I glance at my watch, which is super-slim and designed to look like a tennis bracelet. Declan’s having a multi-course lunch. So I can spare a few minutes.
“Fine,” I say. “A café?” The lunch rush is coming to an end, and it shouldn’t be difficult to find a table.
She sneers triumphantly. “Follow me.”
I’m quite certain this woman wants to warn me away from Declan. As we start walking, I wonder if it’s a good idea to let her pick the café. If she’s planning on making a scene, she might’ve already prepared a table with a glass of water. And made sure to strip the whole café of napkins.
Props are important for “leave him” talks, and throwing water into your opponent’s face is de rigueur. I’ve never starred in one of those scenes, but I’ve seen plenty in dramas. How else are you going to show your dominance without ruining your manicure?
Oh well. If there’s a glass of water, I’ll just grab it first. My reflexes are pretty decent.
She takes me to a Starbucks on the next block. Since we’re inside anyway, I order another soy latte and put it on Declan’s card. Dealing with his ex will probably require extra caffeine.
Jessica orders an iced coffee, and we find an empty booth in the back. No water on the table. Plenty of napkins around. I relax slightly.
Or…wait. Is she planning on throwing the iced coffee at me? If she ruins this Armani, I swear to God I’ll sue. Actually, I should sue her just for being annoying. A good lawyer will find a way. After all, America isn’t just the land of the free, but the land of the lawsuit.
“Make it fast,” I say, ready to spring away if she makes a move to toss her coffee at me.
“I was thinking about what you said about how you’re ‘working for’ Declan. Of course, I know that’s a lie. A front. I know what his stupid female assistants really want.” She sneers again. Maybe she should consider growing a mustache so she can twirl it.
“You do?” I blink innocently. “Why not use your mind-reading powers for something more productive? Like…panhandling? You’ll always know who’s a sucker.”
She ignores me, obviously focused on what she feels she’s entitled to get off her chest. “They all want to make him fall in love with them and marry him.”
“Uh-huh. Well, not this one. I flew halfway around the world to avoid marriage.”
She snorts. “Sure you did. Look, I’m telling you it’s best to just give up now, with your dignity intact. Declan doesn’t like fake people like you. You think you can win him over because you have a pretty face. But you only look this good because of plastic surgery.”
I blink, wondering what her strategy is. Instead of throwing water or coffee, she’s going to settle on inferior insults to break me? “Where did you get the idea that I had plastic surgery?”
“Oh, please.” The sneer. “All Asians do it. Well, the Koreans, anyway. You are Korean, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. Okay, fine. So the Gangnam district in Seoul does have plastic surgery clinics on every city block, but must she be so offensive?
“I’ll have you know that this”—I make a circle around my face—“is one hundred percent natural and unretouched. But honestly, if I were you, I’d worry about the lawsuit you need to file against your plastic surgeon instead of wasting time stereotyping Koreans.”
“What lawsuit?”
“Are you kidding? Malpractice, for starters.”
“And why would I want to sue a plastic surgeon?”
“For your nose? I would, for a job that awful.”
She covers her nose with her hand, then quickly drops it. “How dare you! My nose is God-given, just like everything else on me!”
“Wow. I guess God must have had PMS that day.”
She pulls back, eyes wide and jaw slack, which makes her look like an idiot who just stuck her finger into a live socket. “You… You bitch.”
“Yawn,” I say in my most bored voice, although I’m secretly torn between amusement and pity. Jessica is a pathetic amateur if she thinks this kind of juvenile insult is going to make a difference. I worried about her coffee for nothing. “If you can’t come up with something more creative, maybe you should just stop. Clichés make you sound dumb. And men like Declan want smart women. They improve the gene pool.”
“Just leave him. Don’t make me hurt you.”
I sigh. Do threats as plebeian as “don’t make me hurt you” still work? She should just get to the meat of this encounter. “Make me an offer.”
“A what?”