Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
After a very comfortable pampering session of all twenty of my nails and a painful half hour waxing session, I’m leaving the salon when the girl who waxed me yells after me.
I say a quiet ‘Thank you’ before turning around. Will stands in front of me, his cheeks bright red, his gaze on the piece of paper in my hands.
My cheeks match Will’s and I rush to put the card away in my bag.
“Sorry, I just wanted to say ‘Hi,’” he murmurs, obviously uncomfortable.
“Hi- of course, hi!” I respond, doing my best rendition of a parrot.
“How’ve you been?”
“Well,” I look back at the salon, “I’ve had better days. ”
He chuckles, and the surrounding awkwardness finally subsides.
“How’s Olivia?”
“She’s good. Great. Kayla?” My nether regions are on fire.
“She’s great, too.”
“That’s good.” I’m trying to be present in this conversation, but all I want is to curl up on my couch with a bag of frozen beans.
This is why I hate this shit.
“It was nice seeing you, but I have to get going.” I point a thumb in the direction of my car, unable to stand here any longer.
“Sure. I’ll leave you to it. Hope I’ll see you soon.” His gaze lingers for a second and warmth travels through me.
Maybe it’s the third-degree burns on my pussy, but it could, might as well, be him.
On Friday, when I pick the kids up from school, Asher’s full of energy, but I know introverted Olivia can’t wait for the weekend.
“Guess who’s taking care of you tonight?” A flash of fear appears in Liv’s eyes, and I swallow my guilt. “Aunt Sandy,” I say in my most saccharine voice.
Liv lets out a deep breath. Even though they are different, Liv adores her aunt.
“Yes!” Asher pumps his fist.
“Where are you going?” Liv asks.
“Umm, I have a thing in the city.”
“Like what you had last week?” Asher quips.
“Yeah, something like that,” I respond, but Olivia stares at me for a second too long.
I hate not being fully honest with them, but what would I even say?
I have a date with a random hot older guy? And he’s filthy rich? And I’ve had my lady parts waxed in case it leads to more? Nope. I think this works fine. Besides, it’s not like he’s picking me up, so they’ll see him.
Asher and Olivia are spending their screen time while Sandy helps me get ready. We decide on a little black dress she brought me.
“You’re sure it’s not too short?”
“For church, yes. For a date with a billionaire? Not short enough, to be honest.” I punch her shoulder playfully, and we both burst out laughing.
She clears her throat as I’m finishing up, getting my small black clutch ready. I turn around, noticing she has a stack of condoms in her hand.
“I’m aware it’s been a while, but these are condoms. Use them.”
I roll my eyes because she’s silly, but she forces them into my bag. It’s not like I actually plan to have sex with the man today, but the possibility sends flutters to my stomach.
My phone pings with a text.
Unknown number
The car is waiting out front.
Sandy squeals with excitement. “Ok, be safe, but have fun!”
“If he kidnaps and murders me, tell my kids I loved them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s rich. He could have you kidnapped without wining and dining you first. Besides, if he were into that, he probably wouldn’t aim for a 36-year-old divorced mom. Ouch,” she adds when I pinch her arm.
Oddly enough, her words bring me slight comfort.
She’s right. Unfortunately, with his net worth, he could probably have girls trafficked to him.
And if he were like that, he’d probably go for young girls barely out of their teens, like the rest of those creeps.
The thought makes me shudder. I mentally note to make another donation to the anti-sex trafficking organization and proceed to say goodbye to my children.
They barely notice me, focused on the show they’re watching, so I slip out with no further questions.
The car waiting for me is a black limousine.
The driver opens the door for me, and I get comfortable on the dark leather seats.
Everything inside screams luxury. Typically, I would open every compartment to check what’s in it, but I’m too anxious for that.
Rather, I grab a water bottle and slowly sip the water, willing myself to calm down.
When was the last time I was on an actual date?
I think it was almost four years ago. David did nothing for our anniversary.
I was hurt, and he acted dumb, asking, “Do we still celebrate it?” The next day, after the fight, he took me to a restaurant two blocks away from our house in Seattle.
It was distant and awkward, and he got mad because I was ‘acting out’.
I kept a cool expression, but my insides were burning with rage.
By the time the limousine arrives at its destination, I’ve gotten hot then cold a million times.
I’m surprised the car’s cooling system still works, considering the number of times I’ve turned it off, and back on again.
It didn’t stop the nervous sweats from appearing, but luckily my deodorant is doing God’s work.
We stop in front of a small French restaurant named La Nuit. I’ve never been here before, but I heard about it. It’s one of those impossible to get into places.
“Mr. Sterling is waiting for you inside,” the driver informs as I exit the limousine.
My heels click on the pavement, and I take a deep breath. Let’s do this.
The hostess points me toward the table, but I would have no trouble finding it on my own, considering there’s only about ten tables in the whole place.
Also, my date demands attention, his gaze set firmly on me.
Not wanting to get caught up in him, my eyes travel the space.
Manicured topiaries separate the tables, giving the place an outside feel.
The walls and ceilings are intricately molded, replicating old mansions and castles, while crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room .
I approach the table, but Leo doesn’t get up. His jaw is set in stone as his eyes roam my body, freely and shamelessly. Goosebumps prickle my skin. His hand gestures for me to sit.
Oookay. I guess chivalry is dead after all.
I take a seat across from him. The table is set with more cutlery than I could possibly ever need. Sandy would get a kick out of this, so I start counting the pieces, but he clears his throat, demanding my attention.
“I’m glad you could join me,” he says, with a low, gravelly voice.
I simply nod in response. The man, though lacking in basic etiquette, is truly mesmerizing.
