Free Blame It on Paris by Jennifer Greene Page B

We’re already sleeping together. And I meant, I stick out because I look like an American. Not like a Frenchwoman.”
    He started to loosen his tie, then remembered he didn’t have one on. It was the question that was constricting his airflow. “I don’t know. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?”
    She chuckled and pointed a shrimp at him. “Are you afraid to answer the question, Maguire?”
    â€œOf course I’m afraid. When women ask certain questions, a guy tends to feel like he’s stepped in cow manure. No matter what he answers, he’s gonna be in trouble.”
    â€œBut you’re not going to step in cow manure if you tell me what the big deal is about your living in Paris. I realize I’m prying, but come on, what possible difference could it make if you tell me? I’m not telling a soul. You can get it off your chest. No one’ll ever know.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to get off my chest.”
    â€œFine,” she said. “Be a martyr.”
    The waiter returned to pour more wine. He took one look at Will’s face and brought another liter. “Did I know before sleeping with you that you could be a complete pain in the butt?”
    He thought it was a pretty good insult, but she only chuckled. “Hey, I’d have ’fessed up to being a pain in the butt if you’d just asked. But it’s okay. You can keep your secrets. I was just thinking of all the reasons why you might not want to go home. A warrant out for your arrest. Like for a murder rap. Or drugs—”
    â€œOh, for Pete’s sake. It’s nothing like that.” He reached for the bread at the same time she did. Naturally the bread was fresh out of the oven, still warm, still wonderful. But every other woman he knew fretted whether stuff like bread went straight to their thighs. Kelly inhaled it faster than he did.
    â€œMy dad and I don’t get along. Think of two quarterbacks from opposing teams,” he said finally.
    â€œOpposing quarterbacks play together every Saturday,” she noted. “And you already told me that you and your dad have a really conflicted relationship. But it’s still a stretch from not being close to feeling you have to live a whole continent away.”
    Hell. It went on. Past the bread and salad. Past a liter and a half of wine. Past the filet mignon, and then, when she saw the pastry tray, past watching her salivate as she made her choice.
    Correct that. Choices.
    â€œI’ve got three sisters. No brothers. So I’m the only male. My dad started Maguire’s, built it into a monster-size corporation. But now he wants to retire, and he wants to do it by my taking it on.”
    â€œBut pretty obviously you didn’t want to, so you told him no.”
    â€œI’ve been telling him no since I was old enough to talk. He’s heard it. He doesn’t give a damn. Aaron Maguire wants me to do what he wants me to do.” Will pushed away the plates, went for the demitasse. “And back when I was a boy, I really cared. I did everything but stand on my head to win his approval, his respect.”
    â€œBut it was impossible?” she asked gently.
    â€œOh no. I got it just fine. As long as I do exactly what he wants, everything’s always been hunky-dory. And that’s the point. He doesn’t just want me to run the company. He wants me to do it his way. Eighty-hour workweeks. Him involved in all the decisions. And then there are my sisters.”
    â€œYour sisters work at the company, too?”
    â€œNo. That’s exactly the point. They don’t. They want to live in the style he’s let them become accustomed to. Lots of money, no responsibility. Bail them out whenever they lift a finger or run up a credit card bill or want a trip to Goa.”
    He wished she would look at him with a little more sympathy. Instead she kept asking more questions. “So you told your dad