Chapter 14 Ethan
Ethan
“Well, that went horribly,” I say, closing my office door behind us.
“Yep,” Margot agrees, dropping into the chair in front of my desk. “Am I crazy, or was his answer to that last question completely unhinged?”
I take a seat across from her and toss my notes from the interview we just held directly into the trash. “Why do you think I ended the interview so abruptly? I’m going to have a talk with HR about their vetting process before we agree to any more interviews.”
“Seriously, where are they finding these candidates? Their taste in marketing directors is worse than my taste in men on that stupid dating app.”
I smile at this, partially because it’s true and partially because it’s the perfect segue into another topic I’d like to discuss with her. However, when I wet my lips to speak again, something gives me pause.
Over the past few weeks, Margot and I have solidified our friendship—not just at work, but in our personal lives as well.
It’s a big change for us, but I can’t imagine getting through these last few weeks without her.
Without knowing it, she’s really helped me through this transition with Sophia.
And now, I want to help Margot as well. The only problem is that my idea pushes the boundaries of our newfound friendship, and I have no idea how she’ll react to my suggestion.
“Speaking of that, I’ve been thinking about your date.”
“That’s funny. I’ve been trying not to think about it,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think, but it’s hard to diagnose the problem without seeing it with my own eyes.”
Margot scoffs. “Apparently, I’m the problem, and I’m right here. Take a good look.”
“Right, but I need to see you in action.” Well, that’s a terrible choice of words. “On a date, I mean.”
Eyeing me skeptically, she asks, “What do you propose then? Some sort of sophisticated spy equipment? Or maybe you could hide inside an artificial plant and eavesdrop on my next date? It’s going to have to be a pretty big plant though…
” Her gaze drifts over me like she’s sizing me up for an appropriately sized fake Ficus.
“I think we should go on a practice date.”
Margot’s eyes widen. After a few long, quiet seconds, she asks, “You mean a double date, right? With other people?”
Actually, that would make a lot of sense. Why didn’t I think of that? I mull the idea over in my head, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me, so I stick to my original plan.
“No, I mean a date with each other.”
Her eyes flick over my face, looking for any sign that I’m joking. When she realizes I’m not, Margot swallows hard enough that I hear it from across the desk.
“Not a real date, of course,” I add. “More like a coaching session.”
My nerves tick under my skin. I’m not sure if it’s because I think she might say no, or because I’m worried that I’ve just crossed a line that might do irreparable damage to our friendship.
In my head, this seemed like an easy and obvious solution, but now I’m wondering if it’s anything but easy or obvious.
She’s taking forever to respond, which only makes me more nervous.
“You can say no, of course,” I tell her. “I won’t be offended.”
“No, it’s not that. I think it’s a good idea, and I want to, but…”
Another long pause follows.
“But what?”
“I’m just not sure how well it will work,” she admits.
“My biggest problem is that I’m too quiet around new people.
It takes me a while to open up, and they think I’m either uninteresting or just uninterested in them.
But I’m already comfortable around you, so I’m not sure the same problem would present itself. ”
The band of tension squeezing my chest loosens a little. Of course, Margot is just being her normal, practical self, and she makes a valid point.
“I’ll figure something out,” I tell her. “How’s Friday night?”
She nods, looking nervous but excited. “I’m free Friday.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at eight. Now, do you want to stay and listen to me chew out the HR rep who selected the guy we just interviewed?”
She laughs. “I’d love to, but I have some other work to finish up.”
I nod, and Margot stands, collecting her paperwork and pen from my desk. She crosses the room but pauses with her hand resting on the door handle.
“Thank you, Ethan,” she says. “I really do appreciate it.”
***
When I arrive at Margot’s apartment on Friday night, I’m fully prepared for her to laugh at my ridiculous disguise.
She had a good point about already being too comfortable with me.
If we’re going to practice bringing her out of her shell, I figured it would help if I played the role of someone else.
Adjusting my fake mustache, I knock on her door. The lock clicks and the door opens slowly. My amused smile fades the second I lay eyes on Margot.
She’s wearing a little red dress. The neckline is cut straight across, dipping low enough to reveal the soft swell of her cleavage.
It hugs her waist and barely grazes the tops of her thighs.
My eyes rake down her body, taking in every inch of her pale skin.
The way I stare is completely inappropriate, so I try to force my eyes up to meet hers, but they catch on her lips instead.
They look full and plump under a layer of red lipstick that matches her dress.
“H-hi,” I stammer.
You’d swear I had never seen tits before. Hers aren’t even all that big or all that exposed, but this is more of Margot than I’ve ever seen before. Apparently, my dick didn’t get the memo about this being a fake date.
Then, she snorts.
Her laughter makes her breasts heave and strain against the tight fabric of the dress. It does nothing to resolve the situation in my pants.
Since when does having a woman laugh at me so hard that she snorts turn me on? Is this some sort of new humiliation kink that I’ve just stumbled upon?
“What are you wearing?” Margot asks, still laughing.
Right, the disguise. I am dressed like a weird idiot while Margot is dressed like… that. This is off to a great start.
“I remembered what you said about already feeling comfortable around me, so I thought maybe a disguise might help, but it was a bad idea.”
I reach up to pull off the fake mustache, but Margot’s hand reaches for mine, stopping me. The physical contact sends a little electric buzz through me. Our eyes clash, and I can’t help but wonder if she felt it too.
“Leave it,” she says, smiling up at me. “I like this look on you.”
There’s no way that’s true. Not only am I wearing a ridiculous fake mustache, but also an unnecessary pair of black-framed glasses and a dorky gray button-up sweater.
Her hand drops away from mine, but her smile lingers. “It makes you less intimidating.”
