To his surprise, Marjorie downed the entire inch in the glass. She coughed and put a hand to her mouth, then pressed her napkin to her lips.
“Are you all right?” Rob asked.
She continued to cough and waved a hand. “Wrong pipe.”
He sipped his wine, and gave the waiter a nod. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.”
The man gave him a concerned look but nodded and walked away, no doubt to laugh about Rob’s date swilling her taster. Rob poured her another inch into her wine glass. “Do you enjoy wine, Marjorie?”
“Oh sure, I drink it all the time,” she told him.
“A connoisseur? What kind is your favorite?”
She blinked and then pointed at her glass, eyes watering. “This one.”
Right. Somehow he doubted that.
She gave him a big smile and picked up her glass again, taking another big gulp as if to prove her point, and choking only a little this time. It was a little ridiculous, but also a little adorable, so Rob didn’t comment on it.
The waiter returned a minute later, put down their salads, then disappeared again. When he was gone, Rob picked up his flatware and tried to turn the conversation back to the original topic. “Wedding?” He feigned ignorance.
She nodded. “Brontë and Logan? I guess if I have to tell you, that means no, right?” Her mouth quirked in a rueful smile and she reached for the wine, taking another sip.
“I’m not here for the wedding,” he admitted truthfully. “Are you?”
“You are looking at bridesmaid number four out of five.”
Just as he’d suspected. Rob wanted to groan in frustration. If Logan knew that Rob was out on a date with one of the bridesmaids in the wedding? After their little talk? He’d think Rob was up to no good.
And he couldn’t blame him for that. Not after hinting of blackmail to the man. He’d definitely have to keep his relationship with Marjorie on the down-low.
Because he definitely intended on having a relationship.
“Bridesmaiding, huh? Sounds like fun,” he lied.
“It’s pretty awful,” she admitted, which made him laugh again. “I’m not a fan of attention as it is, and Brontë’s marrying a guy that seems to be a pretty big deal. I’m told this will be in the society papers and everything.” She shuddered. “Add that with a bridesmaid dress that seems to accentuate my height, and I’m in my own sort of quiet hell.”
“So why not tell the bride to fu—uh . . . tell her that you’re not interested?”
She gave him a vaguely reproachful look. “Because she’s my friend and she asked. I couldn’t refuse. The wedding isn’t about me, anyhow. It’s about her. And it’s not such a big sacrifice, really. I got a few weeks off of work and an all-expenses-paid vacation, so it’s not so bad. And Brontë is wonderful. Truly one of the best people I’ve ever met.” Her expression grew soft with affection. “I adore her.”
He grunted, spearing his lettuce. Hearing her go on rhapsodically about Logan’s sainted bride made him think that if Logan found Rob still at the resort, he was going to get booted out on his ass.
And wouldn’t the paparazzi love that. He could see the headline now. Tits or GTFO? The Man Channel’s billionaire owner must not have listened!
Yeah, fuck that noise. “Listen, Marjorie, I—” He paused, staring at her.
She was gazing at something just to his left, her fork halfway lifted to her pretty pink lips, which were currently parted. She kept blinking, the look on her face incredulous.
So he couldn’t help it. He looked over.
At the next table over, two women sat, gazing over in his direction. It was clear they recognized him, based on the lascivious looks they were shooting in his direction. As he looked over, the brunette grabbed her blonde friend and they began to kiss and make out in a very obvious display. Lipstick smeared on their mouths as they tongued each other, both of them looking at him, and one played with the spaghetti strap of the other, hinting that she’d take the top off if he’d only ask.
It happened to him all the time. Tits or GTFO was their biggest show and a bit of a legend. It was a game show in that they’d show up someplace public and offer a hot girl money to go topless. She either had to show her “Tits or GTFO.” And there were plenty of girls who were willing to take his money. Enough that they’d never have to show a single fucking rerun. Wherever he went, women tried to get his attention, and most flirty women knew that the best way to get a man’s attention was to coyly make out with the woman next to her.
Every dick in a room stopped for two chicks making out, after all.
Rob rolled his eyes at their antics and glanced over at his date. Judging from Marjorie’s shock, she had no idea what had prompted this action. He leaned in, trying to distract her. “Island girls are pretty forward, huh?”
She looked over at him and her mouth closed. She nodded and put her fork down. “I’ll say. My goodness gracious.” Twin spots of color flagged her cheeks and she grabbed the glass of wine and chugged it again.
He was about to tease Marjorie that her exclamation sounded like something his grandmother would say when someone walked up to the table. Oh hell. Rob looked up in vague annoyance to see the forward brunette standing at his side. Her red lipstick was smeared on her wet mouth, and up close, her lips looked over-plumped and injected with too much silicone.
“Just wanted to drop this off,” she said in a breathy voice, sliding a slip of paper with her phone number (or room number, depending on how forward she really was) toward his hand. She winked at him. “See you later . . . hopefully.” And she sauntered off, her hips swaying.