“Because it’s unrealistic.”
“According to you.AndCillian.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t lump me in with him. Cillian and I are nothing alike.”
“If you say so.”
I regarded him silently, this man that I barely knew, but who had made the hours fly by, and who challenged me in a way few people did. “What do you do, anyway? You’ve never said.”
“Do?” He shook his head in a chiding way. “You disappoint me, Laurent. You’ve already fallen into the trap of thinking that discovering how I earn money somehow gives you insight into what makes me tick.”
“I asked a simple question.”
“You want to pigeonhole me.”
“I assure you, I don’t. I was merely making conversation.”
Cormac regarded me over the rim of his wineglass and I did my best not to notice how long his eyelashes were. “What are you going to do with the information if I tell you?”
“Do with it?” He nodded. “Stop wondering why you’re so keen to avoid the question. Stop thinking that perhaps your reluctance to tell me is because it’s through less than legal means.”
Cormac sat up straighter, with a gleam in his eye. “Well, this conversation just took an interesting turn. What have you got me doing in that overactive imagination of yours? Assassin? Do I dress in black and enter people’s houses in the dead of night? How do I kill them?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. “Going on current evidence, I’d say you talk them to death.”
“You’re a mean man, Laurent Dupont.” He swirled the wine around in his glass. “I’m afraid the actual answer is far less interesting.” I waited him out, refusing to speak. Finally, he sighed. “I do whatever leaves me time to enjoy what’s important in life.”
“Such as?”
“Bar work. Holiday rep. Sales. I was a clown at children’s parties for a few months, but that didn’t go so well. Modeling. There are obvious differences in how well they pay.”
“Modeling?”
Cormac lifted his chin. “What? You don’t think I’m attractive enough to model?” It wasn’t often that I found myself at a loss for something to say, but in this instance, I was. Complimenting him didn’t seem right when he was straight. But saying something cutting about someone’s looks didn’t sit right with me either. After what felt like an excruciatingly long period of silence, Cormac rolled his eyes. “Lucky for me that my ego’s strong enough to take it.”
That, I could answer. “I should think your ego is strong enough to withstand a force ten hurricane.”
Cormac’s only response to that was a wink.
He made a friend on the way out of the restaurant, an attractive redhead, in a move about as subtle as a sledgehammer, dropping her purse in his path so Cormac could pick it up for her. When he obliged, she set about a charm offensive so cloyingly sweet that I feared getting cavities longbefore she finished. Unfortunately for Cormac, it was all in French. He looked to me. “Translate for me, would you?”
Did I want to relay sexual banter between them like I was the tennis ball in their flirtatious tennis match? It took me no time at all to decide I most certainly did not. “I can’t speak French,” I said, borrowing Finn’s accent. Or at least trying to. “So sorry, I can’t be of help.”
I left them to it before Cormac could argue, figuring that either he’d follow or he wouldn’t. Either way, it was getting late, and I had to work the next day. And if he did abandon me at the eleventh hour, he’d served his purpose in distracting me from worrying about my father, and for that, I was more than grateful.
He caught up with me before I reached the corner, walking so close that his shoulder touched mine. Cormac King wasn’t big on giving people space. “You didn’t have ten minutes to spare to facilitate a romance with the woman of my dreams.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “And I hardly think she was the woman of your dreams.”
“She might have been. Now, I’ll never know.”
I stopped and pointed back at the restaurant. “She’s still there.” Too irked to think better of it, I plunged my hand into Cormac’s pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to him. “Ever heard of Google Translate? I am not Google Translate.”
For reasons known only to him, my words made Cormac smile. Which definitely hadn’t been my intention. “Next, you’ll be telling me to learn French.”
“In France? Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it. What a ridiculous idea.” Figuring I’d gotten my point across and that he’d return to the restaurant and the supposed ‘woman of his dreams’, I resumed walking. Within a few steps, he was back by my side. “You’re going the wrong way,” I pointed out to him.
“I’ve decided she’s probably not the woman of my dreams.”
