5. Wiley
FIVE
Wiley
I don’t know how I let Ines talk me into going on this date. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d already made my way to the restaurant in the ridiculously short dress she insisted I wear. I’d be in a ride share on the way home. It’s not the only thing stopping me. I can’t lay all the blame on Ines; I know she’s only trying to help.
I’ve been…less than amenable lately. Okay, I’ve been a downright miserable bitch. Ever since meeting Asher Scott, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. He is under my skin so deep and I have no idea what to do about it.
Fighting with this stupid dress, yanking it down for the umpteenth time since I got here, I check my phone. The perfect gentleman Ines set me up with is late, and not just five minutes. People walking past keep giving me the weird eye and let’s not start on the pitying eye the people inside the restaurant are offering up.
“He’s perfect for you,” I mutter to myself, mimicking Ines. “A gentleman when you need him to be, and I’ve heard an animal in the bedroom.”
I’d settle for a kebab in my trackies right now. I don’t care if Ronald Withers can afford to take me to the fanciest place in town. And I couldn’t give two shits about how long you have to wait to get into The Stuffed Duck— stupidest name for a restaurant considering they serve only vegan food. If I’m being completely honest with myself, a certain dark-haired, green-eyed, super-sexy hottie is all I can think about.
It’s probably fair to say that I already stalked all his socials prior to the photo book shoot. He’d already captured my attention on the footy field. Saying I was devastated when the Rays ended his contract prematurely because of a scandal I could never quite bring myself to believe is an understatement. The Rays might be my team, but I could see myself swapping to follow him. And it’s not like the Dingoes are a bad team, just new, and four hours away.
Watching Asher on the field from afar is one thing. Seeing him up close, like can touch him up close, and personal, only solidified the attraction. It was more than a simple attraction, too. At least it felt like that to me. For all I know he was just being nice. Flirting with the hired help. Following him on all his socials isn’t going to make him see me. Hell, he doesn’t even know my name.
“Get a grip, Wiles. He’s outta your league and you’re nothing to him,” I berate myself under my breath, checking my phone again.
“I know, I know. I’m late.” A voice says close by and I look up to see a handsome man with chiselled features heading towards me. “I’m so sorry, I’m never usually late. That meeting took a turn I wasn’t expecting. You look beautiful, by the way.”
He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, I think, but I swat him away and take two steps backward. I must look like a stunned mullet because he slaps a hand to his forehead, sighing.
“I seem to be apologising a lot already. Can we start again? I’m Ronald. Ronald Withers the Third.” He holds out a hand for me to shake and I stare at it and back up to his face.
Ines thought it would be better if this was more like a blind date and we didn’t know what the other looked like. Obviously, Ronald Withers the Third didn’t get that memo.
“Ah, hi,” I finally manage, slipping my hand into his. “I’m?—”
“Wiley,” he rumbles, bringing my hand up to his mouth and kissing it, devouring the rest of my body with his hooded gaze. “I must say, you’re far more beautiful in person.”
“Oh, um, I’d repay the compliment, but I had no idea what you looked like to compare.” I have no idea what Ines told good old Ronny about me, but he’s already lost points with me. If he thinks that being the third anything impresses me, he’s got a lot to learn.
“Again, I’m sorry. I know Ines wanted our meeting to be a surprise, but I’m not a fan of surprises. You know?” He shrugs, as if he didn’t just insult me and I extricate the hand he hasn’t let go of.
“No, I don’t know,” I mutter, trying not to make it obvious that I want to wipe my hand.
He’s got these intense brown eyes, the colour kind of reminds me of the sherry my nanny used to enjoy after dinner. The way he looks me up and down, I can believe he’s an animal in the bedroom. Maybe just not the kind of animal I’m after.
“Well, shall we go in and eat?” he offers, waving a hand toward the door.
After a moment’s indecision and a huge smattering of doubt, I nod. “Sure.”
