“Nope! I try not to have firm deadlines or be too inflexible about stuff. Things can change at any time.”
“So you live your life aimlessly?”
It stuns me that anybody can do that, but then, she’s an heiress, so maybe it doesn’t matter. I’ve always had a timeline about how my career should progress. And it’s basically been going according to plan. Then it occurs to me that if she doesn’t have a specific goal or timeline, maybe she can choose to stay in L.A. longer…or even live here permanently without any problem. Which would solve the potential trans-Pacific relationship dilemma.
“No, no. I know what I want, and I have goals.”
“So you do have milestones.”
“No, I have goals. Milestones come with some kind of timeline. My goals are things I want to accomplish or have, but there’s no particular rush.”
Doesn’t seem like much of a difference, but whatever. “Okay, like what?”
“Well, marriage. But I want it with a loving husband and kid or two. Spoiling my nephew. Also spoiling all my friends’ kids, because if Auntie Yuna can’t spoil them, who can?” She beams with obvious pleasure at the idea.
So far the list is ordinary. Something anybody can aspire to. And that makes me understand her better, too. How much she must hate her family pushing men at her. None of them would be the loving husband she wants. I’m glad I’m helping her resist this ridiculously old-fashioned attempt to marry her off.
She continues, “Expand the Ivy Foundation so we can support even more students who are interested in studying classical music. And go on a food tour around Europe. I absolutely adore good food and drink.” She sighs happily. “I try to keep my goals simple and fun. Otherwise, there’s no point.”
Everything sounds great, except nothing she’s said so far is about me. I know we’ve only known each other for a week, but it feels longer somehow.
But she said she’s flexible. So I’ll use the rest of our time together to stick myself into her list of goals. After all, simple and fun is easy. And I can do it better than most.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Declan
The next two weeks go by fast. Tim keeps sending me scripts because Melvin hasn’t made up his mind yet, although Tim seems very optimistic. But nothing’s a given in Hollywood. And we aren’t going to stop looking at other options until a contract’s been signed.
The kiss is not repeated. It isn’t because I don’t want to. But Yuna seems to be maintaining some kind of mysterious distance. I even start to walk around the house topless, ostensibly because it’s too damn hot despite the A/C blowing nonstop. And I have Yuna count reps every time I work out, which is also done topless.
I sense her eyes on me like electricity prickling my body. If I were the only one responding to the chemistry between us, I might consider giving up, but I can tell she feels it too. Her cheeks flush, and there’s a spark of interest in her dark eyes. But still a big fat nothing in terms of a second kiss happening, much less anything else.
I try having her translate some old emails from the seeing eye dog retirement center for me. But it fails to re-create the magic from the first time. The catalyst Yuna needs may require something totally different.
Maybe she’s just trying to be professional until Benedict comes back. Should I have a talk with her about how I don’t really care about professionalism? But what if it makes things awkward between us instead?
It’s really exasperating. I’ve never been stumped by a woman before.
No matter how hard I think, nothing comes to me.
So I decide to focus on the present, which at the moment means lunch with Aiden.
I had him select the place, since I picked last time, and I’ll pick up the tab as an apology for missing our run. His secretary made a reservation at a French restaurant called La Chambre. Some celebrity chef opened it recently.
The interior is bright with lots of natural light. The high ceiling and pale color scheme make the place look airy and spacious, and the dark wooden panels on the walls add some much-needed contrast.
Aiden’s already at the table. He’s in a charcoal-gray suit, his perfectly cropped black hair styled slickly. A burgundy tie is around his neck in an impeccable Windsor knot.
“He totally looks like a lawyer,” Yuna whispers, walking next to me.
“What makes you say that?”
“Just the way he glances around. It’s like he’s looking for a reason to sue.”
I do my best not to laugh. But it’s hard, and when Aiden’s blue gaze sharpens as the hostess brings us to the table, I can’t stop myself.
“What’s so funny?” Aiden says as we take our seats.