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My breath catches in my throat hearing his answer. I’ve only ever heard my mother talk about that mark on my face. She says when I was little, she always knew when I was really upset because that spot would grow dark. She called it my “early tantrum warning system.” Now Chris has noticed it too.
“What’s your job?” I ask. “Not who do you work for, but what do you actually do?”
“In a nutshell, I do whatever my family tells me to do,” he says. “For the past year I’ve been flying all over the world auditing businesses we’re considering acquiring or investing in. I go to meetings, people show me their spread sheets and balance sheets and pitch me, and I decide if the company’s a good risk for my family.”
I watch Chris cut into his eggs, the yolk runs down the side of his plate, and he dips the toast in quickly, scooping up the golden liquid and popping it into his mouth. Every move he makes is filled with confidence. The way he’s answering these questions as if he knows every answer is the right answer.
“How does someone get as confident as you? What’s the secret?” I ask.
He chuckles, and sits back in his seat, his laughter growing louder.
“What’s so funny,” I ask, a smile creeping over my face now, although I’m not yet in on the joke.
“I just think it’s funny you see me as this confident guy,” he says. “I mean sure, I am to a certain extent, but when it comes to you? I’ve been jerking off behind a computer for the past four months afraid to tell you who I was. That doesn’t scream Mr. Cocky to me.”
Leaning across the table, he runs his hand over mine, his fingers rub the sensitive skin on my wrist. “I’m happy to take you back to my room and show you Mr. Cocky, though. I feel like we have a lot of missed time to make up for.”
His fingers are tracing lazy circles on the palm of my hand now, and his eyes are piercing, practically hypnotizing me to say yes, but I’m not sure. Not yet.
“Is it the money?” he asks. “Are you worried about the money?”
The mood instantly changes. I can’t tell where this is heading, but it feels wrong.
“If you’re afraid of losing the income, I’ll continue to pay you, we can set something up. I know you’re dependent on me for that.”
I pull my hands back. Suddenly his fingers feel coarse on my skin. The money hadn’t entered my mind, and I’m not sure what he’s even suggesting now.
“I’m not a prostitute. You understand that, right?” I ask, draining my coffee and concentrating on my cold eggs.
“Of course, I do, Weaver. I wasn’t suggesting anything like that, it’s just that I—”
I cut him off. “It’s just that you wouldn’t understand what it means to work for anything because it’s been handed to you on a silver platter your entire life.” I’m chewing furiously. I feel cheap. He made me feel cheap. “You know you can’t just snap your finger and throw down an AmEx card and expect everyone to fall in line with your plans. The world doesn’t work that way, Chris. At least, I don’t work that way.
“I don’t know about this.” I gesture with my fork between us. “I don’t know if this can work, built on a foundation of secrets. I need time to think.”
He looks stunned but nods his agreement.
“I see.” It’s all he says.
I already regret snapping at him. It’s so obvious to me that everything I said was about me, not him. About my insecurities as a cam-girl, my horrendous decisions that brought me to this predicament, my expectations about where I should be professionally. I mean, how dumb am I, depending on a single client to pad my bank account so I can realize my dream?
My phone buzzes on the table. I flip it over and see a text from Kate: Food! Now! Dying!
“I’ve gotta go,” I say, reaching into my purse and throwing a twenty on the table. “Kate’s up and hungover.”
“Sure,” he says. “Can I ask you just one favor before you go? Can I have your phone number?”
I rattle it off to him quickly and watch him type. He reads it back to me, and when I confirm it’s correct, he says, “Then I guess this is goodbye for now.”
“See ya, Chris,” I say, and turn toward the exit. I’m halfway down the block when my phone buzzes. I don’t have to look at my phone to know it’s from him.
This isn’t over. We’ve barely even begun.
10
Chris
Well I couldn’t have fucked that up anymore if I’d tried. I know exactly why Weaver acted the way she did, why she was so icy when she left. She was right. I grew up wealthy, wealthier than anyone should ever be, and money has never been an issue for me. It’s just an exchange. I need to buy this meal; here, take this card. I need a flight to Prague; charge it. I don’t have a single emotional connection to money, but that’s unusual. Weaver’s shared enough with me as Echo that I know she has big dreams. When she talks about opening up a small youth hostel, she comes alive. The only thing standing in her way is money. That’s probably why she took the Sugar Girl job—lots of money, fast. I should have been more sensitive when I brought it up to her.
