Page 8 of The Pleasure Contract
Lachlan sat back in his seat, studying her. If this was an act she was putting on, he couldn’t see it and by this point in his life, he could read people all too well. Bristol March was demanding he account for himself, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she actually wanted to know the answer.
She’d come for those answers, not for him.
It was a measure of how fucked up he was, clearly, that even that turned him on.
“It depends how you definehealthy,” he said.
“The usual way.” She smiled faintly. “That would probably not involve panels of underlings in a creepy town house.”
“The creepy town house is actually an eighteenth-century brownstone that happens to be on the National Register of Historic Places. As an aside.”
“That doesn’t make itlesscreepy. It makes it more likely to also be haunted.”
Lachlan decided not to die on the hill of an old house some ancestor of his had built when that neighborhood, now in the middle of Manhattan’s grand sprawl, had been considered “uptown” and far away from the heart of the city.
“Is it healthier to pretend that I have an emotional capacity that I lack?” he asked mildly instead. “Or to admit up front that I don’t so that everybody’s on the same page throughout? I happen to think that my approach is, if nothing else, kinder.”
“Is that a word that you would use to describe yourself?Kind?” Bristol’s gaze was intent on his. Unwavering. She appeared to hide nothing, and he found that almost as electrifying as her hand in his. “Are you the world’s first example of akindbillionaire?”
That landed a bit harder and did not make him feel like laughing. Lachlan signaled one of the waiters. “I think this conversation requires wine, don’t you?”
He half expected this shockingly direct woman to lecture him on remaining clearheaded for the academic exploration they were apparently taking tonight, but she didn’t. Instead, she accepted the wine he ordered gratefully and took a fortifying gulp. Then another.
Much as he did.
Not as formidable as she wants to appear,he thought, and was pleased that at least he wasn’t the only one having a novel experience tonight.
And as they set about ordering, which required a small food-based performance on the part of the staff—the better toinhabitthe chef’svision—Lachlan realized that he was happy to stall. To pause for a moment.
To take a breather while he sorted through the complicated tangle of emotions and pure attraction that was making him feel perilously close to off-balance here. He liked the sensation, or he didn’t hate it, but it was new. He liked new. Craved it, even.
But Lachlan hadn’t felt anything close to off-balance in as long as he could remember. He’d learned how to stand his ground when he was a kid and he’d viewed that as a virtue. Still did. Tonight he obviously needed to recalibrate himself. He was used to being in complete control of every interaction he had. He told himself that taking a moment to get his bearings with this woman who not only didn’t follow the rules, but didn’t seem to know them, was only smart.
While he did, it occurred to him that all the women who usually turned up to take part in his interview process were self-selecting in the first place. They had to want to audition for a place in his life to get invited to try. And there were precious few professional intellectuals in that set. Bristol was the first.
The professor types he met in the course of his businesses and charities were usually part of think tanks, philanthropic entities, or governments, and were certainly not interacting with him in a social manner. They wanted funding of one sort or another. They were always trying to get him interested in their research, not themselves.
And not to put too fine a point on it, but they were very rarely as pretty as Bristol.
Of course he was a little thrown. That was why he liked her.
“Why did your sister submit your application?” he asked when they were alone again. He smiled when she looked taken aback, and didn’t bother pretending that he wasn’t a little bit happy to see that particular shoe on the other foot. More than a little bit, even. “Or am I the only one who is expected to answer questions tonight?”
“It’s very on-brand for my sister, actually, to submit applications on my behalf without asking me.” Bristol rolled her eyes, but with affection. “She considers herself a free spirit in all things and would like nothing more than if I suddenly became one myself, but she gets tired of waiting for me to wake up like that one morning. So, periodically, shedoes things.”
“Was she under the impression I was looking for a free spirit of some kind? If so, she’s probably the first person in a long time to mistake me for some kind of hippie. Hippies don’t normally have hedge funds or Yale in their past.”
“You’d be surprised how many hippies turn out to have trust funds. It takes money to afford all that not doing anything.”
“Not a fan, I gather. But your sister thinksIam?”
Bristol’s gaze was shrewd. “You’re looking for something that’s hard to define, aren’t you? The woman in question has to be free-spirited enough to take you up on your offer in the first place, which is hardly a mainstream sort of thing. She has to be able to meet your physical demands, which I’ve been repeatedly informed, mostly via texts from your underlings, are...”
She was obviously searching for a word, so Lachlan supplied one.
“Healthy?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Indeed. Yet you also require a certain polish and educational background, which in many ways precludes the former. I’m surprised that you ever find a single candidate, if I’m honest.”