Whoa, Nelly.

I didn’t want to say what I had to say next, but I had no choice, and it royally sucked.

“I don’t date men who belong to the club.”

Adam blinked before he smiled wide. It was a bold, blinding, beautiful smile. It was also different than the smiles he’d given me thus far. This one was not cocky-sure. It wasn’t confident. It wasn’t a flirty smirk. It was pure arrogance. It was the smile of a man who had an ace in his back pocket and he was ready to pull it out.

“I see you find that disappointing. However, I wasn’t asking you on a date. I was asking you to dinner to discuss a party…well, a get-together I’m hosting. My partner is coming to California, and I’d like to put together a meet and greet for potential clients. Since I’ve seen your work firsthand, I thought you’d be the perfect person for the job.”

Shit.

Had I totally misread the banter? The brush of his hand the last time I saw him. The way he smiled at me before he’d walked away, daring me to challenge him.

Shit.

“I…um…” I stuttered, struggling to find an excuse to turn him down.

“I was thinking something intimate. Relaxed but elegant. The guest list will be small. Fifteen people max.”

I could do that in my sleep.

“What do you say? Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll tell you my ideas, you can shoot them all down because they’re going to be terrible, then you can wow me with your brilliance.”

I had no doubt his ideas would be horrendous, and they’d probably include topless servers holding platters of pigs in a blanket.

Jeez, when had I become so judgmental?

“I’ll pay you five thousand dollars. Twenty-five hundred for your expertise, twenty-five hundred if you promise to attend the event.”

His offer pissed me off. More than that it made me feel icky, seriously icky.

“I’m not for sale, Mr. Newcomb,” I spat.

It happened quickly, so fast that if I’d blinked, I would’ve missed the change. But change he did. Adam had gone from carefree to lethal in a nanosecond.

“I did not, nor would I ever infer you were for sale,” he growled, and holy shit but against my will, I shivered at the gravel in his voice. “You’re a businesswoman, your time and talent are what’s for sale. My offer was meant to communicate I value your time and I appreciate your talent and I’m willing to pay you for both.”

Shit, I’d misread the situation again.

“I’m sorry. I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Adam cut me off. “I am not that man.”

What did that mean? He wasn’t that man.

I might’ve assumed the worst and falsely thought he was propositioning me like I was a prostitute, however, in my very weak defense, he did belong to a club where he essentially paid to watch and have sex.

Okay, that was pushing it. What Adam actually paid for was privacy and the freedom to be who he was without judgment. And there I was being a judgmental bitch, again.