Pop.
Pop pop pop.
“Exactly.” He said the word like one praises a small child who has acquiesced, except his voice trailed off. “Drinking white wine with beef is a sign that you’re, well—”
“Uncouth?” Suzanne finished off her glass.
His nose wrinkled. “Uneducated.” He slid the hand on her knee up her thigh, his other hand reaching for her stomach.
Sexual dialing.
Kari wasn’t just right.
She was a psychic.
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you,” he crooned.
“Teach me?” Her eyes widened. Oh, brother. Deciding to play along, she pretended to be appreciative. “That would be great, Steve. I am already learning so much from you.”
Like the fact that she’d rather date a guy who kisses his ferrets.
This was the problem with having Gerald as an ex.
Ten years.
Ten damn long years, and no one else had ever measured up.
Not that Steve Raleigh was even close.
“Hee hee!” she said, poking him in the stomach like he was the Pillsbury Doughboy. Twisting slightly, she broke the contact between his palm and her thigh.
“What are you doing?” he grunted, affronted by her finger poking.
“This!” She poked him again. “Just being friendly!”
His eyes narrowed, but he reached for her abdomen, clearly undaunted.
She dropped her napkin in his lap, “accidentally” overreaching for it, her half-closed hand colliding with his crotch with more force than he expected.
“Ow!”
“Sorry. I guess I’m not good at being friendly.”
He let a small glare come through, then recovered, leaning in, trying yet again. “You’re captivating in a way that—”
She bopped him on the nose, then pretended to “steal” it, her thumb poking out between her index and middle fingers. “Got your nose!”
Bop.
“Gave it back.”
He looked at her like she was crazy.
Progress.
Then barely masked anger. Strategically, if he was dating to manipulate his way into bigger and better deals on the business circuit, he had to be nice to her. Had to take whatever she dished out.
“I would love to see how we can mutually teach each other,” he said, drinking his wine.
“What do you have to offer?” She sat up slightly, eyes drifting down his body, ostentatiously stopping at his lap.
“You’re...bold.” The facade was beginning to crack.
“I’m me.” She shrugged, taking a bite of hearts of palm, the cold slide of chilled vegetable highlighting how bizarre the past hour had been. From seeing her ex to seeing his opposite.
“Does it work?” he asked, sitting back and pulling on his tie and cuff links.
“Does what work?”
“The aggressive feminist act.”
Okay. Gloves off.
“Shall we get to the point, then?” she said, shoving a piece of chilled marinated carrot in her mouth. Might as well get something in her poor stomach.
“The point?”
“You’re not here to get in my pants, Steve. You’re here to get into my client portfolio.”
Most unctuous men would have spluttered and denied, gone out of their way to protest that they would never do such a thing.
Not Steve Raleigh.
One corner of his mouth curled up. His eyes shifted, darting around the room, assessing the layout.
And then he leaned forward, eyes on her breasts, and whispered, “You’re not really my type, Suzanne. But I would love to be friends?”
The Qualification. The negative close. Wow. He was a paint-by-numbers guy.
Suzanne had to give him credit. He exhibited more male prowess than she expected. The guy was a typical frat boy, the follower, the clinger who did whatever he was told for the sake of pack mentality. She knew the type well.
She’d commanded hundreds of guys like Steve.
And she knew that she’d be in charge in the bedroom, too.
Not that it would ever get to that point.
“You’re here to network. Not to screw me. Admit it.”
“I’m here for the same reason you’re here, Suzanne.”
“Which reason is that, Steve?” she asked as he helped himself to a big chunk of red meat.
“Don’t be coy.”
Coy was a word that no one had ever applied to her.
“Coy?”
“You looked me up. It’s cute of you to say you didn’t, but you did.”
“I didn’t.”
He smirked. “Whatever. You know that my bank and your firm have enormous potential with the MacAlister account.”
Here it came.
“MacAlister.” She knew the account well. It was her baby.
“I know the heirs to the company are in a vicious fight. We’re invested—deep.”
We, she assumed, meant Steve. Not his firm. She knew how investment bankers worked.
“And you’re looking for insider information?”
He had the decency to pretend to be shocked.
“What? No. Of course not. I would never, ever violate the law.” His voice was steady as a level. Was he purring? “Just two colleagues getting to know each other better, chatting about work, becoming more intimately acquainted. If we happen to discuss the MacAlister account, it’s pure coincidence.”
Coincidence.
She’d had quite enough coincidences for one day, thank you very much.
A part of her wished this had really been just about Steve using his PUA techniques to get in her pants. As disgusting as the synchronized, slimy gestures were, the idea that he used those techniques as a gateway to get into her business network made it all worse.