I cleared my throat and leaned forward, my elbows on the table in front of me. “Mr. Drake, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am in control of this entire situation. It was my auction, my drive, my desire to see an end to an archaic value system that for centuries worked against women and to turn it on its ear.”

When he looked at me, his eyes sliced right through me, lanced me to the core. “It all sounds very noble and revolutionary when you put it that way. And here I’d been convinced this entire time that you were doing it for the money.”

I sat back, watching him. So the Manifesto hadn’t fooled him in the least. I affected a shrug that I didn’t feel. “I won’t lie. I could use the money. I want to go to medical school and I don’t want to be in debt. Some women waitress at topless bars to put themselves through college. Some dance at strip clubs or sell phone sex over the Internet. My decision was to use one night in my life to change the course of things, if possible.”

He didn’t have to know about my mother’s hospital bills and her cancer treatments or even the threat to the mortgage on the ranch property. He didn’t have to know about the way I felt like vomiting whenever I thought of any of those things, of the panic that laced the edges of every thought that concerned money. I’d let him think I was just doing this for me. I never claimed to be a selfless saint.

His forehead creased and he got that strange, cold look he did when he’d dismissed me at the end of our first interview. “But ultimately, no matter who it is you choose to submit to, you will end up ceding control. You won’t be in control of the entire situation for the entire night.”

I looked away but hesitated from biting into my sandwich. “I’d like to feel like I’m in control now.”

“And my coming here to change your mind threatens that?”

I tilted my head to the side, considering. “It depends on what you’ll do if you fail to convince me.”

He hesitated a moment, then set his jaw. “I’ll step aside.”

We watched each other over our empty plates—or at least his, for he had finished his sandwich and half of mine remained. I was still hungry, but that other half was earmarked as my dinner. It was another cost-saving measure I regularly employed. Any time I ate out, I saved exactly half my meal to have later. That way one meal became two.

He stared at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Didn’t you like your sandwich?”

“It was great,” I said in a cheerful voice as I asked our server to bring me a take-home box.

He scowled. “Eat the rest of your sandwich, Emilia.”

“I’m saving it for later.” I blushed, refusing to admit that I was so destitute that this half sandwich, a box of cereal and half a carton of milk were about all I had to eat until payday.

When the waitress returned, he took the box from her before she could hand it to me. He ordered two more sandwiches—one of which, I’d told him, was my second favorite here when I’d been suggesting things for him to order. “Can you bring those boxed to go? She’s decided to finish this one.”

Then he turned and looked at me. “Now will you finish that?”

It didn’t take more convincing. Though I was embarrassed, I mumbled my thanks around my last bites. His perceptiveness impressed me. Most guys wouldn’t have picked up on the fact that I was still hungry. Even Heath probably wouldn’t have. He’d never commented on my boxing up my leftovers.

Drake carried the sandwiches back to my apartment as we walked the three blocks in silence. I crunched noisily on the peppermint candy the waitress had left with the check.

“Do you always chew your hard candies like that?”

I darted a glance at him and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t suck, remember?”

And to my astonishment, he laughed. “How could I forget?”

He came in again, but only to lay the sandwiches on the kitchen counter; then he headed for the doorway.

I followed closely to see him out. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back to me. Given the narrow entryway, we were in close quarters. My heart started hammering at my throat again.

He looked at me for a long moment. “Emilia, I’m asking you to reconsider. The choice—the control— is in your hands, of course, but don’t eliminate the possibility just because of some fears that can be dispensed with.”

Despite the strong physical reaction to him, my ire rose to his challenge. “You think I’m afraid?”

He paused, studying my face. “I think there are some things you don’t understand. Like this effect we have on each other…” My throat tightened. So he was feeling it too. My heart rate kicked up a few notches as if I was already in the middle of my run.