Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs, Ifound the dining room. It was spacious and full of natural lightingas it brought out all the soft chocolate browns and creams of thewalls and pictures. Plants decorated thecorner by the large,bay window, and a beautiful dark oaktable sat in the middle of it all with seating for eight people. Agrand chandelier lit the remaining shadows as it hung beautifullyabove the table. A vase of fresh white roses completed the pictureand their scent filled my nose making me feel a little at ease.
That was until I noticed him sitting at the head ofthe table with a newspaper in his hand. He was staring directly atme, and I stopped in my tracks.
“Wow,” he said, looking me up and down. “You lookabsolutely stunning.”
The compliment caught me off guard, and I didn'tknow what else to say but what I truly wanted to.
“I know,” I said with a nonchalant tone, deciding toown his compliment and then shrug it off. It’s not as if I putthatmuch effort into my appearance, but I knew I cleanedup nice.
“You're welcome,” he said narrowing his eyesatme. Perhaps, I should be alittle more gracious the next time he paid me a compliment. “You’reactually a littleearly,though.Dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes,” he said lookingat his watch and returning to his newspaper. “But if you’d like, wecan discuss some more pending topics we have yet to shed lighton.”
“Okay,” I drawled, still keeping my distance andplacing my hands on one of the chairs furthest from him.
“Why don’t you have a seat first?” He gestured tothe place setting at his right. I pursed my lips in protest, butslowly made my way and sat down, pushing the chair slightly awayfrom him and crossing my legs.
“Where would you like to begin?” he asked me,amusement gleaming from his eyes.
“I think it’s only fair that you shed some light onyourself,” I said as I eyed the silverware next to the plate, morespecifically the giant steak knife. “I don't know anything aboutyou, and if I'm here to please you, I think I should be wellinformed.”
“A fair point.” He nodded in agreement. “What wouldyou like to know?”
“How about a name?” I replied, turning my eyes awayfrom the knife.
He smiled at me then, entertained by my question,but why the fuckwouldn’tI wantto know his name? I needed it so I could mark it on hisgravestoneunless he preferred “Here LiesScum of the Earth.”
“My name is Darren Davis,” he said confidently. “Butyou may call me Darren.”
Darren Davis.For whatever reason, I kind ofliked it. It suited him.
“How old are you?” I continued.
“I’m thirty-one.”
Damn, I had to admit, he was doing well forthirty-one.
“Were you born here? Wherever here is.”
“Yes, this is my family’s home. It belongs to menow.”
I was hoping he would give up our location, but Imay have to be more direct with that later.
“What’s your educational background?” I wanted toknow what kind of education hehad;if he had even participated in normal civilian liferather than only leading a life of simply selling women to thehighest bidder.
He gave me an odd look but answered my question. “Iwas homeschooled by some the best tutors around the world until Iwent to college.”
“You went to college?”
“I did. I went to Stanford.”
California?
“What did you study?”
“Business, political science, and psychology.”
So he was hot and intelligent. This was a badduo.
“And you graduated?”
