King of Players: An Opposites Attract Romance (Billionaire Kings of New York Book 3)

11. Doing The Dance

eleven

Kaira

“Of course.” Chad’s voice conveyed belief, while the look on his face carried plenty of curiosity. “So… care to share?”

I sucked the air through the cigarette, reveling in how that little stick added flavor to a tasteless element of nature. I also used those couple of seconds to contemplate his question. “Will it be an issue if I don’t?”

He smiled, leaning forward and shaking his head, hanging it low. “Nope. Like you said, you don’t really know me. But you do like me enough to take the time to talk to me.” Raising his gaze to meet mine, he maintained his smile. “And I know it’s late. And I know you’ve had a long day. But you don’t seem sleepy yet.”

Tilting my head, I narrowed my eyes. “Meaning?”

“We can easily mitigate the issue of you not knowing me. How about I take you to a really late dinner?”

My eyes instantly went from narrow to painfully wide. “R—Right now?”

I watched him hold up his phone, evidently to check the time. “If you don’t mind.”

“The only places open at this hour would be bars and clubs.”

“And a humble little joint I own,” he said.

“You own a restaurant?”

“One of the many private truths the media vultures haven’t figured out just yet.”

I smiled, once again feeling forced to ponder a suggestion of his. “Okay. This means that nobody should be bothering us, right? I mean… since you own the place.”

“Bother us?”

“Well.” I shrugged, looking away. “Let me rephrase that; I don’t want anyone at the foundation suspecting anything.”

Although the expression on his face slightly stiffened for a fraction of a second, he managed to skilfully change it into a grin. “It’ll be like our little private black hole, I promise.”

“Alright.” I stood up, leaning to put out my cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “Let me go freshen up.”

“Take your time.”

Walking back into the house, I could feel his gaze watching me leave. As soon as I was inside and away from the glass, I practically ran upstairs, feeling my stomach attempt to contain butterflies I thought I had long tamed. If anyone had suggested to my grandmother that Kaira would have been accepting an impromptu dinner date with an actor this late at night, she would have fallen from her chair laughing.

But here I was, checking my appearance in the mirror, adding a touch of color to my lips, and fixing my hair.

It wasn’t long before I was in Chad’s car with him behind the wheel, speeding away. An unfamiliar genre of music softly seeped through the speakers. A lot of the words sounded French, while a few of the instruments sounded completely alien to me. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing at the player.

“Oh, the décor in your house sort of put me in a mood.” He chuckled. “His name is Khaled. He’s Algerian.”

“Do you understand what he’s saying?”

“Not even remotely.” Laughing again, he shook his head. “But sometimes we need to challenge our minds, even if it means letting our imagination run wild with what things could mean.”

“He could be singing about war or violence on the streets,” I argued.

“There’s beauty in that, too.”

I smacked my lips. “I guess? As an actor, I’m sure you try to see things differently.”

“As an intelligent human being, I’m certain you’re capable of the same.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t find beauty in war.”

“You can’t imagine what it’s like… when a man’s under fire, and his life’s on the line? The kind of thoughts that go through his mind? He may simply be scared for his life, or he could be wondering what he’s doing there at all, fighting a battle that really isn’t his.”

“I’m pretty sure he’d be scared for his life. The whole… romanticizing of suffering just isn’t my forte.”

“You don’t think that, in a way, sex is a painful experience?”

My heart started to race. “Whatever you mean by that.”

“The French call orgasm ‘la petite mort’… ‘the little death’, and I think in whichever way you look at that; it does entail a little suffering.”

“They call it that, because it’s a transient moment of loss or weakening of consciousness.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know about you, but the mere vulnerability in that can be terrifying.”

“Never expected to hear this from a man.” For some reason, I couldn’t help being honest. I immediately regretted it.

“Why? Because we’re always so strong? Tough as nails?”

“Because I’m not used to men being so honest about their vulnerabilities, especially to women they don’t know.”

“My mind doesn’t work the same way yours does, Kaira. I already think I know you enough to be fairly open with you.”

“That contradicts every value by which a celebrity should live.”

“I didn’t say I do that with every woman in my life.”

After that harsh reminder that I was only ‘another woman’ caught temporarily in his orbit, I chose to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the ride. When he finally pulled over, I nearly missed the place. A red door was opened, and a young man came out, smiling and walking toward Chad’s side. After opening the door for him, he took the key and then sprinted over toward me, grabbing the door before I even cracked it open.

We walked in through the little door, and as if they had been expecting us, we were approached by someone to grab my shawl, and another who was clearly the host. My eyes quickly scanned the place, which was much bigger than the impression the narrow entrance had created. Nearly all the tables were full, and the bustling noise of a busy restaurant transformed the fabric of time. Suddenly, it felt like eight o’clock on a Friday night.

