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Cassidy had rebuffed every single one of my advances. My overzealous gestures seemed to put her off when they had impressed many women before. I sit watching the windows in the building trying to figure out which one is hers. Maybe it would give me a hint as to what kind of woman she is, what she likes, how I could get to her. It’s pointless. All the windows look the same and tell me nothing.
I pull out my phone to dial her number and stop in my tracks. Cassidy walks out of the apartment block and takes my breath away. She must have seen my car from outside her window.
Her beauty is effortless in an A-line dress that fits tight around her bust and flares over her hips to end just above her knees. It’s a classic dress that fits her well and while there’s no doubt about her sex-appeal, like everything about Cassidy, it leaves so much to the imagination...
She brushes a curled tendril of her fiery hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear with a shy smile.
I jump out of the car, almost stumbling to open the door.
“You look beautiful,” I say, brushing past her. She slides in and a light floral scent hits my nose, sweet and zesty.
“Thank you,” she smiles, fixing her dress as she leans back in the seat.
I’m usually not very flashy, but I needed to make a statement, make her feel special by pulling up in the red Porsche.
I climb back into the car expecting Cassidy to be wowed by it, having a look at the finishes, like many of the other women I've dated have done. But her eyes are on me, a quizzical expression on her face.
“I’m curious,” she starts, as I start the car and steer us through the dark, quiet streets.
I steal a look at her and urge her to go on.
“You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t believe in romance, then you shower me with all these gestures. Why?” she asks.
The street lights flashing in her eyes as we drive say nothing of the demure waitress who freezes like a deer in headlights when she sees me at the club. My initial assessment of Cassidy was right. She's young, but not as young as she looks. She's a woman with a history.
“You make it sound so complicated,” I laugh, caught off guard by how direct she is. “I want to have dinner with a beautiful woman.”
We pull into a private air strip, and this time I get the response from her that I expected with the Porsche.
Cassidy looks around in awe, finally impressed by my efforts. Of course I’m proud of myself, I’m showing her a good time, a memorable experience she will forever associate with me. It’s all part of the plan.
“Is that the Airbus H160?” Cassidy asks excitedly.
I stare at her, another surprise. “You know about helicopters?”
Although I want this date to seem special, it actually isn’t anything new, nothing I haven't done for one woman after the other who came into my life. It’s a page directly from the billionaire playboy’s handbook. We dazzle like no other man can and the ladies are convinced we’ve gone out of our way. When truly, at our level of wealth, this is the bare minimum.
I have a feeling though, that this isn’t going to go the same way any other date has before. Because even though I don’t quite know her, I know enough to say that Cassidy isn’t like any of the other women I’ve dated.
“I’ve never actually ever been on the H160, only the H125. This is so exciting,” she squeals.
My mind is blown and I don’t bother to hide it. “Who are you?” I ask, partly as a joke and partly because I have obviously misjudged her.
“I’m a work in progress,” she laughs mysteriously.
Her attention is fully on the aircraft from the outside in. She has questions for the pilot, admires the interior and I’m more than just a little impressed with all of it.
“Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” she asks, finally returning her attention to me.
I take a leaf out of her book and respond mysteriously. “We’re going to dinner,” I wink before we are lifted into the air.
Waiters come out from the back of the helicopter and start to serve our dinner as we fly through the sky. The stars and the skyline dazzle through the windows. It might not be original, but it’s definitely romantic. The kind of things women across the globe dream of.
“I hope this isn’t going to seem too forward,” I say, pulling a blue velvet box from my pocket and holding it out to her in my palm.
Cassidy tilts her head curiously, no squeals of excitement, hand clapping or practically jumping into my lap. Why is she playing hard to get?
“Well, that is definitely unexpected,” she says, straightening in her seat.
