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“Sir, I really think it will mean more coming from you,” he says, even as he takes the paperwork.
I shake my head, far too used to this song and dance with my butler.
“I know what you think, but she won’t know any different. I don’t have time,” I say, already preparing for my next meeting.
He chuckles. “Yes, sir.”
Since that is crossed off my list, I’m sitting at my desk with Jewel’s head on my lap, trying to calm the slowly rising irritation in my gut. I don’t want to even have to pretend to marry this woman. Amelia is such a better choice; at least I could get an easy read on her. This woman I am going to see will be manipulative. People have to be when it comes to surviving in high society.
I stroke a hand over Jewel’s ears. “What do you think girl? Any hope?”
She whines and I take it to heart. She doesn’t believe in this new choice any more than I already do. But isn’t it setting myself up for failure if I think that way? I scratch behind her ears only to have Charity come up with wide eyes and a wagging tail, offering me her toy to comfort me. I smile and decide while I wait for my meeting to arrive in the lobby I can play with the dogs for a bit. It always relaxes me.
* * *
I’m headed to a new age gastronomy restaurant, the type that’s all the rage and the kind I hate. I prefer a quiet seafood restaurant on a boat or a place with a view with calming music and decent portion sizes. But this woman will gush over the display of money if nothing else.
I check my appearance in the shine of the elevator wall, tilting my head, adjusting my tie, and shifting my suit cuffs. It’s not necessarily that I’m worried about how I look, more like I have an unnamable agitation rolling over my spine.
As I come closer to the ground floor I still my body, pulling the mask of boredom over my face, making my every feature flat. Even my fingers hang limply at my sides. As I exit the elevator my eyes naturally search the lobby. I like to pretend it’s for safety or to see if my staff is working, but I know it’s because I’m looking for Amelia. She’s been on my mind far too much.
I do manage to catch a glimpse of her, pushing a cart onto the staff elevator across the room. I only recognize her because of her ebony hair and the slightness of her frame. Still, I have a problem looking away until finally Russell walks up to me.
“Sir, your car is waiting for you,” he says.
“Right,” I sigh, this whole night has the potential to be a nightmare, but I need to at least try.
Still, the thought of sitting through a dinner, knowing this woman thinks she’s manipulating me for my money when really, I want as little to do with her as possible for six months, and to then forget about her. She is going to be insufferable. I hate women, for the most part, at least the ones I’ve had experiences with. Amelia is more tolerable but even so, she easily makes my skin crawl. Maybe it’s not a woman-specific thing, maybe I just hate people in general. There are many reasons for that, but they linger in my past, and what’s in my past should stay there.
I nod to Russell and wander out to where my car waits in the bay, and a bellhop drops my keys into my hand. I clasp my fingers tight around them and sit behind the Mustang’s wheel. The leather seats welcome me home and I try to breathe through my growing annoyance about the thoughts playing through my head of the coming night. Instead I try to be positive and hope it will go better than expected.
* * *
It doesn’t. The woman is shallow, so much so that I barely remember her name five minutes after she introduces herself. She doesn’t make an impression of any sort, instead agreeing with everything I say and turning the questions onto me, even when I ask directly about her. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to know about her, or maybe she worries I might not like her. Which of course just makes me dislike her more.
I’m certain she has a brain, everyone does, it’s fundamental in the human body. But I am not sure how much hers is working. Is she just manipulative like I originally expected her to be or is she truly dumb?
I stare down at my plate halfway through dinner, pretending I’m eating alone or with Charity and Jewel. I stopped answering her questions at some point, and she eventually clears her throat in that way that screams ‘I’m annoyed.’ I sigh, not trying to hide my irritation as I look at her with boredom dragging at every line of my face.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh my god, what did you just say to me?” She snaps, her voice pitching higher and growing nasally.
“I said, ‘What,’ since you obviously want something from me,” I grumble, not even the chocolate cake waiting for me at the end of this meal could make it worth staying.
“We are on a date! Of course, I want something from you! You are supposed to be paying attention to me,” she pouts as if she thinks that might encourage me to baby her.
“I would pay attention to you if you were worth it,” I roll my eyes, finally dropping all pretenses.
She gasps, sputters, and then slams her perfectly manicured hands against the table. The long nails collect the tablecloth under them, and I contemplate if she could rip it apart if she got mad enough.
“Did you even hear what you said?” She screeches.
“Of course, I did,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I never say anything without thinking about it.”
That only seems to make her angrier. Her face flushes and I wonder briefly if she will flip the table or knock the plates off. But she doesn’t, instead she lifts her glass of potent red wine and dumps it on my head. It soaks my hair and my skin, but I should have seen it coming. I can only mop the worst of it off while waving my hand for the check. The woman, whose name I still can’t remember for the life of me, flounces out of the restaurant. Too bad, I really wanted that cake too.
This really has been a shit night. I head back to the car after paying the bill and deciding to take a slice of that chocolate temptation home. I rub my hand across my face, and I feel like I’m sinking. Like my mind is growing exhausted after everything that’s gone wrong. My suit reeks of alcohol and I roll my window down as I drive back to the hotel with a mixture of anger and defeat settling in my gut, making it acidic. I hope I won’t smell like a drunkard by the time I arrive.
