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I turn back to Mark and link arms with the one he offers to me. As I walk away, I think I hear a string of curse words muffled by the low baritone of Graham’s haunting voice. My shoulders hunch at the awkwardness of the situation, and I resist the urge to do my laugh of unease just to fill the silence. Mark’s contentment cannot be hidden by his swagger of a walk, sauntering over to our table, feeling like the heavyweight champion of the world. I am one of the ring girls, holding up the number signs between rounds. I suppose, in a way, he did win tonight.
“I’m sorry that you got caught up in the middle of this, but I have no problem telling you that I am glad you chose me.”
I nod. Did I really have a choice with my job? My boss could fire me on the spot if I didn’t please the client. As laid-back as Dominic appears, I am sure he does not want unhappy clients and insubordinate employees.
Back at the table, the conversation picks up easily, and a discussion about the sales forecast for some foreign suppliers takes off. Mark dominates the flow and expresses his passion, citing statistics and marketing strategies about how to increase profits over time. I offer opinions whenever Edward asks something of me. However, I stay dutifully biased in favor of Mark’s point of view. Mostly, I sip my fruity cocktail and enjoy the nice buzz that is finally developing, calming every uptight nerve in my body. Whatever Mark ordered for me was top-notch and delicious.
After the last course is served, the men slip seamlessly into a conversation solely in a language other than English. I am shocked. It takes me thirty seconds to determine it is Spanish. I sit isolated, as I am the only one at the table who does not know what is being said—despite taking the course four consecutive years in high school. I reach into my handbag to grab lip gloss and carefully turn my phone onto video to record what is being discussed. It is obvious they do not trust me enough to understand what is transpiring.
I sit in silence, not offering any indication that I find their discussion bizarre. I play dumb. It is obvious they think I am. I play with my cloth napkin and listen intently to the voice inflections of Mark as he speaks fluently. The arrival of the waiter makes the men stop, flipping back to English easily.
By nine thirty, the dinner date is over and the business associates shake hands and decide on another time to meet again to talk about the fine details of the proposal.
As Mark and I walk around the filled tables in the restaurant, I peruse the floor to see where Graham is sitting for his business meeting. I do not see him. In the back corner of the room, I find Dominic with his back toward me at a table. I continue to search for Graham until I spot him near the hallway leading to the restrooms, right where we ran into each other tonight. His stance shifts, and as he moves, I see that he is not alone. He is with Sophia.
Bile rises in my throat as I watch him make out with her. I blink hard, trying to shake the image from my head. Player. Did they spend the evening together? Was she his escort? Are they on a date?
Turning back to Mark, I thank him for a delicious dinner and push myself toward the exit. My mind races over the confusion with Graham. We have already been on one date. He seems interested in getting under my skin. However, during the span of sixty minutes, he goes from having a possessive meltdown over me to slipping his tongue down another woman’s throat. A woman who is my polar opposite. It just doesn't make any sense. If he is into her, then there is no way he would be into me.
I follow along beside Mark like the dutiful date and go through the motions. I feel like a zombie. I can’t wrap my head around tonight’s occurrences.
Once outside the hotel, Mark grips my exposed arms in an attempt to provide warmth to my body. Why didn’t I bring a coat? I can feel his satisfied smile on me without even sparing a glance in his direction. The driver opens the door for me, and I start to slide in but catch a man in a valet suit walking quickly in my direction.
“Excuse me. Ma’am?” he asks, out of breath.
“Yeah?” I step out of Mark’s limo and wait patiently for the man to continue.
“Mr. Crawford has another way home for you arranged.”
I glance at Mark who looks ready to explode. “She’s fine with me,” he snarls.
I guess Dominic follows through on his word. I feel relieved that I do not have to be locked inside the backseat with Mark for the twenty-minute ride back home, where he will spend his time undressing me with his eyes. I have had enough drama for the evening and need to take time to detox.
“I really don’t want to create a scene, Mark. He’s my boss,” I plead. “It’ll make me look really bad if I turn down his generosity.”
“Fine,” he snaps. “I enjoyed our night, Angie.”
He leans in, and my heart stops. My palms sweat at the closeness of our bodies. My stomach churns at the unexpectedness of what he plans on doing. I swallow hard as he hedges forward, our faces a few inches apart. He hovers over me, waiting for me to make a move. To avoid a full-blown kiss, I tip up on my heels and lean my face sideways, my lips connecting with his cheek for a modest peck.
A smile plays on Mark’s lips when I pull away. He grabs my cheeks and presses his lips to mine. I try to pull back but his hands grip me tightly.
Mark breaks the kiss and smiles devilishly at me. “Looking forward to next time. I love a woman who makes me have to work for it. Adds to the fun.”
I mumble something wordless.
I feel ill.
“This way, ma’am,” the valet worker says. He seems so on edge.
I allow him to usher me into another vehicle. The driver is not into small talk. I am thankful. Emotionally, I am exhausted and can’t help but fantasize about sleeping in on my morning off. My head starts to throb, and my hands start to shake. Maybe I had a little too much to drink.
When the driver pulls onto the side of the curb near the front of the townhouse, he opens my door to allow me out.
I walk to my front door, quickly unlocking it and shoving myself inside, glad that I made it through my first real date at the agency. The silence of the house settles my nerves, calming them down to get ready for bed. I kick off the heels and climb the stairs, making my way through the empty hallway to my room. I slip out of my clothes and do my routine of teeth, hair, and face. The ringtone of my phone makes me jump, startling me out of the quietness. I dig in my clutch to retrieve the device, sliding the green bar to accept the call.
“You home?”
It sounds like a bark rather than a human voice.