Thick hair, covered in grays, bone structure that could be a sculptor’s muse, broad shoulders covered in expensive fabric.
Even his wrinkles look like they were painted on, somehow making him more attractive.
He pours me a glass of red wine, filling the roundest of the three crystal glasses in front of me.
“Oh, I don’t really drink red…” I start to say, but he interrupts.
“Try it. This Bordeaux is a work of art.” He quickly dismisses me.
I lift the glass carefully and take a small sip. It’s … red wine. Just like the ones I don’t like.
Still, I dip my head politely, showing my appreciation for it.
“Told you. Stick with me, and you will learn a thing or two.” He shoots me a sexy smirk, but his words rub me the wrong way.
They’re condescending. Sandy will be glad to know we have another trope covered—alpha hole. But no matter how fun they are in novels; his tone and demeanor do nothing for me.
“Hmm,” is the only thing that leaves my mouth, along with it pulling into a fake smile. I know, in my bones, that fighting him on this would be futile.
The server arrives, bringing two plates with barely any food on them. He introduces the meal in French, but I only recognize foie gras. I guess I’m not choosing my meal tonight, not that it comes as a surprise.
“So, Sadie, tell me about yourself.” Once again, his words aren’t a question, they are a demand.
“Oh, I’m divorced and have two amazing kids.” I smile, thinking about Asher and Olivia. “I’m also a romance author, which you already know.” Trying not to think too hard about it, I busy myself with cutting the foie gras.
“Yes. I find the themes in some of your books really interesting.” His eyes darken, boring into me, and a chill creeps over me.
“I wouldn’t peg you for a romance guy.” I try to break the tension.
“Oh, it’s not romance I’m talking about. Some of the scenes you write…” His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “It’s refreshing to see a woman so in tune with her desires. I would love to recreate some of those scenes with you.”
My cheeks flush as I almost choke on the disgusting red wine.
I shoot him a polite smile before breaking eye contact.
My gaze falls to my plate, and I push the food around, trying to force myself to at least try it.
I’m not much of a foodie, but I know parts of the world banned foie gras because of animal cruelty, which makes my stomach churn.
“Not hungry?” he asks.
“Not really, no.”
He snaps his fingers impolitely, and the server rushes to the table.
“We’re ready for the second course,” Leo tells him, not even looking at him.
Oh God, there’ll be more courses.
The entrée is a black truffle risotto, so at least no suffering animals.
I pick the fork that looks appropriate and bring some risotto to my lips.
The truffle taste is so pungent and overpowering, a wave of nausea hits me.
I barely manage to keep it down. Seems like my sweet spot with French food is croissants .
Sipping my wine, I try to wash out the woody taste of the truffles, but the wine isn’t any good, either.
“Are you feeling ok?” he asks, and I do my best to put on a poker face.
“Yup. Inhaled some rice.”
“Good. I would hate for you to not be ready for what I have planned afterwards.” His lip curls in an attempt of a sexy smirk, but it makes my skin crawl.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not really feeling well.” I pat my mouth using the napkin, as if I consumed some food to wipe off.
“Look.” He pins me with his stare. “I know the conversation’s been somewhat dry, but I think we would really be a good fit sexually.” A shiver crawls up my spine. “I was trying to be a gentleman with this whole dinner thing.” He lifts his hands in surrender motion.
“Yes, thank you for that.” I sigh. “Unfortunately, I don’t really feel it between us … sexually.” I add on a whisper. “So I think I better get going.”
“I’m the one who got you a ride,” he sneers, obviously not used to hearing no.
“I’ll make do.” Dropping my napkin onto the table, I stand up from the chair. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Sterling,” I bite out.
I walk out of that place with the soundtrack of soft classical music and my beating heart. A relieved breath whooshes out of me as I close the door behind me.
I need to get an Uber. I also need to get away from here, in case he leaves, too. Starting left, I notice a burger joint two blocks down.
Fuck, I’m starving .
I order a chicken burger with fries before dialing my sister’s phone.
“The age gap billionaire’s not it,” I say as soon as she picks up.
“Why? What happened? ”
“Just scratch him off. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“Are the kids asleep?” I ask, dropping my heels as soon as I enter the house.
“Of course. What happened? You got stood up?”
“No. But it might have been better if I was.” I collapse on the couch. “Get me some alcohol. I’m begging you.”
She rushes to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of tequila and a single shot glass.
“You’re not joining me?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Driving. Now spill.” She pours me a shot and I down it, my face grimacing.
“Mr. Billionaire is a creep.” Her eyes snap up to mine, concerned. “Nothing happened. He didn’t touch me,” I correct myself. “But he was interested in me because he liked the sex scenes in my books and wanted to recreate them with me.”
Her nose wrinkles with disgust. “He told you that?”
“Yup. After he ordered me red wine and foie gras.”
Sandy winces. “How was it?”
“The wine? Disgusting. And I haven’t even touched the food.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that. Especially for your first date after so long. But look on the bright side—it can only go up from here,” Sandy, the eternal optimist, responds.
“Really? Seeing as I’m thinking it could be even worse.” I down another shot before continuing, “Like a creepy guy who’s too cheap to even pay for my ride.”
“At least you wouldn’t be eating foie gras and he’d be all up for ordering you a cheap tequila instead of an expensive red wine.”
I huff a laugh. “I guess you’re right. The funny thing is, I really looked forward to having sex. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Now I’m back to square one.”
“I guess he looked forward to the same thing,” she deadpans, making me snort.
“Maybe he’s sitting at home, drowning his sorrows about not having me.”
Sandy nods profusely. “He should. He definitely should.”
She and I both know that there is a 90% chance that the next victim is already in his bed, enamored by the good looks, or money, or power. I hope he doesn’t hurt her, one way or another.