Cougar (Chauvinist Stories #2) - Elise Faber Page 0,1

back, almost annoyingly.

“Why not?” he asked. “The female lead is strong, more powerful than most of the men in the film, and that dynamic is something you specialize in.”

Cute.

“Yes, she is strong.” I waited a beat. “However, that strength is undermined by a theme of the male co-star saving the day every step of the way. I counted at least three fight scenes where she’s nearly beaten before the hero sweeps in to rescue her, not to mention his masterful ability to always get her naked and the snarky comments he makes about her driving skills.”

Pierce was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded. “You’re right.”

The waiter came over and set a plate in front of me then handed a menu to Pierce. He took it, ordering an iced tea.

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want,” I told him. “But if you do, I’ll still buy you lunch.”

His brows pulled down. “I thought I was buying you lunch.”

A shake of my head. “I usually pay if I’m delivering disappointing news.”

He laughed. “Ah. The stories of you are true.”

I’d been busily spearing a forkful of handmade pasta, readying to shove it in my mouth, when he spoke. “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, after chewing and swallowing.

“Just that everyone says you’re the most honest person in Hollywood.”

Shrugging, I stuck the fork in my mouth and moaned when the delicious brown butter sauce made every single one of my taste buds orgasm. “It’s true,” I agreed.

He tilted his head to the side, considering. “So, what did you think of Sunday Night?”

“Hated it.”

He burst into laughter and set the menu on the table, gesturing to the waiter. “I’ll have what she’s having.” The waiter nodded and Pierce turned back to face me. “How about Blue?

“Nope. Didn’t like it.”

One brown brow rose. “Well, it’s better than hate, so I’ll take it. Though, I’m almost afraid to ask what you think of Life and—”

“Worst one of the bunch.”

More laughter as he grabbed his laptop off the table and stuck it into his backpack. “I do love an honest woman.”

It was my turn to lift a brow. “What’s that right there?” I waved my hand at his chest. “What’s going on with all of that?”

“With what?” he asked innocently.

“This smolder nonsense you have going on.”

His lips twitched. “Smolder?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who’s too good for Disney movies,” I said and shoved another bite into my mouth. “Tangled is the best of the bunch.”

“That’s the crazy talking,” he countered. “Clearly The Emperor’s New Groove is better.”

I gasped. “Them’s fighting words, Pierce Daniels.” But my lips twitched. “Pull the lever?” I asked innocently, quoting one of my favorite lines from the film.

Heat flickered in his eyes and head leaned forward. “Wrong lever?”

I laughed. “Okay, so maybe you do have some Disney street cred.”

“Actually,” he said, leaning back slightly to allow the waiter to set the plate in front of him. “I think those two things are actually mutually exclusive.” A beat. “But thanks for appreciating it. Even if that’s the only thing you appreciate about me.”

“That is true,” I teased, shoving a bite of pasta into my mouth and barely able to hold back my moan of pleasure.

Pierce gave me an affronted look, but then he picked up a forkful of food and stuck it in his mouth.

I waited.

His eyes widened in surprise.

I knew the feeling because I’d experienced it just over a year ago, when I’d first tasted the chef’s food. Hence, my being a silent partner in a risky investment. Still, good food was half the battle and I’d eaten here enough to know that the other important part—service—was also exceptional.

But Pierce didn’t know that.

“This is delicious,” he said around the bite, which meant it sounded a lot like “Shish sish shulishush.”

“Is this where I say chew with your mouth closed before surrendering to the smolder?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, set down the fork. “This is where I say I don’t give two shits about anything besides the amazing food on my plate.” He dropped the napkin back into his lap. “How did you find this place?”

I shrugged. “A lady doesn’t give away her secrets.”

Stormy gray-blue eyes went hot. “I bet I can convince you.”

My pussy clenched. Straight up, right then. With a single look. Uh-oh. “I don’t date children.”

He laughed. “I’m twenty-two. That’s hardly a child.”

“Pierce. I’m thirty-seven.”

“So?”

He meant it, too, I could tell.

“So, I don’t date people who work with me.”

His laughter burned