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“I don’t mean to brag, but I have other women I could be seeing now. What can I say? Women love me, you know?”
Right, of course. Sigh. I could be doing something more productive right now, like working on the latest financial folders from what seems like everyone at Kane Price piling up in my inbox, but no. I have to put up with Robert, an obnoxious banker hell bent on proving to me how macho he is. What’s wrong with men nowadays? Why can’t they act naturally around women? Why do they have to put on a show? And a terrible one, at that.
“Well, you were the one inviting me,” I point out, looking at him with a bored expression on my face. It’s true; after weeks of insisting day and night, I finally relented on going on a date with him. Tall, broad shoulders, and a square jaw, Robert is actually a good looking guy. And, since I’ve been going without sex for God knows how long, I finally gave up on trying to resist his advances. I mean, I have urges, you know? And since I’ve started my internship at Mason Kane, these urges have been unattended to for too long. I just didn’t expect him to act like an asshole once I agreed to go out with him.
“Yeah, you are hot enough,” he says off-handedly. Hot enough? What the hell does he mean by that? And who the hell says something like that to a woman during a date? Jesus Christ, this is going worse than I expected.
You know, I had a feeling that something like this would happen. After putting on my favorite skimpy, tight, black dress, I sat in front of my bedroom mirror and I didn’t like the look I saw on my face. It wasn’t an eager or anxious one, no the expression on my face was one of reluctance and boredom. The kind of face someone would have while doing a chore nobody really wants to do. I should have picked up my cellphone then and there, and called the whole thing off. But no, I went through the motions—lipstick, blush, eyeliner—and got ready for someone who, it turns out, doesn’t even deserve five minutes of my time. Story of my life.
“Hey, listen, it’s already late,” I start, looking down at my wrist and realizing that I’m not wearing a watch. Still, I push through. “I think it’s best I get going.” For the first time since we got to the bar, his facade of overconfidence starts to crumble. He frowns, a line of confusion on his forehead, and tries a hesitant smile.
“But you haven’t even finished your drink…” he stammers, looking down at the half-full glass of red wine sitting in front of me. “I, uh, we can go somewhere else.”
“No, it’s fine. I just remembered I have some work I left unfinished, and I really should get around to it,” I continue, putting on one polite smile. I know that, by now, he has probably seen through my lies. But, hey, what the hell? He’s the reason I’m lying, anyway.
I’m about to get up from my seat when Robert reaches across the table and grabs me by the forearm. “Hey, listen, Becca. Stay a little longer… It’ll be fun, I promise,” he starts, looking at me with wide eyes. If I was uncomfortable before, now I’m way beyond that.
“I suggest you let go of the lady,” someone says from behind us, and I look back over my shoulder at a man in his late thirties. He’s wearing all black, even his shirt and tie are black, and his suit clings to his body as if he came into the world dressed just like that. Classy, but at the same time, elegant and modern.
His hair is groomed with a kind of perfect carelessness, and his full lips form a serious but relaxed line as he stares down Robert. Even though his blue eyes are two orbs of veiled threat right now, I can see the gentleness they hide in them. His high cheekbones give him the flair of royalty, and I can’t help but imagine that he’s the right kind of man born in the wrong age. A man with eyes like his… he could be a King in another life. He isn’t a king, but of one thing I’m sure: a man like him must leave a trail of broken hearts behind him wherever he goes. Oh, also, his name is Mason Kane, and he’s my boss.
Now, he probably doesn’t even know who I am; I’m just one more girl in his army or interns, but I know who he is. I mean, who doesn’t know who Mason Kane is? I’ve just never been this close to him.
“Mind your own business,” Robert tells Mason, springing up to his feet and letting go of my forearm.
“Or what?” Mason tells him with a smirk, leaning against the counter and grabbing his glass of whisky. He takes the glass to his lips and, throwing his head back, downs the whole thing at once and goes to staring at Robert with one eyebrow raised.
“I…” Robert starts to stammer, balling his hands into fists and looking from me to the stranger and then back to me. “I…” he continues, his brain seemingly shutting down as he doesn’t seem to find any words inside his pretty—but empty—head. “Fuck it. I’m outta here,” he finally blurts out, pursing his lips and turning on his heels. “Call me, anytime,” he does his final Hail Mary pass at me, looking over his shoulder before bolting out of the bar as if his jacket was on fire. Good riddance.
Sighing loudly, I sit back down on my seat and take a gulp out of my red wine. Finally, peace. Who knew that being alone could be better than being on a date? The answer flashes through my mind as I look at the man by the counter, Mason Kane. He’s already facing forward, drinking a
nother glass of whisky as if the whole situation between me, Robert, and him never happened. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m already going up to my feet; with the glass of wine in my hand, I walk up to the counter and sit down on the stool next to him.
“Thank you,” I say, running my tongue over my dry lips. He glances at me, not even bothering to turn his body, and waves with his own glass.
“No problem,” he responds with a smile, and then turns forward as if I’m not here, eager to find out more about him. Yes, I said it; he intrigues me. Sure, he looks almost old enough to be my father, and he’s also my boss, but it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong here… Besides, even though he’s probably in his late thirties, early forties, he doesn’t look anything like his age. Oh, no, he looks like one of those Hollywood stars that don’t ever seem to age. And there’s something about him, an aura of… power? Dominance? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.
“Becca,” I introduce myself, extending my hand toward him. He glances at me again, his eyes slowly going down from my face to my hand. He doesn’t recognize me from the office, it seems, but a soft smile appears on his lips and he finally reaches for my hand with his own, giving me a gentle handshake.
“Mason,” he tells me, a spark flickering behind his eyes. “So, Becca,” he continues, turning his whole body toward me, “what’s a girl like you doing with a guy like that?” My heart starts galloping inside my chest as I realize that I finally have his attention. Smiling, I drink the rest of my wine while I ponder my next words.
“Waiting for someone better to come along,” I say, my smile turning into a veiled grin. I really don’t know why I’m trying so hard to flirt with him; I just know that I have to do it.
“I see. Well,” he smiles politely once more, grabbing his whisky and finishing it, “good luck with that.” Shit, he’s really playing hard to get. Either that or I’m too young for him and he doesn’t see me like a real woman, one with whom he’d like to… Christ, what am I saying? Am I really thinking of unbuttoning that shirt of his and seeing what’s underneath it? Am I really this desperate to find out the taste of his lips? Yes… Yes, I am. I mean, I’m having a drink with Mason Kane, the King of Wall Street, for God’s sake!
“How about you? On a date with a bottle of whisky?” I ask him, hoping to God that I’m not overstepping. I don’t why he’s sitting here by himself, but I really don’t want to ruin this.
“You got me,” he replies, raising both his hands in the air as if I was pointing a gun at him. “Sometimes a good scotch helps ease a troubled mind.”
“And what’s troubling you?”
“Nothing you would care about… Unless you also know how to ease a troubled mind, that is,” he says, smiling quizzically. We lock eyes, and I already feel my body temperature rising. Not only that, but between my thighs… Well, let’s just say that ‘dry’ wouldn’t be a term I’d use to describe the state I’m in right now.
“Maybe I know of a way to make you relax…” I hear myself saying, my heart thrashing inside of my chest. I can’t believe that I’m really saying this. What’s gotten into me?
“As long as it doesn’t involve yoga,” he tells me, that grin still dancing on his lips. “You look like the kind of girl who’d do yoga.” I blush at his words, even though there’s barely a hint of wickedness to them. Yet, I can’t stop myself from thinking that he’s imagining me in tight yoga pants and bending over…
“I do yoga, yeah,” I grin back at him. “But that’s not what I have in mind right now…”
