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It’s from Carlton! I realize with surprise, reading the name.
I scan the email quickly, trying to make sense of the message.
Ramona Monk, it reads. You didn’t really think I failed to recognize you, did you? You should give me more credit. Drinks tomorrow night? We have a lot to catch up on.
I stare at the message, my heart pounding in my chest.
Holy crap! Carlton not only recognized me but he wants to meet up with me too! I shake my head, not wanting to read too much into his message but of course, I’m over-analyzing every single word.
“He wants to get drinks,” I speak aloud in shock, “and he definitely knew it was me the entire time.” But then I pause, confused. “So why didn’t he say anything?”
Feeling emboldened, I click ‘reply’ and begin drafting a sassy response. Just as quickly, I hit the backspace button until the entire message is deleted.
Do I want to get drinks with Carlton James?
It’s a fair question. Sure, the boy I remember has morphed into a gorgeous man who is an obvious catch, but ten-year-old me is still irked that we have this thorny past.
“All right, Carlton, two can play at that game.” I retype my response, keeping it short and simple: yes, I’ll have drinks with him, but where and when?
Satisfied, I hit ‘send’ and await his response.
Within seconds, it arrives. ‘Will forward details later.’
I pout, slightly annoyed that he’s too busy to solidify plans now. I snap my laptop closed, already beginning to formulate my own plan: Carlton may think that he gets to make all the rules, just like when we were kids, but he’s wrong. I’m going to make him pay for being so hurtful to me all those years ago.
Smiling, I walk to my closet to enact step one of my revenge plot: I’m going to choose a sexy outfit to make his mouth water. Step two: I’ll add a sassy sway to my hips, and throw him a come-hither look over one shoulder. Step three: making Carlton James fall in love with me, and then dumping him flat on his ass. Hell, I might as well go all the way to step four: publicly humiliating the billionaire, although I haven’t figured out just how yet.
That thought gives me some satisfaction but then I frown. Am I being an idiot? After all, what happened was years ago, when we were kids. So why does it matter? Maybe I’m gripping too hard onto things that are water under the bridge.
But then his sneering voice comes back in my head, and I grind my teeth. No, it still matters. I want my revenge, and I’m going to make him fall in love with me, just like he did with to me all those years ago.
“But this time,” I say out loud, “I’m going to be the one telling him to get lost.”
I smile at my idea, pleased with my plan. The only thing left? Setting it into motion.
5
Ramona
I pause outside the bar to check my reflection in the window. I may not have a lot of extra spending money when it comes to clothes and spa days, but I clean up well.
Subtly, I turn side to side to make sure that my dress is hanging correctly. The slinky, knee-length baby blue number is backless, with thin spaghetti straps and a scooping neckline. It’s quite the outfit, and I know that its fitted design leaves little to the imagination, especially since I’m on the curvy side with a big bottom and generous girls.
But that’s exactly my goal tonight: to prove to Carlton that I’m not that scrawny, scab-covered kid anymore. Instead, I’m a woman with a luscious body and an attitude to match. He doesn’t call the shots, I do.
No mercy, I remind myself sternly. You’re not here to play.
I take another moment to smooth my hair and inhale deeply. I’m nervous to see Carlton, despite my vengeance plot. The man is hot, rich, and powerful, and I’ve always been a sucker for his charms.
But not tonight, I promise myself again.
With feigned confidence, I throw back my shoulders and stride into the swanky bar.
The second I’m inside the gorgeous space, I temporarily forget my plan, my looks, and the fact that I’m meeting Carlton any minute. Huntington’s is one of the classiest, most up-scale bars in Chicago. When Carlton proposed meeting here, I researched the place online, but the pictures failed to do it justice.
The place is dimly lit, setting the perfect mood for luxurious privacy. Deep, brown leather booths line one wall and a few taller tables are scattered around the massive room. The bar itself is made of creamy marble with bronze accents, and bartenders wearing old-fashioned shirts with sleeve garters busy themselves behind the counter. With its impressive size and heavy furniture, Huntington’s vibe conveys masculine luxury.
