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Before I can grimace, the other three businessmen arrive—apparently traveling together—and introductions are done. I turn my attention to each set of eyes separately and shake hands. When my gaze reaches the last man, Benjamin, my heart nearly stops beating. A nasty feeling rushes through my veins, but I cannot understand why. There is something about the way he looks at me that rubs me the wrong way, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“What did you say your name was again, honey?” Benjamin asks me, his eyes twinkling like the boats out in the harbor. He reaches for my hand, clasping it in his meaty pair.
“Angie,” I exhale, my lungs feeling like they are going to collapse. What is going on?
“Nice to meet you, Angie,” he says, squeezing my hand suggestively, his hard thumb making pinprick sensations scratch at my insides.
I sit back down into my seat and try to remain calm as Benjamin finds his chair directly across from me. Every time I glance up from my drink, I find him watching me. His brow furrows, making me want to go home and take a shower. Gross.
All business talk rests on the back burner for the first twenty minutes, while we all snack on appetizers and sip semidry wine. I politely down the amount served to me, hoping that the taste grows on me; it is not my typical choice. I need to slip some sugar into it and stir.
Edward’s warm smile puts me at ease. He appears to be in his midthirties and lacks the sleazeball persona that is present among his peers. Out of the men, he is the one who stands out for his impeccable manners and sensibility. “So, Angie, tell us about yourself.”
I hate questions like this. Where do I even begin? For starters, this is not about me. This meeting is about Mark and his business ventures. “Um, well, I am a student at River Valley U, studying English.”
“Nice,” Edward and Samson answer in unison. One man genuine, the other unreadable.
“So, Benjamin and Samson have been doing business together for a while now,” Mark interjects, turning to look at me. “Mostly in the states, although they have laboratories for experimental purposes and research internationally.”
I nod in response and give a smile to each man.
Mark's hand rubs up and down my arm that is closest to him. It takes everything in me not to make a scene and tell him to take his hands off me. Benjamin’s eyes follow the path of Mark’s fingers along my arm, glancing up to give me a sly smirk. “I’m hoping that they’re on board with my new endeavor. I’d love their support.”
I nod again, only because I do not know what else to do or say.
Between Mark’s blatant attempts at supposed nonchalant touching and Benjamin’s sadistic smile, I find it easy to excuse myself to go to the restroom. As soon as I move to push my seat out, all of the men rise—just like gentlemen do in the movies. Mark helps me out, which I am actually grateful for, because the seats are not light. As I walk away, I feel all of their eyes boring into my back. Okay, most likely it is my ass.
I carefully make my way to the other side of the room, where the restrooms are located, trying not to face plant in my stilettos and show everyone my fine china underneath my scrap of a dress.
If restrooms could be described as luxurious, the ones at Bleu definitely fit the bill. The first thing I notice as I walk in is the smell. Yes, really. Sweet almond floods my nostrils, making me close my eyes as I inhale the scent. Hints of cinnamon and vanilla linger in the air. It reminds me of the flavor combination I would use for icing cupcakes at the bakery. My senses shoot to overload status, as I take in the décor and architectural style of the detailed trims and furniture selections.
Soft instrumental string music plays through the discreet speakers in the corners of the room. A plush white leather sofa rests against the wall, and I wonder if it would go unnoticed if I just lounged there for an hour. Fresh cut lilies are displayed in a rich blue vase. The stalls are private with huge wooden doors that actually have working locks and multiple hooks.
I enter the personal toilet room and get situated. The door outside creaks and the clicking of footsteps filters over the musical arrangement. I can tell the ages of the girls by the giddy chirp of their voices—definitely lower or midtwenties. Just like me.
“You’re too uptight, Britt.” I strain my ear to try to hear more, if only for something to do. “His game, not mine,” the same girl responds. Drama. I seriously have a problem for being so entertained by even the slightest amount of it. “Ahhh, he is such a good fuck.” Alrighty then.
“Deprived much?” the melodic voice asks her friend. A hint of an accent breaks through the spoken words. The sound of running water and clicking cases of makeup foundation muddles with the clarity of my eavesdropping. I edge forward on the seat, continuing to strain my ear at the gossip. I know that I should mind my own business…but I just can’t seem to follow through.
“…slow…loves the chase…”
And then I hear it. The one name that changes everything. “Graham.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt.”
I hear the sigh on the other side of the wall. “It might be too soon.”
“He might just need a refresher course.” They both giggle, and the melody is like nails on the chalkboard. “I mean, most roadmaps for the female body are the same. He just needs a nudge to know you’re interested in getting back to how things were.”
Feeling territorial for absolutely no rational reason, I flush and make my way to the sink area in a heated rush—hoping to catch a glimpse of the competition that I logically shouldn’t be worried about. We all have a past. Why is any of this bothering me?
My detective skills uncover that the tall, supermodel blonde is after Graham—again? Her look is enchanting—a classy Reese Witherspoon, with long Cinderella locks and huge green eyes. His type. This must be Sophia?
Sophia’s friend, Britt, is the same girl on Mark’s arm last night. Her skin looks even more flawless than the last time I saw her. Her red feathery hair complements her green eyes. Both girls are stunning and hard not to look at, for the mere fact that their beauty is so…
Pretty and porcelain and painstakingly perfect. It is definitely easy to hate on them.
I catch myself staring and draw unnecessary attention to my plainness.
