Page 7 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

I glanced down at my hands as she shaped my nails.

Tonight was just a date.

Nothing more.

No pressure. No sex talk.

Just… seeing what made sense.

And if it didn’t, I already knew how to walk away.

V Saint

“I don’t interrupt. I insert myself when it matters.”

Itook my dates to places that made women sit up straighter. Expensive rooms revealed things that cheap ones couldn’t. The right restaurant would tell me how a woman carried herself, how much she drank when she thought she was being cute, how fast she started performing once the attention settled on her.

Tonight, I chose Duo Bistro in Calabasas.

Most of the men in the room were dressed like they had something to prove. Jackets. Cufflinks. Tight smiles. I came in wearing all black. Fitted Tom Ford tee. Lightweight Gucci bomber. Black pants. Black loafers to match my jacket. No heavy jewelry tonight, only my gold Rolex.

I wasn’t there for the woman sitting across from me.

She just didn’t know that.

But I made sure she had my attention so she wouldn’t think I was an asshole.

Her name was Camille. Pretty enough. Brown skin. Thick all over. Short. Older but pretended like she was younger. I liked women my age; young girls couldn’t keep up with me. However, this one didn’t know I knew she was lying about her age by three years. Crazy, she didn’t even have to lie.

She had spent the first twenty minutes pretending she wasn’t impressed by being there, then ordered the most expensive tequila on the menu and started leaning into her vowels every time a server walked by.

I had already seen enough, but kept entertaining.

“You always this quiet?” she asked, lifting her glass.

“When I’m listening.”

She laughed. “That sounds sarcastic.”

“It usually is.”

She smiled at that one. Women liked short answers. It gave them room to project whatever fantasy they needed. I let her have it.

She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward. “So, what made you pick me?”

I picked up my water and looked at her over the rim. “You answered your messages on time for once.”

“So punctuality got me in the door?”

“It got you a seat in a nice restaurant.”

She took another drink. Her third. Maybe fourth. I had stopped counting once I realized she was trying to keep pace with whatever version of me she had made up before she got here.

“You know,” she said, lowering her voice, “I almost didn’t come. Everybody online is talking about these wife auditions like you really out here interviewing women.”

I looked at her. “Oh, you saw that?”

“Yeah, I saw it. So you were joking, right?”