The ornate front doors of The Stuffed Duck are opened for us and we take the two short flights of stairs up to the actual restaurant. Ronald’s hand on the small of my back, guiding me, as if I’m gonna tumble down the stairs, sits high on my creepy meter. I admit, I enjoy touch. Small intimate caresses. Hand holding. The tentative skim of a hand down a thigh. Yes please. I’m there for that with bells on. Ronald’s touch doesn’t give me a good vibe, but I don’t want to be rude. Thankfully, a man who seems overly familiar with my date shows up as we walk through a wide, arched doorway, and he moves his hand away to shake the other’s, and I feel invisible. Maybe I can sneak away?
No such luck. The man is the owner and after a brief introduction, he personally sees us to our table, pulling my chair out for me. I have to admit; the view is amazing. Sydney Harbour is set out like a jewel before us, the sea a glittering sapphire, boats bobbing about on the surface, and I get lost in it for a moment.
“I like that look on your face,” Ronald says, interrupting my thoughts and I snap back to reality.
“Oh, and what look is that?” I ask politely, as wine I don’t remember asking for is poured into a glass in front of me.
“That dreamy wistful one.” He smiles, perfect white teeth bared like some wild animal, as he picks up his glass.
“Well, the view is dreamy.” I offer him a small smile, not wanting to be rude.
“So, Ines tells me you do make up. What’s that like?” I give him points for not being the self-centred jerk I was beginning to think he’d be.
“Actually,” I correct him, “I’m a beauty therapist. It’s more than just doing people’s makeup, but it is a large part of what I do.”
We make small talk for a while; him asking questions about my business and what my diversified portfolio is like—whatever that is. Me attempting to feign interest in what I think he does for a living. From what I can gather as he rambles on about financials, is that he works for his family’s business. The Withers family a big deal in the financial world.
The one thing I have noticed, though, is he likes to talk about himself, only asking me something every ten times he opens his mouth. And he appears to know everyone and their dog as they stop by our table to talk to him. It gives me a chance to shoot off a message to Ines.
I’m gonna kill you.
Why? Comes the reply almost instantly. How’s the date going?
Is there any particular reason you thought Ronald and I would hit it off?
The three little dots indicating she’s typing bounce up and down on the screen for what seems like an inordinate amount of time, as I glance across at my date, who is still deep in conversation with an elderly man in an expensive suit.
Because he’s sexy as fuck . She says, adding an eggplant emoji on the end.
Eww! I do not want your sloppy seconds, Ines! I type back furiously, the faux oyster appetisers Ronald ordered churning in my stomach.
God, no! Yuck! I would never do that. Besides, he’s way too young for me.
Taking another look across at Ronald—who hates being called Ron because he is not that kid from that wizard movie—can’t be much more than thirty-five. So yes, definitely too young for Ines.
Give him a chance. You never know what could happen. Besides, if it gets you laid, who cares how much he loves himself.
That bitch! She knew all along he was an A-grade love-me-do and set me up on this date anyway! Firing up, I begin to type a nasty comeback, promises of revenge and shitty makeup in her future, but it all falls away as a notification pops up on my screen.
Asher Scott followed you.
Holy fucking hell!
Blinking, I refocus on the notification to make sure I’m not losing my damn mind. Nope, I definitely read it right the first time. My heart does this little dance, think MC Hammer , in those parachute pants. Maybe I’m dreaming. I mean, is it possible this date is so boring I’ve drifted off into some altered state and I’m making up a whole other scenario for myself? Could I be allergic to the garlic sauteed sunchoke with a wasabi sorbet and vodka mashed lentils? Anything’s possible, right?
When a second notification pops up informing me of a message from Asher Scott, heat careens through my body like an F1 race car. I squirm in my seat, trying to find a way to hide the sudden urge I have to touch my throbbing pussy. Like seriously, it feels as if it has its own heartbeat at the moment!
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?” I ask absently, tearing my eyes away from my phone screen to see Ronald staring across at me, annoyance tugging his brows down.
“I asked if you were okay? I wouldn’t normally say this, but you seem distracted, and it’s really quite annoying. I thought we were supposed to be getting to know one another,” he says curtly, a chastisement, really.
