“You have a chef?” From her tone, you would think I’d told her I enjoyed kicking kittens for fun.
“I don’t have a chef. I hired someone to cook tonight because I suck at it and I really want you to enjoy yourself, and giving you the bubble guts would not make for a good first date.”
Belen surrendered her arms in the air. “Kris this is a lot. You don’t think this is a lot? You present yourself as this every day man but come to find out you’re a fucking one percenter.”
“I’m a regular guy.”
“I could fit my apartment into your living room.” She spun in a small circle.
“No you could not. I’ve seen your place.”
“Yeah, and it’s minuscule in comparison.”
“Don’t do this.”
“What?”
“Your body language changed the minute you walked through the door.”
“Elevator.”
“What?”
“It was an elevator because you live in the penthouse suite.”
My shoulders slumped in defeat. “Do you wanna leave?”
Her arms were firmly planted across her chest. She still wore her coat, never bothering to take it off and settle in. Of course she wanted to leave. Maybe she felt lied to, but who brings up net worth before the first date and why does it even matter? Money or the lack of money didn’t change who I was. I was the same guy who allowed kids to hustle me for gifts at the mall.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
“Just head straight. It’s the second door on the left in the hall.”
“If I get lost I’ll just call your cell,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Ah, very funny,” I said, as she disappeared down the hall.
You’d think a penthouse would be a positive thing, but the opposite tended to be true. Because I didn’t drive a Porsche or rock a diamond studded watch, when my wealth, and I use that word loosely, was revealed, people had a hard time wrapping their heads around it. I’d been fortunate to sell a few apps for a nice bit of cash, but it wasn’t like I never had to work again. Then there was the flipside, women who found out I had some money and then all of a sudden, I’m no longer some corny dude and they find me extremely attractive. My life was the definition of a double-edged sword.
Belen returned and she stole a quick glance before positioning herself closer to the exit. “Look Kris, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not interested in being a checkmark on your bucket list.”
“Do you actually think I sat down and created a list that included sleep with an event coordinator? Bonus points if she works at the third largest mall in Minnesota?”
Belen pulled her face in a way that let me know I was about to get cussed out. “We are the second largest mall in Minnesota. And you sir, aren’t exactly a prize. You’re underemployed?—”
“Wow.”
“You’re obnoxiously tall. I’ve had a crook in my neck since meeting you. And your ho, ho, ho could use work.”
My chest puffed as I slurped in air. “Take that back.”
“Nope.”
Inching closer, I planted my feet. “Your Christmas wonderland looks like Santa ate bad fish and defecated rainbows and ribbons all over everything.”
She pinched her fingers together, pointing them dangerously close to my face. “You also have really bad taste.”
This woman was beautiful when she was angry. Her nostrils flared and her eyes appeared backlit with fire. The tenor of her voice which was normally light, as if it floated on air was suddenly intense and raspy.
