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“Because you’re unique,” Caro says with a smile.
“Weirdly, that’s the word he used. He said he likes my hair.”
They both laugh. “He’s got a Wikipedia page,” Hana says, and scans it. “It’s quite short. He was born in Scotland.”
“Does it say what his parents’ names are?”
“No. He came to New Zealand when he was twelve,” Hana continues. “That’s all it says about his childhood. At school he excelled in athletics.”
“Yeah, he’s a sprinter. There was a trophy in his office—when he was sixteen, he won first place in the hundred meters in the New Zealand Athletics Championships.”
“Wow,” Caro says.
Hana scans the rest of the article. “He invented a super-fast computer processor in his early twenties and sold it to Intel for a million dollars. He received job offers from Intel, Apple, and most of the other major computer technology firms, but he chose to set up his own company, and his net wealth is now estimated to be several billion dollars. Holy fuck. Billions, Sid. Has that sunk in?”
“Not really. He’s got weird eyes, too. One blue, one sort of Earth-like. What else does it say?”
“A section about supercomputers.” She makes a gesture that implies it’s going over her head. “Blah blah blah… It says he was the keynote speaker at last year’s virtual International Conference on Supercomputing. That’s pretty impressive when you think who he’d be up against. He also does a lot of work in New Zealand schools and universities apparently, giving talks to up-and-coming talent in the industry. Do you think this guy ever sleeps?”
“Probably not,” I say, thinking about the untouched bed in his office.
“Does it say if he’s married?” Caro asks.
Hana shakes her head. “The personal section just says he’s been linked with various famous Kiwi models, the latest being Felicity Scarlett-Rose, daughter of the CEO of Archangel Media Corp.”
I’ve seen the model in Kiwi women’s magazines. She has short red hair and she’s very beautiful. Now I’m intimidated.
“Wow. So where’s he taking you?” Hana asks.
“To a party at a business club—Huxley’s. He said it’s semi-formal. I have no idea what to wear.”
“Semi-formal is kind of in between business suit and cocktail dress,” Caro says.
“I’ve got jeans or miniskirts,” I reply. “Do either of them count?”
“We’ll find something,” Hana says firmly. “When’s he picking you up?”
“Seven.”
“Right. Just under an hour. Let’s go.”
Caro pours us all a glass of wine, mainly because I’m shaking like a leaf, and we take them into my room. I have a few large gulps, desperately hoping the alcohol will calm me down.
“What sort of look do you want to go for?” Hana asks. “Understated? Or do you want to knock his socks off?”
“It’s always better to be under- than overdressed,” Caro says helpfully.
It’s true, but I’m not going tonight with the intention of providing the kind of first impression that will keep him coming back for more. I know I’ll never see him again after this date. I don’t want to see him again knowing what I’ve done to him. After tonight, I’m going to walk away as fast as I can and never look back.
But what I do need to do is get him to take me up to his room.
“I want to knock his socks off,” I reply. “Make me look amazing.”
“Easy,” Hana says. “Come on, Caro.”
They start by going through my wardrobe and taking out any outfit they consider appropriate for the evening. Then the two of them go to their room to raid their own wardrobes. I’m taller than both of them, so everything’s going to be too short, but we’re all roughly the same weight, so I occasionally borrow from their wardrobes.
I finish off my glass of wine and pour myself another. What the hell. No way am I going to be able to get through this sober.
