Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs by Nancy Warren Page B

there was no coffee, when she caught a look that passed between Jonathon and Esme and decided to
 wait a minute.
    Her patience was soon rewarded.
    “Sophie,” Esme said, rising from her chair. “Can I speak to you privately about something?”
    The woman had been condescending to downright rude, and now she wanted to speak in private? Vince was right. These two weren’t all that bright. Thank goodness. “But of course.”
    “Excuse us,” Esme said, and walked to Vince’s bedroom. Sophie didn’t dare look at Vince as she followed in his cousin’s wake. Once they got into the bedroom, Esme shut the door and said, “Um, look. I’m sorry if I was a little hostile earlier. It’s just that I care about Vince. He’s been hurt by women before.”
    If Vince had been hurt by women, he carried no scars, and he certainly hadn’t told Sophie about it. “Oh, that’s sad,” she said.
    Esme sank down onto his bed, crossed her long, elegant legs, and gazed at Sophie. “I don’t want to see him hurt again.”
    “Are you asking me what are my intentions?” she asked, trying very hard not to laugh.
    “Well. Um. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. I am.”
    “Okay, well, I can tell you—”
    “Wait!” the other woman stuck a hand in the air as though she were about to summon a head waiter. “I don’t want to do this behind Vince’s back. I think we should be completely open.” And without giving Sophie a chance to say a thing, she called out, “Vince, honey, Sophie and I would like to see you in the bedroom.”
    The soft male rumble of voices ceased from outside the door, and Vince said, “Okay,” as though it were perfectly normal for women to tag team him in his bedroom. Hmm.
    He arrived in a moment and shut the door behind him. He shot Sophie a brief glance so full of meaning she had to turn her head.
    “Now, Vince, I asked you to come in because Sophie is about to tell me what her intentions are toward you.”
    His devilish eyes glittered with amusement, and something more. Something that made Sophie’s heart forget to beat.
    “Well, good,” he said, climbing onto the bed beside where Esme perched and crawling up to the headboard. He stacked a couple of pillows behind him and settled back, long legs crossed at the ankle. “As a matter of fact, Esme. I’d like to know her intentions, too.”
    Torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to strangle him for putting her into this absurd position, she decided if he wanted to play silly, daring games, she could play, too.
    “My intentions are perfectly honorable,” she said.
    He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Define honorable. Would we be talking marriage here?”
    Her nostrils flared slightly, and she stared across Esme at her lover, who was settled comfortably as though he planned to stay there awhile. “But of course. I want my six children to be legitimate.”
    She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen for a second, but it was Esme who squeaked, “Six kids?”
    “I like children. I’m very good with them,” she explained, then smiled a smile so warm it would melt chocolate. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”
    “Well, honey, I was kind of thinking two kids myself.”
    “Bah. Two
petits enfants
? It’s not enough.”
    “Now, Esme,” he said, turning to the woman who was sitting on the bed with a stupefied expression on her face. “I’m going to ask you to help us here. Kind of like a mediator. This is the work I usually do, but obviously, since I’m an involved party, I can’t do the mediating. I think I see a middle ground here. Sophie wants six kids, I was thinking of two. A good negotiator will find a compromise that both parties can live with.”
    Esme stood and stared from Vince to Sophie and back again. “Are you suggesting you split the difference and have four kids?”
    “Damn, you’re good,” Vince said, approval in his tone. “You’d make a terrific negotiator if you ever decide you’d like to work.”
    “I