Chapter 9 #2
Our waiter shows up at our side, handing me a menu. I cock an eyebrow and after a grunt, Kaplan nods.
I glance quickly at the menu, ordering the first thing my eyes touch that sounds like something I’d like—a lot of this is in Italian—along with a glass of whatever Kaplan is drinking because he said he wants me to stay.
And he looks like he’s on his last shred of patience and sanity.
I’m not his friend anymore. I’m not that teenage girl who missed her brother and clung to his best friend.
I’m an assistant he hasn’t been coy about saying he wants to get rid of.
But I know what that lonely, lost look in his eyes feels like too and I don’t want that for him.
Even if I’m still insanely hurt and dejected and furious and well, lying by omission over our past. The Bunny that still lives in my heart wants to believe he had his reasons for ghosting me and that they were valid.
The new Bianca wants his nuts on a platter for the pain it caused so I don’t plan to be nice over dinner. Just here so he’s not alone. A girl’s gotta eat anyway.
“You make art?”
“I make art. And you fix babies’ hearts.
” I grin at how that sounds, not quite a rhyme, but not bad either.
I shouldn’t be grinning but I am. I don’t remember him as this surly or good-looking for that matter, but then again, I was fifteen and my heart and mind were shattered.
I didn’t care how he looked; it wasn’t like that between us.
He was like another brother to me. A friend I didn’t have anywhere else.
But now it’s impossible not to notice. Especially as his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and there is ink on his forearms I’m seeing for the first time. Sexy fucking ink at that. All black and fierce and telling a story I haven’t heard and don’t know but wouldn’t mind learning.
You know, if he were a different man.
“If you make art, why did my mother hire you?”
I snicker just as my wine is delivered and a bottle is placed on the empty table beside us.
Clearly this waiter can tell we’ll need refills.
“You don’t have to say I make art like I’m a six-year-old presenting a stick figure I just drew in crayon.
I’m an artist with a bachelor’s in fine arts from UCLA.
I’m a sculptor who uses metal as her medium. ”
He ripples in agitation, his hands on the edge of the wood table like he’s waiting on a verdict that will determine his fate. I decide to cut him some slack.
“I honestly have no clue why your mother hired me. I ran into the hotel bathroom a mess. You saw me.” I point at him.
“She arrived almost immediately after and offered me a makeup remover wipe. I cried my life story to her, much as I did with you, and somehow, she told me there was a job and I would be perfect for it. I have the right degrees, I think. It’s also come to my attention that I don’t look like Jenny, so there would be no temptation on your part.
” I throw my hands up when his eyes narrow at me.
“You can glare all you want, but you know that’s part of it.
I don’t look anything like the women you’ve been seen dating.
Nothing like that Millie Van Der Heusen.
Regardless, I had no clue you were part of that package or even that she was your mother until I saw the card she handed me. ”
“But once you did, you still accepted the position.”
I take a sip of my wine, and wow fucking wow, that’s good .
I don’t care about money most days and I’m certainly not going to bring it up now, but damn.
That’s got to be expensive. I normally enjoy living a regular life.
My place in LA before this was small and I had a roommate—my fucking cheating, lying cousin until my cheating, lying fiancé moved in with us.
I had a car that was my first stepfather’s old Mercedes G-Wagon.
My one vice has always been shoes and clothes and I don’t care or make apologies for it.
But I don’t typically spend a lot on food or wine.
Kaplan Fritz clearly does if the prices on the menu in the sold-out restaurant I just ordered from and the taste of this wine are anything to go by.
“Listen, Kaplan. Straight deal? I’m an artist. It’s my passion.
But I also need to keep busy. It’s the ADHD in me.
So if you’re going to be a total asshole and eventually fire me when you’re able to, then I should just cut my losses now.
I thought I was going to be working for your mother, not you.
I don’t need the aggravation or headache of you.
I like the foundation. I like the work it does because it’s important work.
I like the majority of the people I work with.
I’d like to stay, but if that’s truly not what you want, I’ll go and find something else to fill my hours. ”
There. Cards on the table.
His eyes are all over me, more of that untouchable, impassive mask he’s so good at wearing.
It makes me jittery, itchy in my skin in both a good and a bad way.
Any woman on the receiving end of his scrutiny would feel the same because the man is beautiful and intense.
A touch mysterious with a sexy hint of bad boy.
So my reaction to him is just a byproduct of his natural, raw sex appeal and nothing more.
Sitting here with him is a mistake. I know this. I’m not naive. He has a power he doesn’t even realize he wields over me and that’s dangerous. I’m not running or hiding either and I’m not using excuses. I don’t know what I’m hoping for with this, but I will see it through.
After an eternity of silence, he says, “Bianca. Do you have any clue what you’re doing in this role?”
“Not exactly,” I answer honestly. “But I’m learning and I’m smart and I wouldn’t have agreed or stayed if I didn’t think I could do this. Why are you so anxious to replace me?”
He studies me for another moment as our salads are placed in front of us. “Have you heard from your ex-fiancé?” he asks without answering my question. That seems to be his jam.
“Yes.” I lift my salad fork and pierce a tomato, shoveling it into my mouth along with a few pieces of arugula, chewing thoughtfully.
“And does he miss you?”
“Wouldn’t you? I’m a total catch.” I wink cheekily but he’s unamused, waiting for a real answer I have no desire to give him. He hasn’t earned anything extra from me. Why I came into this restaurant, why I sat down across from him is beyond me.
I don’t like the emotions he’s intentionally trying to provoke.
I thought I would have a different life. I thought I would be a different woman. I’d marry the guy and… I would have been miserable. I would have been my mother. I know that now. But that doesn’t take away the hurt of everything.
“Kaplan,” I start, loading more salad onto my fork now that he’s started to do the same.
“Tomorrow I’m buying a car. Sunday I’m moving into an apartment not far from here.
I’m taking this one day at a time, but I plan on staying and seeing this through.
I don’t care about your money, and I don’t want to fuck you.
Honestly, I’d rather not have much to do with you personally if I can help it.
Do you think that’s something you can handle or not? ”