I couldn’t have felt more out of place. It was another reminder that though I was born into this world of refinery and wealth–I hadn’t belonged there in quite some time
With no prices beside the menu options, I allowed Mateo to order for me, not really caring what was brought back at this point.
What I ended up with was a filet mignon, side salad, and an odd looking side dish with a red sauce drizzle.
The food was as good as something without a price could be––cooked to perfection and filling. We talked about simple things, neither of us asking the other anything personal.
When the dishes were cleared away, an almost companionable silence fell between us. When it grew to be too much, I made a point of looking around the decadent restaurant, trying to pretend I couldn’t feel his eyes burning a hole in me.
“Why don’t you have a bodyguard?” I found myself asking.
“Look, she can speak,” he teased. “Why would I need a bodyguard?”
Was he serious? “Because you’re a…because you do stuff.” I fiddled with my cloth napkin.
I wasn’t sure what proper etiquette was when discussing his business ventures–––if it was something he discussed at all.
“Because…I…do stuff. That certainly is one way of putting it. You don’t have to dance around it Elena. Everyone knows who I am. I have eyes and ears everywhere; they remain unseen for a reason.
“Here’s something to think about. Say someone hurts me, kills me, or by God’s grace kidnaps me. That person has now pissed off my mother, my father, and my baby brother. They pissed off my mother’s brother––my uncle––Mayor Donahue. My father’s half-sister––Amy Hall––she’s a detective, and lastly, all the community centers and lower class programs that rely on my money to fund them. Not to mention this is my city, they’d be dead within an hour.”
“Point taken,” I conceded.
“My turn. Why does wealth make you uncomfortable?”
“Wealth doesn’t bother me,” I replied too quickly.
He gave me a look that said my answer was bullshit, instantly irritating me. How the hell did he keep reading me so clearly? I wasn’tthatobvious, was I? Screw it, what could the truth hurt?
“It’s not wealth that bothers me. It’s the flip side of it.”
“Ah, the money is the root of all evil argument,” he acknowledged.
I shook my head in rebuttal. “Money isn’t the root of any evil. Money is nothing but printed paper. Money does not lie, steal, murder, or flaunt its own prosperity. People––human beings––are the root of all evil.”
There was a shit-ton more I wanted to add to that, but I didn’t want to get into a heated debate with him––especially not about this. Not when he was the seed in which some of those roots grew and thrived from.
“That’s very insightful for someone so young,” he mused, taking a sip of his drink.
Realizing that was another piece of information I hadn’t received. I found myself leaning back to take another good look at him. I had no idea how old he was. His birth-date wasn’t listed anywhere. As I studied his profile, I summarized that he could be anywhere from his mid-twenties to early thirties.
“I’m thirty-three.” He answered my unspoken question.
Holy shit, no wonder he considered me young. I was eleven years his junior. He looked incredible for his age. I eyed his hands in search of a tan line that would indicate he was once married, but saw they were bare aside from the family crest ring on his index finger.
“Is that a problem?”
“Oh, of course not––I mean, no. Why would it be?”
His age was a positive check in the pro column. I had a taste for men who were older. I looked down at my freshly painted nails when silence elapsed again.
When I glanced back up he was studying me so intently, the urge to blend in with the black of our leather booth was overwhelming. Had I said that aloud?
“Women usually don’t act this way around me. You’ve barely looked at me longer than a full minute since we’ve been here. I know what you look like when you come, know what your tight pussy feels like around my cock, and very soon I will make you beg me to fuck you, yet you still behave like this.”
He cocked his head to the side, a devious smile spread across his face. “Do I intimidate youminha beleza?”
There was no way I was going to justify that with a response. He knew damn well he did. I reached for my ice water and took a healthy swig. “What does that mean?”
