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Well, you sure had him in a tizzy last night in the elevator. I am not the only one playing with fire. And you didn’t answer the question.I resist sharing my wayward thoughts. Boys will be boys when it comes to sizing each other up in the locker room of the business world. Part of me wonders if seeing me with Graham last night inspired Mark to want to dangle me as live bait in front of him at his family’s hotel tonight. I feel a bit queasy at being disloyal to someone who I have no loyalty to; I don’t like the idea of being a chess piece at all. I shake my errant feelings and thoughts—trying to compose myself and relax. It is what it is—a paid date.
“Do you think that’s the best idea—provoking Graham?”
Mark turns to look straight into my eyes, pushing back a piece of loose hair from my cheek. “You need to learn your place. Your job is to look pretty and do as you’re told.”
My eyes drop down to the little space between us. Every part of me wants to resist the conformity. I am not one of those women who submits to a man. My gender has come too far throughout decades in history to backpedal now. But as hard as it is to admit, Mark is right. I need to be agreeable. Now is not the time for my moral compass to find a voice.
I look up at his unyielding face and nod.
“Graham will break your heart anyway. You are best to remember that.”
I blink rapidly and try to maintain my poise, but his words affect me. I have been warned multiple times by three different people—one being Graham himself. Maybe I should start listening.
I follow Mark into the elevator to the seventh floor. Like the lobby, the elevator shares the same color scheme. On the mirror in the back of the car, white descriptive nouns are printed in different sizes and fonts. I smile at the words relating to love, freedom, and life.
“I should warn you that tonight you will be meeting three potential business associates. They own laboratories all over the United States. I need to gain their trust as a distributor and make a wickedly good first impression.”
“So they make medicine and you pitch those brands to hospitals and doctor offices?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“Got it.”
“So, you will be meeting Benjamin, Samson, and Edward. Feel free to openly flirt.”
“Excuse me?” I ask. My voice is hoarse. What the hell is wrong with this guy?
“I give you permission.”
Gee, thanks. The blood rushes out of my face, leaving my cheek muscles numb. “Okay.”
“They are men, after all, and if you can assist in getting them all to sign, then I would be indebted to you.”
Is he for real? “Um, I”—my gaze stays fixed on the mirrored wall to avoid meeting his—“am not good at flirting.” Or the unexpected politics behind pharmaceutical sales. “I wouldn’t know what to do.” It is the truth. I'm a horrible actress.
“That’s impossible,” he croons. “You are a young female with all the working parts.” His eyes scan up and down my body, lingering at my parts. “Just get up to go to the restroom often. A little cleavage and ass shake always goes a long way, doll.”
The cheapness of the comments crawls into my pores. I am not a showgirl. My instincts on Mark were correct. He’s a dog. Not the cute golden retriever type. No, he is the mutt that all the other female dogs try to avoid.
The elevator stops on the seventh floor, and Mark leads me to the doors of the Bleu Lounge. The posh French restaurant is adorned with deep blues and whites. All of the tables and chairs have sharp looking edges, crisp lines, and sleek cutout shapes. The huge oval bar in the center of the lounge creates a dramatic effect. Jets of blue water shoot up from the glass frame around the base. The lighting is dimmed, creating a sophisticated aura to the place.
Blue signature acai berry cocktails with floating berries are served to us upon arrival. It is a surprising treat from such a high-profile venue, especially one that overcharges for everything and still keeps the customers coming back. All of the workers are dressed in all white, despite the impracticality of a chance for their outfits being stained. They look impeccable, so the risk seems worth it.
I sip my complimentary beverage and allow Mark to guide me to the reserved table in the back of the room, specifically set up for this business meeting. The white table touches the wall of windows, looking out into the beautiful harbor. The sight is spectacular with the lights on the water. This hotel is definitely sitting on prime real estate.
The fully cushioned leather chairs are in a brilliant shade of aqua. My eyes look around the room. I have the weird feeling that I am being watched. Nothing is out of the ordinary, though. Just a bunch of finely dressed customers enjoying a Thursday night out.
Our waiter greets us, and Mark informs him that we are still waiting on three more people. He orders an expensive vintage red wine for the table and an order of canapés.
“So are you dating anyone?” he asks, completely out of left field.
“I don’t date.”
“And why is that, Angie?”
“Because work comes first for me right now.” How do you tell someone who makes buckets full of money that you are in need of some of the overflow? That is, after all, why I am here, on a Thursday night, dressed like a hooker.
“Maybe you will change your mind after a few of these bad boys?” Mark jokes, holding up the blue cocktail that slips down my throat way too easily.
