“Mr. Michaels is waiting for us at the restaurant.” His voice was as big as he was.
I’m pretty sure Liam and Lucas, who were rooted by the entrance of the inn, had heard the driver speak. They seemed star-struck by the limo, which I guessed wasn’t a common car to see in Boulder.
Sandra had sent me a little background information about Mr. Michaels. He was a hotel promoter who owned five-star resorts in Denver, Beaver Creek, and Las Vegas. An extremely wealthy sixty-year-old who’d grown up in Boulder but dropped out of high school at seventeen and moved to Vegas, where he worked his way up to management, then gambled his way to a large bank account, before receiving a consequential amount of money from a deceased grandmother.
I was sort of excited about meeting him, not because of his wealth or status, but because I assumed that anyone who could ascend so far up in the world was worth meeting…worth learning from.
The restaurant was thirty minutes away, in a barn that had been refurbished with cowhide banquettes and lacquered black tables. Modern glass chandeliers swathed the dim interior in a tawny glow that made everyone look handsomer.
The romper-clad hostess led me to a table all the way in the back, toward a man sipping an ochre drink with a snowball-sized ice cube.
Aidan Michaels stood when I arrived, looking me over through wire-rimmed glasses. “Your picture doesn’t do you justice, Candy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Michaels.”
“Sorry I couldn’t pick you up myself, but I had an important call with my lawyer.”
“That’s fine.”
He walked around and held out my chair. “Would you like some wine? Or maybe a glass of champagne?”
“Champagne would be nice.”
He asked the hostess for a glass of their best champagne, and then he tucked my chair under the table before returning to his seat. “You don’t look like a Candy. What’s your real name?”
“You’re not paying me enough to get my real name.”
His gaze tightened, but then his teeth flashed, and he laughed.
“Can I ask yousomething?”
He leaned back in his chair and raised his tumbler to his lips. “Go ahead.”
“Why does a successful man like yourself go through an agency to find a dinner date?”
“Aha. The million-dollar question. I was married once, and she broke my heart. So I decided never again, and I’ve stuck to that thanks to treating dating like I treat my businesses.” He shifted forward and placed his drink down. “A tidy social transaction.”
His honesty had my shoulder blades un-pinching.
“My turn. Why is a pretty young thing like yourself doing this?”
I unfolded my napkin and laid it on my lap. “I need the money.”
He nodded his understanding. “How much is it that you need?”
I bristled. “That’s private.”
“I apologize. It was brash of me. I was simply considering how many more dates I could get with you.” He ran a hand through his silvery hair, then readjusted his glasses and leaned in. “So tell me about yourself, Candy.”
Candy wasn’t Ness. I didn’t want her to be anything like Ness. “I lived in New York until a month ago.”
“What a fabulous city! Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah. I had a great place on the Piers.”
He frowned a little. “The Piers? You mean, ChelseaPiers?”
Without breaking eye contact, I said, “Yes.”
“And what brought you back here?”
I’d been about to say college, but I was supposed to be twenty-one. “Family.”
“Ah…family.”
“Do you have family?”
“My wife’s gone, my father’s dead, and my mother has Alzheimer’s. So no. No family. I have a dog though.” He handed me his phone, where he’d prepped a slideshow of images showcasing his pet.
I liked animals-after all, I was one-but Aidan’s love for his dog was something else.
“Do you like hunting?” he asked.
I sucked in a breath. “Hunting?” I took a bread roll from the basket and chomped on the chewy crust. Hunting reminded me of my father. I swallowed the lump of masticated dough. “Not especially.”
“You’re not a Greenpeace advocate, are you?”
“No. I’m just…I don’t like guns.” Act normal, Ness, I chastised myself. “What do you hunt?”
“Bears, cougars, deer…wolves. Have you noticed how many of them we have in our forests?”
I forced myself to look him straight in the eyes. “I never noticed,” I said, just as the waiter came back to take our order.
My appetite had vanished, so I ordered a salad, which led Aidan to ask if I was watching my weight, because if I was, it was silly. I answered that I wasn’t, and he went on to tell me about all the diets he had to go on when he was married because his wife was a terrific cook.
“Only damn thing she was good at.” A smirk ghosted over his reedy lips. “I take it back. She was good at keeping secrets.”
I stiffened. The man had serious baggage. What he needed was a shrink, not a date. But I supposed, for three thousand dollars, I could provide him with a dinner’s-worth of therapy.
After the main course, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, even though what I really wanted was to bolt. Before each bite of food, Aidan would wipe his fork down on his napkin. And then, every couple seconds, he’d rub his earlobe.
I felt his heavy gaze on me as I crossed the crowded restaurant. I eyed the exit with longing, but I’d sat through most of the meal. Only dessert remained-I wouldn’t order any and hopefully he wouldn’t either-and then I’d get paid.
I asked a waiter where I could find the bathroom, and the man pointed me toward the bar. As I walked past it, a pulse erupted in my temples. There, aligned on the cowhide barstools, sat Liam, Lucas, Matt, and Cole, Matt’s older brother, another massive blond with a buzz cut.
I crossed my arms. “Did they run out of beers at the inn?”
Lucas spun on his barstool. “How’s your date? Looks mighty cozy.” He twirled the neck of his beer bottle between his long fingers.