Why Resist a Rebel? by Leah Ashton

smile as he offered Ruby her seat, and he then launched into his spiel, speaking—Dev assumed—of wine and food, but he really wasn’t paying any attention. Instead he took the opportunity to just look at Ruby as she tilted her chin upwards and listened attentively.
    This was, after all, about the first time she’d been perfectly still, and silent, in his presence, since their original interlude beside the costume trailer.
    Then, she’d been veering towards adorable, while tonight she was polished and perfect. Different, for sure—but equally appealing.
    After a short conversation, the maître d’ repeated his vanishing act, and Ruby turned her gaze onto him.
    ‘You’re late,’ he pointed out.
    She nodded. ‘So were you.’
    He smiled, surprised. ‘How did you know?’
    ‘I didn’t. But it seemed the kind of stunt you would pull. You’ve been very consistent in your quest to irritate me.’ Calmly, she reached for her water glass. ‘Not very chivalrous of you, however.’ Another pause. ‘Personally, I am never—intentionally—less than punctual. Time is everything in my job, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t be in the rest of my life.’
    Time is everything.
    How true. Often, Dev had only recently discovered, you had a lot less time than you thought.
    ‘So chivalry is important to you, Ruby?’
    She took a sip from her water glass, then studied him over the rim. ‘Actually, no,’ she replied, surprising him. She looked out towards the opera house, her forehead wrinkling slightly. ‘I mean, of course being courteous and honourable or gallant—or whatever a chivalrous man is supposed to be—is important.’ She gave him a look that underlined the fact she clearly considered him to be none of those things. ‘But it has to be genuine. Standing up when I approach the table, for example—’ her words were razor sharp ‘—is meaningless. It has to mean something—have a basis in respect—otherwise I’d really rather you didn’t bother.’
    ‘I respect you,’ he said.
    She laughed with not a trace of pretention. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’
    ‘It’s the truth,’ he said. He wasn’t going to bother explaining himself, but then somehow found himself doing so anyway. ‘I was late because I like seeing you react, not because I don’t value you and your time. I apologise if you feel that way.’
    ‘I’m sure you agree that distinction is impossible to make from my point of view.’
    Dev almost, almost, felt bad about it—but not quite. He was enjoying this—enjoying her—too much.
    ‘You like pushing my buttons,’ she said. ‘You’re very good at it.’
    He shrugged, studying her. ‘So is that what you’re looking for? An honourable, perfectly chivalrous specimen of a man?’
    Dev knew he was not that man.
    Immediately, she shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m looking for no man at all.’
    ‘You’re focusing on your career?’
    Almost silently the maître d’ reappeared and filled her wine glass.
    ‘Yes, but that’s not the reason. I don’t need a man. At all.’
    ‘Need, or want?’
    She rolled her eyes dismissively. ‘Neither.’
    He considered this unexpected announcement as their entrées arrived, but he wasn’t about to question her further. Tonight was not for detailed analysis of their respective relationship goals.
    For the record, his was—and had always been—to have no relationship at all. Estelle had been an unexpected exception, a relationship that had evolved, at times—it seemed—almost without his participation. Yes, he’d liked her. Enjoyed his time with her. Maybe considered the idea that he loved her.
    But that night she’d left, she’d made it crystal clear that what he felt wasn’t love. How had she put it?
    Love is when you share yourself—reveal yourself. Your thoughts, your feelings, your fears. Something. Everything! Not nothing. Not absolutely nothing.
    At the time he hadn’t questioned her. But later, when he’d asked