Anyway… I’m feeling inspired.
Asher
?
Imani
Our fathers want us to be seen together. So let’s make them regret that.
No drinks will be thrown this time, I promise, lol.
Her plan for tonight is simple but should hopefully be an effective one. As long as we both play our parts well and, after the morning at my father’s office a few days ago, I’m ready to do just that.
The waiter returns with a cool pitcher of sparkling water just as the maître d leads Imani into the dining room. She looks beautiful, as usual. Her eyes meet mine almost immediately and I’m treated to a brief grin that lights up her whole face. It’s so brief, most people would miss it, but I catch it andcommit it to memory before she remembers she’s supposed to be displeased to see me and the smile drops from her face.
Show time.
The maître d guides Imani to our table and I make a pointed show of not getting up from my seat to greet her. The rudeness of it all makes me cringe inwardly but, I remind myself, it’s all part of the plan.
‘Asher,’ Imani says frostily as the maître d, after waiting a beat too long and realisingI’mnot going to step up and do it, pulls out her chair and gestures politely for her to sit.
‘Imani,’ I say, forcing any warmth out of my voice so it comes out equally as cold.
The maître d looks between us, a small frown puckering his brows in the middle, but doesn’t say a word. A true professional. Once Imani’s settled in her seat, he bows his head and then trots off back through the door and into the corridor.
‘You’re late,’ I say, taking care not to lower my voice to the same politely hushed levels of the other diners seated around us.
‘I had better things to be doing,’ Imani says, pointedly not looking at me as she settles into her seat. Instead, she pulls her phone out of her handbag and begins tapping away, seemingly deeming me less worthy of her attention than whatever is on her screen.
Out of the corner of my eye I spy one of the expensive suit-wearing men beside us give our table a disapproving once-over before turning his attention back to his own meal and guest.
‘I’m told you wanted to apologise,’ I say.
At that, Imani scoffs loudly, earning herself a few pointed glares from some of the tables around us. ‘I—’ She seems to falter for a second under the weight of the scrutiny from our fellow diners but then picks herself back up right where she left off. ‘I have nothing to apologise for.’
‘Ha,’ I bark, and this time the man in the expensive suit actually snaps his head around in my direction and glares at me for a full five seconds. ‘My shirt would say otherwise.’
‘I did you a favour,’ Imani sniffs. ‘That shirt was hideous. If anything, I’m sorry it took that long for someone to do something about it. Though fashion taste was never your strong suit, was it?’
‘You embarrassed me in front of just about everyone we know,’ I hiss back. ‘I think, at the very least, I’m owed an apology.’
The model glances over her shoulder then turns back to her date and whispers in his ear. In the general quiet of the room, her voice travels and I hearAsher VouvalisandImani Daviescome from her lips in barely hushed tones.
‘I told you I never wanted to see you again,’ Imani says, raising her voice ever so slightly. ‘After how you treated me, you’re lucky all you got was a spilled drink.’
That gets a little more attention. I can even see some of the waiters now, hovering on the sidelines and watching our table with undeniable interest. I wonder who’ll be the one to get in touch with @TrustFundTea about this. Will they try and sneak a photo or video? It feels wrong, but I fix a hateful scowl onto my face, just in case.
‘After how I treatedyou? The way you were acting, you’re lucky I—’
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt, but are you ready to order?’ Our waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, a bead of sweat trickling down his nose like he had to be forced to come out here and interrupt us mid argument and he’s not sure how we’ll respond.
Imani turns to him, and her entire demeanour changes almost immediately. She beams up at him and makes eye contact the entire time as she places her order.
It’s strange what you can learn about someone when you least expect it. I’ve gone to countless dinners like this over the years and watched as the people around me treated the staff like nothing. My father in particular is one of the biggest offenders here. I don’t think he’s ever actually looked a member of serving staff in the eye. But Imani makes a point of actually talking to our waiter like a human being and not a robot programmed to serve her. It shouldn’t be refreshing to see, but it is.
The waiter makes a corny, food-related pun and she laughs like it’s genuinely the funniest thing she’s heard all day.
An unexpected spike of jealously stabs at me. While I’m subject to, admittedly fake, scowls and scoffs, he gets her undivided attention, laughter, and the kind of smile that could put the sun to shame.
