That maybe I’m someone worth noticing.
Even just for one night.
∞∞∞
I shouldn’t have said yes.
But I did.
Three days after the club, Marcus texted: “Dinner. Tomorrow. My driver will pick you up at seven.”Like it was already a done deal. Like he didn’t need to ask.
I told myself I wasn’t going to go. Told myself I didn’t have anything to wear. That I wasn’t the type of girl who said yes to a man like him.
Then, a dress and heels showed up this morning. Brands that I could only dream of owning. In my exact sizes.
I thought about canceling on him and pawning them, but part of me was scared he would find out if I did.
Now, I’m sitting across from him in a restaurant with no sign out front, no prices on the menu, and enough wine choices to make me question my entire education.
Marcus orders for both of us without asking. Salmon for me. Sea bass for him. Two glasses of something older than I am.
I should be annoyed. Instead, I’m… amused.
“You look like you don’t trust me,” he says as the waiter disappears.
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t.”
He chuckles showing off those perfect teeth. “Smart woman.”
At least he’s honest.
The table between us is candlelit and minimal, like everything here. High ceilings. White tablecloths. People speaking in quiet, polished tones. It’s the kind of place where women wear diamonds and men wear watches that cost more than my entire college tuition.
I feel out of place, even in this dress. Even with Marcus watching me like I’m the only thing in the room worth seeing.
He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table. “I meant what I said the other night. You don’t belong in the shadows.”
“I’m not in the shadows,” I say coolly. “I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.”
He smiles like I’ve just confirmed something for him.
I pick up my wine and take a sip. It’s smooth, expensive, and completely wasted on me.
“You’re dangerous,” I murmur.
He laughs. “Because I brought you to dinner?”
“No,” I say. “Because you say all the right things. And I’m old enough to know that people who always say the right things usually mean the opposite.”
That makes him pause. Just for a second.
“You think I’m a liar?” he asks. There’s no anger in his tone, just genuine interest.
“I think you’re practiced,” I correct.
He tilts his head. “And yet, you came.”
Touché.