“You think I’m intimidating?” I ask.
“On a date? Absolutely.”
Margot turns on her heel, giving me my first view of her ass in that dress, as she strides across the room to grab her purse.
My throat goes dry, and my erection threatens to make itself obvious.
This sort of thing does not happen to me.
Ever. It must be the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in weeks.
And we’re not getting laid tonight either, I remind my dick. This isn’t real.
Taking a step into her mostly empty living room, I clear my throat and ask, “New dress?”
Margot lets out a small laugh, still distracted by gathering her phone and lipstick and putting them in her purse. “I only had one date dress, and it was inextricably tied to the memory of Jeremy and I breaking up. I figured it was time for something new.”
“It’s nice.”
This, of course, is an understatement.
She scrunches up her nose and tugs the bottom hem down while doing a little shimmy. “I’m not sure it’s really my style, but I didn’t have much time to shop.”
“Margot,” I say sternly, finally drawing her attention away from her handbag. “You look amazing.”
She blushes, tucking a strand of glossy dark hair behind her ear and glancing down at the beige carpet. “Thanks,” she says quietly.
“Ready to go?”
She nods and slides the strap of her bag onto her shoulder.
I take her to Beaumont’s, an upscale bar near my house. It’s far enough from the office that I doubt we’ll run into anyone we know. Fake or not, we don’t need people gossiping about seeing Margot and I together.
Beaumont’s is the perfect spot for a first date. The ambiance is sultry without feeling forced. Dark mahogany lines the walls and flickering candles cast a warm glow. Soft music drifts through the space, loud enough to fill the silence, but not enough to drown out conversation.
We take a seat on two tufted leather barstools beside the large copper bar top.
Margot glances around the dimly lit room.
Her eyes pause on a few women, as if she’s checking to make sure that she’s dressed appropriately.
Everyone here is dressed up, but Margot still stands out in her red dress.
I notice a few men glancing in her direction then quickly over at me, sizing me up before looking away to take another sip of their drinks.
She cleans up well. Clearly, that’s not part of her problem.
“This place is nice,” Margot says, still looking around, but completely oblivious to the attention any other men are giving her. Her gaze drops to the small cocktail menu in front of her, and her eyes flare wide. “… and expensive. Definitely no Pbr on tap here,” she mutters with a mild laugh.
“Well, if you’re in the mood for Pbr, there’s a biker bar on the east side of town.”
She scrunches up her nose dramatically. “I’m not really much of a beer drinker.”
She further illustrates this point by ordering a glass of Malbec when the bartender stops by. I order a whiskey and hand him my card before Margot gets any ideas about paying for herself. True to form, Margot starts digging in her massive bag of wonders for her own card to hand over as well.
“I got it,” I tell her.
Margot’s eyes flick to mine, looking uncertain. “But if this were a real date, I would offer to pay my share. I don’t want to feel like I owe my date something at the end of the night.”
“First lesson of dating: if the guy offers to pay, let him. If he makes you feel like you owe him something because of it, walk away feeling good about the fact that you wasted nothing but an hour of your time. But this isn’t a real date, and you have a spreadsheet full of upcoming furniture purchases to make, so I’m paying tonight. ”
“Okay,” Margot relents, withdrawing her hand from her purse. “Thank you.”
The bartender returns with our drinks, and we each take a sip.
“Oh, I almost forgot: the purchasing department finally got back to me about those POs…”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “No work talk tonight. We’re supposed to be strangers on a first date.”
“Right,” she says, taking another quick sip of her wine.
I lean back against the seat and flash a casual smile her way.
Margot’s posture is rigid, as if even the words “first date” have stretched her nerves tight under her skin.
She fidgets with the stem of her wine glass and gives me a weird, forced smile.
There’s no way my horrible disguise is working that well.
Or at all, if we’re being honest. If she’s this nervous just pretending to be on a date with me, I can’t imagine how nervous she gets on a real first date with a complete stranger.
“So, Margot, tell me about yourself,” I say to break the ice.
She looks amused, and slightly appalled, by my question.
“What?” I ask.
“I just thought you’d have a more creative opening line than that.”
I laugh. “Oh, I do, but most guys don’t, so you should have your answer ready.”
“Okay,” she nods, mulling it over slowly. “Well, I spend most of my money on books and most of my time at work.”
It’s a good answer, concise but informative, but I don’t break character to tell her so. We can go over some notes later.
“Oh yeah? What do you do for work?” I ask instead.
“I’m an executive assistant for an outdoor recreation supply company.”
Okay, slightly vague, but I suppose it’s not the worst idea to keep the company name a secret until she knows the guy a little better.
“Do you like working there?” I press, trying to keep her talking.
“Yes.”
I know she’s not lying, but she fails to elaborate any further. Holding her gaze, I cock an eyebrow at her, hoping she takes it as a cue to keep talking. Instead, she takes a large gulp from her wine glass and looks anywhere but directly at me.
I try again. “You must get a great employee discount. Do you enjoy camping and hiking?”
She looks at me like I just coughed up a hairball into her wine glass. “Not really.”
Okay, that’s… something. I wait for more, but Margot just shifts nervously in her seat instead.
“I think I’m starting to see the problem here,” I say.
“See? I told you I’m weird with all this first date stuff. I hate talking about myself. I just feel so awkward.”
She deflates a little, adjusting her glasses on her nose.
It kills me to see her looking so lost and hopeless.
Margot is a perfectionist. When she perceives that she’s done something wrong, she’s way too hard on herself.
I’ve seen it at work, and I see it right now.
She’s disengaging, too lost in her own self-destructive thoughts to remain present in the moment.
Clearly, this isn’t working.
“Okay, new plan,” I announce.