're finished with their pasta, and dessert, and another bottle and a half of wine, Dahlia is feeling a little dizzy and tipsy. James's cheeks are pink, but he looks as serious as ever. Those steel blue eyes could still cut through glass if he stared hard enough. His phone buzzes on the table and he turns it over, sighing softly.
"I have to cut this short."
"Oh," Dahlia mumbles. "That's cool."
He picks up the phone and makes a call.
"Peter? Are you outside? Great. I need you to take Ms. Davies home. Thank you."
He stands up and helps her to her feet. Dahlia is a little unsteady thanks to all of the wine. She likes the feeling of his arm wrapped around her.
"Come on, sweetheart," he purrs.
She has to bite back a giggle as James walks her out of the restaurant. Dahlia keeps staring up at him and looking away when he glances down at her. She's too drunk and embarrassed to make eye contact. When they step outside, the night is cool, soothing even. She shivers a little and James takes off his suit jacket.
"Here."
"Oh, I'm fine."
"I insist."
He wraps it around her body as they watch Peter pull up. He gets out and opens the door for her, and she turns to James.
"Thank you for dinner."
"It was my pleasure, Dahlia."
"Do you want your jacket back?"
He smiles.
"How about this gives us a chance to have dinner again? We'll talk more business next time, I promise."
She giggles and hiccups.
"Yeah, that sounds dope– good, I mean. It's good."
James does that lip thing again and Dahlia melts, her drunk brain taking over as she leans into him a little, putting a hand on his chest.
"Dahlia?" He breathes.
"James..."
He tilts his head, dips it, and her heart leaps into her throat. James places a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth and she feels her fingernails dig into his chest. He pulls back, his eyes almost black. He looks like he wants to kiss her, or eat her... maybe kill her? She's too drunk to figure out which, but she likes it.
"Have dinner with me tomorrow night."
"Okay."
He smiles.
"Same time."
"Same time," she repeats softly.
"Goodnight, Dahlia."
"Goodnight, James."
He turns her slowly toward Peter and helps her into the car. Just before he shuts the door, he leans in to kiss her one more time on her still bright red face. Dahlia squeaks as he shuts the door and walks back into the restaurant. She presses her palm to the window as Peter starts the car and peels out of the parking lot. She blinks.
"Don't you wanna know my address?"
"Already got it," Peter replies as he glances up at her in the rearview.
Dahlia puts a hand to the spots where James kissed her and slams her head against the leather headrest. Her mind is spinning and she's so fucking hammered she can barely think straight. She really thought he was going to kiss her on the lips.
"Fuck," she whispers.
Her phone dings.
[James]: You're pretty when you blush. I'd like to make you do it more often.
She melts into the seat and puts her head in her hands, groaning.
"Fuuuuuuuuuck!"
"Everything all right, Ms. Davies?" Peter asks.
Her head snaps up and she forces a smile, her head fuzzy and her hand shaking as it grips her phone.
"Totally fine."
I'm totally fine. This is totally fine.