“I beg your pardon?” Is he for real right now? We’ve spent the better part of this date talking about him and that other part has been spent with me watching him talk to other people who’ve approached our table.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Wiley, but when I’m on a date with someone, I’d like their attention to be on me. I am worth the time, I promise.” The confidence in his words should be applauded if they didn’t make him sound like a self-centred dick.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ron ,” I snark, his lip curling up in irritation. “I was just waiting for the part of the date when you let me get a word in edge-wise and you’re not talking to every tom-dick-and-harry who stops by.”
“I’m not sure what kind of men you’re used to dating, Wiley ,” he says my name with such force I want to laugh in his face. “But in my world, we treat each other with respect, especially when I’m the one paying for our lovely evening.”
And there it was. He was saying it without saying, but it was obvious from the moment he laid eyes on me. I was nothing but a scratch to his itch. I didn’t run in his socialite circles, so he had no fear of me embarrassing him in front of the people he needed to keep impressed. Ronald Withers the Third wanted to slum it with a middle-class woman who might be inclined to feel privileged that a man of his stature deigned to look her way, let-alone take her to his bed when he accepted a date with me. Ines might think I need to get laid, but there’s no way in hell I would get into bed with a man who has zero respect for me as a human being, much less a woman.
“For your information, I’m used to dating men who treat me like a person and not a hole he’d like to fuck,” I declare, my voice loud enough for more than half the patrons of this fancy shithole to hear. “And furthermore, you arrogant prick, you are not all that. Nor are you worth me lowering my standards even if I haven’t had sex in more than a year.”
Shoving the seat back, Ron sputtering his disgust at my language, I down the last of my wine. Can’t waste a drop of something that fine, and turn to leave. Before I get two steps, a cruel hand latches onto my forearm, dragging me across the restaurant, my heels skidding across the polished timber flooring.
“Hey! Who the fuck?—”
“I’m someone more important than you.” He cuts me off, anger settling across his features. “Ines promised me you were a nice woman. Someone who understood the way the world worked.”
“I understand it plenty,” I hiss, wrenching my arm from his grasp. “I understand men like you think they can do anything because the money in their bank accounts can buy them out of any situation.”
“I wouldn’t lower myself to doing anything that would require such assistance,” he scoffs, brushing off some imaginary dust from his suit. “Especially not with the likes of you.”
“You,” I utter, a feral hatred growing within me, “would be lucky to have a woman like me by your side. And I pity the one you do manage to snare. Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do with my time than be insulted by a metro-moron who thinks his shit doesn’t stink!”
Shoulder charging past him—thanks footy for teaching me that move—I head down the stairs, leaving him to shout obscenities at my back. I’m one-hundred percent certain Ines had no idea her mate Ron was an asshat of epic proportions. I love her for trying to get me out of my funk, but it seems the universe has superseded her plans, though.
Stepping outside, a cool salty breeze ripples over my sweat dampened skin. Inhaling it, I centre myself, pushing Ron’s behaviour away. I won’t allow him to steal away something I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. Just to be sure this isn’t some dream; I double check my phone. Yep, the notification of his message is still there. The urge to open it rides me like a cowboy on an eight second bull, but I resist and order a ride home. I don’t know what Asher might have to say to me—I can’t believe I’m thinking about a real live message from the man I’ve been obsessing over—but I don’t want to be out on the street if it’s somehow…bad.
As the ride pulls up, I slide into the back seat and put the seatbelt on. Exhaling slowly, I open my phone and scroll over to the Instagram icon, clicking on it. The little red number one sitting in the corner makes my heart beat faster, and my hand shakes as I select it, opening the message.
Hey, cute girl.
I release a squeal; the driver giving me the side-eye in the rear vision mirror and I roll my lips together. Staring up at me might only be three little words, but they mean a whole damn lot coming from Asher Scott.
Pressing my phone to my chest, I want to scream like a teenage girl, but hold it in—for the driver’s sake. Tilting my phone back, I read it again, my cheeks heating. It might not have been the perfect start, but it sure feels like the start of something.