“Wow.” I tittered. “Best kept secret. I agree.”

As I observed the way Chad behaved around me—and towards me—I recalled something an old boyfriend had once said. “It’s easy for any man to learn all the socially prescribed manners to impress a woman; open a door for her, pull a chair, bend over to retrieve something she dropped. But it’s impossible for him to be anything but himself in the bedroom, because if that happens, his cover will be blown upon the very first time.”

The thing was; I had already experienced Chad Niles in the bedroom, and now I was watching him embody that social mold, as if he had forgotten. I had already slept with him. I was already attracted to him. He wasn’t doing any of these things to impress me—it was his nature. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why women fell at his feet.

I was pulled out of the pool of my thoughts when I heard him ask, “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

At that moment, I realized that I had already been holding the menu in my hands, staring mindlessly at the first page that provided a quick backstory of the restaurant. “Uh—No. I eat pretty much everything.”

“Well, the selection here is limited. It’s mostly Italian. Only exception is burgers.”

“I’ll have the bruschetta.” I closed the menu and coolly placed it down.

He snorted. “So much for eating everything.”

“I’m not really all that hungry.”

His smile changed form as he looked into my eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Agreeing to give me more of your time.”

I didn’t know why his expression of gratitude rendered me awkward. Looking away, I pretended to adjust something in the strap of my shoe so I could bend over and avoid eye contact. “Come on, Chadwick. I wasn’t sleepy, and you asked nicely.”

After we placed our order, Chad placed his elbows on the table, propping his chin over his fist as he relentlessly stared at me. “So, tell me. How did you wind up in the charity business?”

“My family. My grandmother, to be more specific. I thought you knew that.”

“And what did you want to do? Before all of that?”

“I was always into giving back, I suppose.” I shifted in my seat, trying to summon ‘Date Kaira’ and feeling hopelessly shaky about it. “Volunteering at school, university, church.”

“Ah. What was your major?”

“I actually changed majors a few times.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Humanitarian aid, philosophy, literature…”

“Wow.” He chuckled.

Leaning forward, I infused my eyes with a playful look. “To let out a secret that the media vultures haven’t figured out yet? I never actually graduated.”

With his eyes wide and mouth agape, he produced a theatrical gasp. He then quickly waved with a hand, shrugging it off. “It’s overrated.”

“And what about you? When did you know that you wanted to act?”

“At school, actually. I tell people that I voluntarily joined the theater crew, but in reality? It was a punishment imposed by my mother.”

“How come?”

“She was afraid I spent too much time playing video games. She panicked, like any mother who listened to television shrinks talk about the damaging effects of graphic violence on young minds.”

I laughed. “And so she shoved you onto a stage? Couldn’t you have played a sport or joined a book club?”

“None of those—according to my mom—required the discipline that theater did. To read a book, you’re alone in your room. And no matter what you were feeling, if you’re playing ball, you call, yell, and scream and hit the opposing players.” He paused. “But acting is different. It forces you to smile when you feel like shouting, or scream when you really can’t be bothered.”

“She sounds insightful.”

“Right? Awesome mom.”

I was beginning to relax as we started to exchange personal truths. Reaching for my glass of water, I asked, “And how did she react when you told her that you wanted to be an actor full-time?”

“You know? It never actually happened like that. First, it was some scout who needed a teenage boy for a commercial. Then, it was a pop music video. After that, I started getting modeling offers, and my mom was proud that at such a young age, I had the full understanding of what it took to earn my own allowance.”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad… a quiet thinker who preferred peace. He never cared, as long as everyone was fine, and no fights disrupted the household.”

I nodded. “Interesting.”

“What about you?”

“What? My parents?” I noticed his smile fade as he surely realized—too late—that his question was misplaced. I wanted to put him out of his misery.

“Well, I—” I shrugged. “From what I remember and what I was told, they were nice people. Never really got to know them, so the stories should do for now.”

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine! C’mon.” I laughed. “It was a lifetime ago, I don’t even…” My voice faded before I could tell him a lie. Something urged me to speak the truth. “I don’t really miss them. But I feel like I missed out on the whole experience of having parents, you know?”

He nodded. “You had your grandparents, though.”

“I did. And as grateful as I am for everything they did for me, I can’t help but feel that… there’s a dissonance, you know? The generation that raised me and the one I belong to—they’re light years apart, and I’m in the middle, still trying to find my grounds.”

His smile returned, this time radiating kindness. “I think you’re doing really well.”

“You think?” I tried to make my laugh sound as airy as possible.

Thankfully, I was also saved by the waiter who brought our food.

For the rest of our time at the restaurant, I couldn’t help but wonder what the real Chadwick Niles was like. Underneath these layers of politeness, courtesy, and going by the book. I was dying to see him transition to the point of reaching his true target.