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Claudine laughed again. “No maybe about it. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing about your wedding by the end of the year. This is February, so you have ten months to work on him.”
It was apparent to Margo that Claudine was a romantic. Margo didn’t want to burst the woman’s bubble. Although she couldn’t speak for Striker, she could definitely speak for herself—she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. At least that was what her boyfriend in college had claimed. Brock Ford had been the romantic one and loved watching television while holding her hand. And he would often text her sappy romantic messages during the day. She had fancied herself in love with Brock until she’d discovered his true reason for romancing her. He’d found out about her family’s wealth and decided marrying her would assure him part of that wealth. That was the main reason she’d never divulged anything about her family’s wealth to Scott.
Now she was back in Charlottesville and focusing on doing the things that made her happy. And she was determined never to forget the lessons she’d learned from both Brock and Scott. They were different but life-learning lessons just the same. She had dated a few times since returning home. Most of the men she considered nothing more than friends who were her escorts to various charity events for the Connelly Foundation. The last thing she wanted right now in her life was any serious involvement. She refused to ever get tangled up with a man who wanted her money or thought she wanted his. Until she met someone who truly knew the meaning of love and commitment, she’d rather not bother. If Claudine thought her Stan was such a man, then Margo was happy for her.
“I need to run,” Claudine said, interrupting Margo’s thoughts as she stood. “I’m meeting Stan for lunch and I don’t want to be late. That’s the one thing he’s a stickler about—timeliness.”
“Okay, I’ll see you out,” Margo said, standing as well.
“How long will it take to make my gown?”
“If everything goes as planned, your dress will be ready in twelve weeks. Maybe sooner. I only take on one client at a time, so your gown will get my full attention.”
“That’s great. I’ve hired this photographer who wants to take a ton of photographs of me before the wedding. I’m glad my dress will be ready for him to do so.”
When they opened the door, Striker was standing right there. Margo frowned up at him. “Yes, Lamar?”
“I started a fire in the fireplace and was about to knock to see if you wanted me to order lunch.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of him. Eating in front of the fireplace is so romantic,” she heard Claudine whisper behind her.
Whatever. “Thanks for getting the fire started and, yes, ordering lunch now is fine. Claudine is leaving and I was about to see her out.”
“I can do that,” he quickly said, offering Claudine his arm. “I’m sure you want to finalize your notes from today’s meeting, Margo.”
Margo tried keeping the glare from her eyes when she said, “Yes, of course, Lamar. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” Turning to Claudine, she said, “You’ll call and let me know if you come across any material you see that you like for your lining?”
“Yes, most definitely.”
Margo then watched as Striker walked Claudine to the door.
* * *
“I’M GOING TO let you introducing me as Lamar slide.”
Margo glanced across the table at him as they ate lunch. “I assume that’s your name since it’s on your driver’s license. If you don’t like it, then change it.”
“Trust me. I would if I could.” He knew Margo was annoyed at him for how he’d handled Claudine. “You do know pouting won’t get you anywhere, don’t you?” he said, before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.
She narrowed her gaze. “You could have compromised my relationship with a client.”
“How?”
“You were wearing a gun.”
He rolled his eyes. “Since I was wearing my jacket, how was she supposed to know what I had underneath it...unless she copped a feel. Were you expecting her to do that?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, then. You’re getting all worked up for nothing. You need to just chill.”
When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. Getting up from the table, he stretched his body before tossing the trash into the garbage container. He then leaned a hip against the counter and watched her.
Striker let the silence stretch between them, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. She jerked around and glared at him. “Just what are you staring at?”
“So, you can talk? For a minute there I thought that maybe you’d lost your voice.”
She clenched her teeth so hard he swore he could hear her doing so. Instead of their working relationship moving forward, it was going backward, real fast. “Look, Margo. Don’t you think at some point we need to reach an agreement to get along? You can’t keep fighting me at every turn. Whether you like me or not, whether you like the situation you’ve been placed in or not, I’m not going anywhere. My job is to protect you and I intend to do that, regardless of how you feel about it.”
“Fine. And you need to not be so unbending and show flexibility with some things. I’m aware of the danger I’m in, Striker, and I do appreciate you protecting me, but do you have to be so dogmatic?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Okay, maybe he was. He had given Roland his word to protect her and he took his promises seriously. “Alright, let’s agree on a truce,” he said. “I promise to try to be more flexible if you’ll stop resisting me all the time. Agreed?”
For a long moment their gazes held and then she said, “Yes, I agree. Considering everything, I know I need to be protected, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He didn’t say anything for a few moments and then added, “Trust me, Margo, I know exactly how it feels to get your freedom taken away.”
She frowned. “No. Don’t compare my situation with yours, Striker. What I’m going through is nothing compared to what you had to endure all those years. I can’t possibly imagine.”
She was right. She couldn’t. But neither would he lessen what she was dealing with. “So, from here on out, we’re good?”
“We’re good,” she said, standing and sliding her chair under the table.
Striker covered the distance separating them. “Let’s shake on it,” he said, offering her his hand.
She looked at his hand. “Shake on what?”
“On our truce.”
“Really? Is that necessary?”
Striker forced a smile to his lips. She was hesitating and a part of him knew why. He wasn’t made of stone and remembered what had happened the last time they shook hands. The moment their hands had touched yesterday, a pang of intense desire had shot through him. He’d felt it and had known she’d felt it as well. “I believe a person’s word is their bond, and we need to shake on it.”
“I said I agreed to a truce, Striker.”
“I know you did. But why are you against sealing the deal with a handshake?” He knew he was playing with fire, but he didn’t care. A part of him enjoyed pushing her buttons.
She lifted her chin. “I am not against it.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Narrowing her gaze at him, she took the hand he offered.
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