Chapter Four
Mia
I smooth my hands down the tight plum leather skirt that sits halfway up my thigh. I’d paired it with a creamy white sweater that's tucked into the waistband, contrasting against the black of my hair, which I’d styled in loose waves.
I wasn’t afraid to admit I was nervous for this date.
I’d changed my outfit a few times before grabbing an Uber downtown to the restaurant named Neon.
It opened last year, and for a while, it was almost impossible to get a booking.
Now that the hype has calmed down, it seems like it has a little more availability.
I stand in the cool evening air, waiting for David to arrive.
I’d met him whilst on a run around Green Lake Park, and he’d approached me to tell me he thought I was really pretty.
Given the fact that I was bright red and sweating like a rooster right before sunrise, I thought I’d give it a shot.
I do have terrible taste in men, but David looked nice, even if he did wear those running sunglasses that made him look like someone out of Star Trek.
He’d looked so surprised when I said yes to a date, it was really endearing and although I don’t hold high hopes that it will be a love match, it has been a while since I’ve been on a date.
As Lana pointed out to me, I’ve been neglecting the bottom half of my body for some time and in her words, I should get some whilst I’m fit, flirty, and under thirty.
At least David is the total opposite of Alfie, my inappropriate crush of the moment, or at least the past three years.
For one, David is blond, he has that runner's build where he doesn’t have an ounce of body fat on him.
He is tall, so I guess he has that in common with Alfie.
God why can’t I stop thinking about Alfie? He’s my boss for god’s sake.
I still can’t believe he came to my apartment and apologized for the stalking / police / apparently we’re in a relationship situation.
Whatever the real reason, it’s frankly bonkers that he saw me in the hot pants that I wore to Mardi Gras one year because I was doing laundry.
And because he’s a gentleman, and a stickler for his own no-fraternization policy, he only looked at my bare thighs once during the entire encounter.
Maybe it’s a sign that my luck with men was about to change.
It isn’t that I have terrible luck, just one life-altering bad experience that has forever put me off men in any way, shape, or form.
A bad experience that had me running from my hometown at the age of eighteen with a vow to never look back.
I visit my little hometown, which is a few hours outside of Dallas, once a year, but I’ll avoid it for longer if I can.
Having the whole town know what you were up to at seventeen wasn’t a great debut into adulthood, but I can’t change it now.
It would be easier to change the minds of the people of Berry Brook, but you know what small towns are like; once you have a reputation for something, it’s stuck, and it’s not going to change.
David steps out of the front seat of his Uber and gives me a small wave.
He wears dark jeans and a bowling shirt, his colorful running glasses hanging over the shirt button.
I cringe a little, which I realize is quite judgmental.
I had hoped he might get a little more dressed up, especially given that Neon is a fancy restaurant, but it’s fine.
He seemed like a really nice guy when I met him, not pushy at all.
I give him an awkward wave, and he bounds over. “Mia, hi, wow…you look, wow.”
“Thanks, David, you look nice too.”
“Oh, thanks. My mom bought me this shirt especially.”
I laugh, and when I see him smiling and nodding, I realize it isn’t a joke. Okay…so his mom bought him a shirt. That’s fine. Not the worst thing in the world.
We enter the restaurant and approach the hostess.
As we wait in line, I take in the room. Neon lives up to its name.
Every cornice is fitted with a snug pink neon light that runs around the whole restaurant.
At points, it dips low on the wall and bends into the shape of words or a picture before snaking back up to the top.
Even the tables are glowing with the fluorescent light.
I watch people’s faces light up against the soft hum of pastels and a surge of excitement swoops in my stomach.
I’ve forgotten how fun it could be to dress up and go somewhere really unique.
“Hi, the reservation is under Mary,” David says.
“Oh, my name is Mia, but don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” I wink. Not ideal that he forgot my name, but hey, maybe he’s nervous.
“Mary is my mom’s name. She made the booking.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I remembered your name.”
Oh God.
Okay, so his mom helped him out with his clothes and his reservation. He’s obviously very close with his mom.
