20
A Guy in Finance
NICOLE LAMB
When Nicole went on her date with Kingston, the first thing she became absolutely convinced of was that Kingston wasrich.
Not like he was being pretentious or flashing C-notes around, but like he waswealthy.
His rental car was a BMW with a model number starting with an M.
She didn’t know what kind of watch was on his wrist because she had no clues other than Apple Watches, but the brushed steel casing and sapphire blue face with three inset little dials for the date looked ridiculously expensive.
Arvind would probably know what type of watch it was.
Kingston’s clothes she’d touched yesterday had not been scratchy polyester or wrinkly cotton. They’d been—smooth. Soft. Silky. Not like something you’d buy at TJ Maxx.
Also, Kingston was not staying at the La Quinta Inn, where Sidewinder put up all the other regional salespeople. His hotel was a little farther down the coast towards San Diego and called Aviara, but even non-materialistic Nicole knew what the Four Seasons logo meant.
A colossal fountain stood in front of the grand Spanish colonial building, and a concierge walked right out of the lobby and called Kingston “Mr. Moore” as he opened his door.
Yeah, with the Spanish tile floors, real potted palms at the peak of health, and expansive windows overlooking the immaculate golf course, it was ritzy.
All of this added up to the fact there was no reason on God’s green Earth that Kingston Moore should be working as a junior sales guy at Sidewinder Golf.
Maybe Joe knew something terrible about Kingston and was blackmailing him into working for the company, playing on his connections.
Maybe Kingston knew a terrible secret about Joe Flanagan and was milking the company for all it was worth. Maybe that Centurion Amex thingee was a corporate card,a Sidewinder Golf corporate card,and Kingston was draining the coffers as they spoke.
Maybe something had happened and Kingston was down on his luck but still had high-society tastes, and Joe had hired him because they were friends.
Butsomethingwas up. Kingston didn’t fit in. He was outlier data, a jolt in the pattern.
Also, Nicole didn’t fit in at the restaurant.
When she’d been deciding what to wear before Kingston had picked her up, she’d put on her best date dress, which hadn’t seen the light of day for eight months. Yet even in California, land of the casual, she felt underdressed in this high-ceilinged, bustling restaurant.
She didn’t have a proper purse, either. Nicole wasn’t a purse kind of girl. She’d brought her backpack with her wallet, a cell phone charger, her toothbrush, yoga pants, and a tee shirt just in case (and not in case ofyoga), a pack of Plan B and a strip of condoms, and her work laptop.
Kingston had looked askance when she’d flung the hefty backpack into his backseat, but she’d just shrugged and climbed into the car while he’d held the door for her.
The other women at the other tables all had trapezoidal or crescent-shaped bags of smooth leather hanging on their chairs. Their hair was highlighted and glowing, flowing around their shoulders instead of plaited in a fresh braid. They all wore gauzy pastel dresses and strappy stilettos because it was spring, while Nicole’s best dress was black, and her heels were medium at most.
Nicole shoved her backpack under the table by her feet to hide it.
The string quartet-type music was just loud enough that they and everyone else had to raise their voices to speak.
For the next problem, the menu didn’t have prices on it.
She’d heard about such a thing but never seen it. She’d had to guess the cheapest thing on the menu without any data, which was disturbing. She eliminated beef and seafood and picked something else.
But the biggest problem by far the whole evening was that it became more apparent that Kingston Moore was notjusta nice guy.
Nicole had dated a few nice guys. A fun guy. A couple of surfer dudes.
But Kingston wasn’t aguy.
She was beginning to understand the difference between a guy and aman.
