He just assumes I’ll have dinner with him? That I don’t have somewhere to be?

Truth is, I was just going to head back to Berkeley and read through some case studies for my health policy class or work on a problem set for statistics. And I have to have dinner at some point.

So I say okay and give him the address before hanging up. When I walk out of the office building later, I see him and his Porsche waiting for me. He looks devastatingly sexy in his leather jacket and form-fitting jeans.

“That’s a familiar outfit,” he remarks of my black jeans, boots, and sweater.

I smile. “I’ll wear it often, just for you.”

He opens the passenger door for me. “What do you feel like for dinner?”

I think for a moment. “Soul food. How about Maybelle’s?”

He plugs Maybelle’s into the GPS. “So you work it out yet with your internship about going to Phuket?”

“Yes.”

“Great. You’re all set then.”

I hesitate.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

I turn my body to face him. “I’d like to go, but I want to pay my fair share.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How well does your job shelving library books pay?”

“That’s just it. I can’t really afford this trip.”

“And I told you I’ve got this.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

“Look, the villa is paid for. It doesn’t cost extra to have you there. If you want to pay for your meals, fine.”

“There’s the plane ticket.”

“That’ll probably set you back about 20K.”

“What?!”

“I booked a suite. It’s an international flight.”

Turning back around, I sink into the car seat and stare out the front window. Holy crap. That’s more than a year’s tuition.

I let out a breath. “Okay, that is way too much to be paying for. I don’t need a suite. I’m perfectly fine flying coach.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not flying in one end of the plane while I’m in another.”

I calculate in my head, “On a payment plan of a hundred dollars a month, it would take me almost four years to pay you back.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. I can’t let you treat me to a twenty-thousand-dollar flight.”

“Why the hell not?”

“That’s more than some men spend on their fiancées.”

“It’s all relative. It wouldn’t bother me taking a woman I met off the street to Thailand.”

I’m not sure how that makes me feel, though I think he means to reassure me.

“Anyway, I’m not that type of woman,” I say.

“What type of woman?” he returns, sounding a little exasperated.

“The kind that likes to be wined and dined by some sugar daddy.”

“I told you how you can pay me back.”

My cheeks grow warm. I had forgotten about that. “So you want me to prostitute myself for the trip.”

“You’re the one who wants to pay me back.”

I try to remember exactly how we had left it. “You wanted one night at your club?”