A harsh laugh escaped before she could stop it. ‘You could say that.’
‘Then why do you work with them?’ he queried.
‘Because jobs don’t automatically fall from the heavens the moment you graduate from college. And if, by some divine grace, you make it to a second or third interview and your prospective boss finds out that you’re the daughter of Marsha and Ralph Jameson, they question why you’d snub the chance to work for the exalted Jamesons. Half of them won’t touch you because they don’t believe you’ll be committed to your job. The other half have certain...preconceived notions about you and won’t even give you a chance. Seven months of polite rejections and my parents demanding repayment of their loan left me little choice.’
Elise took another sip of wine to drown the sinking knowledge that she’d divulged far more than she’d intended to.
Silence seething with questions filled the room. Alejandro levelled a gaze at her, speculation swirling in his shrewd eyes. ‘And is that debt paid off?’
She swallowed. ‘No. But I’m almost there.’
He raised his brow. ‘Almost?’
‘Yep. With your help, of course.’
‘My help?’ he enquired thinly.
‘Helping you nail this deal would be great for you, of course, and it’ll boost my résumé, too, but, more importantly, it’ll see me freed from the shackles of Mum and Dad. So really, it’s a trifecta of pure winning.’
Alejandro slowly swirled his glass. ‘I see.’
Shame nibbled at her. As he continued to stare at her, heat that had nothing to do with the great food and wine swarmed up her neck. ‘I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for my life history.’ Setting the nearly empty glass down, she stood. And swayed. Alejandro surged up and grasped her waist. She averted her gaze from eyes that saw way too much. ‘I told you I wasn’t much of a drinker.’
‘Sí, you did, but you’re not drunk. Trust me, I know the difference.’ His voice was faintly self-mocking.
‘All the same, this isn’t going to look good in the morning, is it?’ she muttered.
‘You barely finished your glass. I’m not going to hold it against you.’
Her eyes flicked to his. And stayed, absorbed by the faint gold flecks splaying from his pupils. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.
‘De nada,’ he murmured.
They remained like that, their breaths close enough to mingle. Elise knew it was unsafe to let those dark-rimmed eyes bore right into her soul. ‘I didn’t mean to carry on. I just...’
His eyebrow lifted. ‘You just...?’
‘I don’t like talking about my parents.’
‘Why?’
‘It...it just hurts too much, you know?’
A curiously bleak smile quirked his lips. ‘No. I don’t know.’
Elise frowned. ‘Of course not. I’m guessing you had a brilliant childhood, filled with nauseatingly blissful memories.’
The hands curled at her waist tightened imperceptibly. ‘Nauseating more often than not, yes. Blissful, no.’
Her brain suddenly locked onto the fact that his hands were on her body. Elise couldn’t think beyond the electric heat seeping into her skin. Or the need to feel it glide elsewhere.
‘Well, I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
She attempted a shrug. ‘For both of us.’
‘I don’t need your pity.’ His voice was edgy, filled with a thousand barbs.