"Your family status?" Lorne says, his handsome face furrowed in confusion.
"Well, I'm a Fairchild," I say, surprised that Mair didn't tell him who I was.
I watch his blue eyes reveal a dawning realization. The softness I glimpsed moments before vanishes, replaced by something cold and hard.
"Wait.TheFairchilds?" he says, sitting up straighter.
"Yes," I say, surprised by how quickly he went from a softened interest in my writing to a complete 180 into a miffed, grumpy mountain man.
"Billionaires are ruining the world," Lorne says, his fist slamming down on the table, making the silverware shake.
The violence of his reaction startles me, but underneath his anger, I sense something else. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. As if I've somehow betrayed him personally.
"I'm not going to argue with that, but of course, we're not all the exact same carbon copies of each other," I say.
He snorts and shakes his head. "I can't imagine how anyone could possibly be a moral or ethical person as a billionaire," Lorne spits out. The judgment in his voice stings more than I expected. So much for hoping we might actually connect.
Standing, I grab my purse and dig through it for several bills. I toss an unknown amount onto the table before spitting out, "I didn't realize Mair set me up with such a pompous ass."
I head for the exit, but not before I catch something flicker across his face. Regret, perhaps. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
When I reach the door, I spin on my heel and stomp back to the table, a fire in my veins.
4
Lorne
Sitting across the table from A. Childers is sending my entire body and mind into a tizzy. I have read every single one of her works, and now here I am actually meeting the real person, Alana. I have to admit, Mair knew what she was doing when she kept pressuring me into this blind date. This woman is not only fascinating with a wealth of work that I respect, but she's incredibly beautiful with her chestnut brown hair and dark eyes. Not to mention her delicious, voluptuous body with curves in all the right places.
Peopling continues to be difficult for me, but we get past the initial awkwardness when she asks about my work at POAA. I excitedly share about the new literature wing we're getting. They'll break ground in the spring, so it's still about a year and a half away, but I'm thrilled for my older students. They're going to love having that space.
Alana asks what I envision for the wing, and I get lost talking about it until our food comes. I realize I've been dominating the conversation and feel a bit embarrassed.
"So Mair told me that you're a writer, an author?" I say, looking at her.
"I am."
"A. Childers," I blurt out like a dumb idiot.
"That's me."
I push on through, and we continue the conversation. I'm trying to be casual, but it is pretty amazing that someone who I've admired for years is now sitting across from me.
"Your work has really resonated with me, especially your writings on class warfare here in the States."
Her pale cheeks redden from the compliment, and my stomach involuntarily flips as her dark brown eyes lock with mine.
"Thank you. It's always been a genuine interest and concern of mine, and I guess my family status gives me a unique perspective on class and money," she says, nodding as she takes a bite of food.
"Your family status?" I'm surprised when I hear my voice. I meant only to think that in my head.
"Well, Iama Fairchild," she says as if I already knew this.
Looking across at the beautiful woman, I suddenly feel a pit form in my stomach.
"Wait.TheFairchilds?" The irritation hits me like a wave. I can barely focus on what she's saying, my mind reeling from the fact that this woman represents everything I despise about wealth inequality, yet I've devoured her books.
"Billionaires are ruining the world," I find myself saying when I come up for air.
