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“Well, I don’t hate you, I don’t know you well enough for that. I don’t particularly like you though.”
“Why?”
“That used bookstore. I work there, you’re trying to put us out of business.”
“Yeah, one of our processing plants would go nicely on that block.”
His tone was light, teasing. Was he baiting her? Was he trying to get her to slip up?
Gertrude didn’t know and verbal sparring wasn’t her style. She was spending all of her social interaction ammo; this excursion already meant at least two days of rotting in her room, speaking to no one. “Fuck off, dude. Just… fuck off.”
“Oh you really don’t like me, huh?”
“Yeah, I said that. Does that get you off? I’d rather be anywhere else than here. I’d rather be with anyone else.” She folded her arms and glared at him.
“Mmm.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them to his forearms. “Why’d you come, then?”
“To be nice.”
He scoffed. “You haven’t been very nice. Let’s be real. Olivia Torres asked you to do this.”
“Actually, I volunteered.”
The words were out of her mouth. She watched his face light up, the way he licked his lips to taste her words. This fucking game of words—all she did was read, and somehow she was losing?
“So some part of you wants to be here.”
“No.”
“You probably find me at least a little attractive.”
A little. “No.” She refused to look away from him. That would mean weakness.
“You dressed up for me," he said.
“It’s a date.”
“Was the plan to convince me not to destroy that dumb bookstore? Did you think I’d get a whiff of your cheap perfume and fall in love?”
“This perfume was not cheap, it cost eighteen dollars.”
He laughed; Gertrude almost did too, but managed to bite it back, but a stupid fucking smile still broke across her face.
Fine. Nothing had changed because of one good moment. Desperate to get away from it, she asked: “Why did you pick me, exactly? I read about you. You normally date models. Why are you slumming it?"
He looked at his hands. “I was bored and you’re a challenge. I wanted to see if I could win you over. Is it working?”
A little. “No.”
“Not at all?”
“You’re very off-putting.”
“So are you.”
He crossed his arms and glared at her. She glared back. Mirror images throwing eye daggers across the table. The waitress arrived to check in and glanced worriedly at them. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but scurried away like a child scared to bother mom and dad when they were fighting.
The energy between them had a new energy. It was charged. Tense. It wasn’t a healthy liking, nor was it a pure attraction.