The hostess walks us over to our table as I scan the room for all available emergency exits in case this date goes south fast. David pulls me by the hand.
It’s a little presumptuous, but I don’t mind the feel of his large palm wrapped around mine.
It feels good for someone to be openly affectionate, even if it feels a little forced.
“Your server will be with you shortly.” She gestures to the table and returns to the hostess station.
I take a seat and look at the couple to our left.
Holy. Shit.
It’s Dr. Charlotte-Freaking-Buckingham.
Dr. Charlotte Buckingham is a renowned psychologist and the only heir to the Buckingham fortune. The family made their money from railways and steelworks, leading them to become one of the wealthiest families in North America. She was, by all accounts, an American princess.
I openly stare at her, and she gives me a small wave.
I raise my hand in response, mouth gaping.
I’m sitting maybe two feet away from her.
The Charlotte Buckingham. First woman in her family to study an actual profession with the intent of doing paid work.
It was uncouth, unseemly and, apparently, very nearly saw her struck out of the will for being so modern.
But Charlotte, from what I read, insisted on building her own legacy.
So she studied and started her practice under a pseudonym, determined to make a name for herself without the weight of her family name.
Once Vanity Fair did an exposé, the cat was out of the bag, and she began practicing under her given name.
Gosh, she’s amazing. If ever I were to fan-girl, it would be over this woman.
She’s a legend already, determined to build a practice that approaches modern concepts, not a one-size fits all mentality.
I turn to her date and almost choke.
Charlotte.
Lottie…is short for Charlotte. And that’s who Alfie took the phone call from on Saturday.
I had presumed he was seeing someone, which, honestly, was a little crushing considering my one-sided fantasy daydreams of him certainly don’t include a third person.
He’s never given me any indication that he’s found me remotely attractive, I mean aside from that quick glance at my thighs in my apartment, but why would he?
I’m just a student who happens to work for him and my thighs were out there, of course he was going to look.
And now, given that he’s on a date with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, it seems obvious he’s seeing someone as accomplished as her.
Her long blonde hair is highlighted with golden tones and swept over one shoulder. Her black off the shoulder dress fits her perfectly, and I watch as she takes a sip of her wine before glancing at Alfie.
“Dr. Adams,” I mutter in acknowledgment.
Could this get anymore embarrassing?
“Miss Sinclair.”
I watch as Dr. Buckingham frowns and glares at Alfie.
Oh God, she’s going to hate me because of how weird Alfie is being. I know that look. I know what she’s going to assume.
Alfie looks annoyed. Like I’ve ruined his date with the illustrious doctor, even though I was the one that said I was going out on a date tonight, not him.
How does this even happen? How did we end up at the same restaurant, let alone next to each other where the tables are jam-packed? We are essentially on a double date.
Date.
Shit, for a minute I forgot I was on one.
I look to David, who is eyeing me curiously.
“Sorry, what?” I blurt out.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your date, Miss Sinclair?” Alfie’s deep voice cuts through our conversation. He’s not loud at all, but David doesn’t miss a beat.
“You know them?” He eyes Alfie curiously before taking his sweet ass time, lingering his eyes up and down Dr. Buckingham. She coughs awkwardly, and I see Alfie’s nostrils flare. Wow. Okay. So, he’s more than a little protective of her.
“This is my boss actually,” I point to Alfie, “and this is his date, Dr. Charlotte Buckingham.” She doesn’t question how I know her name, she must get that a lot.
“Please, just Lottie.” She smiles at me, leaning across the table to place a warm palm on my forearm.
Okay…remain calm. Even though THE Dr. Charlotte Buckingham just asked you to call her Lottie.
“You might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
” David laughs, twisting to face her, as the table descends into an uncomfortable silence.
It’s like when your server says to enjoy your food and you respond with you too!
and you realize it doesn’t matter that you have a degree or you’ve studied for eight years at university.
You will be humbled repeatedly by the big blob of electric sludge living in your skull and its metaphorical tripping over its own feet.
And right now, whether he realizes it or not.
David is a victim of the electric sludge.