I sighed.So why are you breaking it to bother me?I nearly added, because my normal kneejerk reaction was to tell nightclub vultures to get lost. However, as I turned to get a look at the guy, I concluded there was no need for rudeness. He wasn’t being inappropriate, leaning in too close or trying to get a look at my boobs (though he’d probably already seen them, anyway) the way vultures tend to do. I furnished him a polite smile.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
4
“You’ll have to make it two,” I said to the man. “My friend will be right back.”
The man looked over the crowd with a dubious glance. He was handsome in a conventional sort of way: fit body, clear eyes, nice smile. His pleasant face was framed by sandy hair that was thinning slightly and clipped into a neat, preppy style. I estimated him to be in his mid-forties, early fifties. He wore nondescript but clearly expensive back slacks, a charcoal grey button-down polo, and pebbled leather loafers. Simple but elegant. He was a welcome contrast to the other older men in the bar who were clearly in the throes of an existential crisis, deluding themselves into believing that they could hit on women half their age and run with college kids if they dressed and behaved like teenagers.
Still, a few things were off about the guy.
His ghostly flesh was blanched to such a degree that it glowed despite the dim lighting of the bar. I fought the urge to reach out and caress his cheek, feel its texture. I wondered what skin cream he used—no doubt it was out of my price range. Then there was his watch, which I’d previously seen featured in a high-fashion magazine. By a well-known luxury label, its price tag was in the six-figures, which I remembered because I’d questioned what kind of person would buy something so extravagant. Now I knew. There was also his choice of currency, a couple crumpled hundred-dollar bills, which seemed excessive given the bar’s cheap alcohol menu that contained very little drinks over seven dollars. If he was hoping for a glass of Dom, he was going to be disappointed.
“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He laughed. “I could ask the same of you.”
“Touché.”
“Olivia. That’s pretty. You don’t hear that too often these days. Parents now want to give their children ridiculous names likeElevatororPomegranate,” he said with a sniff. “In a hundred years, we’ll be hard-pressed to meet an Elenore or Hugh. It’s a shame.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Your friend screamed it while you were onstage, did she not?”
I was going to kill Liz. “She did, sir, yes indeed,” I said, attempting to impersonate his posh intonation. (British? South African? Australian? It was hard to tell over the noise of the crowd.) Why I’d done that, I didn’t know; I’d sounded like a hillbilly with a speech impediment. I was never very good at faking accents.
Still, he smiled, his teeth as dazzlingly white as his skin. “Funny girl. A sense of humor is a valuable thing to possess.”
“So is a thousand bucks. Trust me when I say it’s the only reason I’m here,” I said, for some reason feeling compelled to explain myself to this fancy stranger, as if his opinion had any bearing on my life.
He winked. “Ah, now I get it. It’s all about the money, honey.”
Pursing my lips, I eyed his wrist, hoping that he wasn’t going to disappoint me by being one of those rich assholes who asserted money isn’t everything while wearing a time piece worth over three-hundred grand. Easy for him to say. I had no doubt that he also had a similarly flashy car and house to match.
“Hey, it is when you’re drowning in debt,” I replied, having no idea why I was filling this man in on my personal affairs. Sometimes, I was too chatty for my own good. I seriously hoped that after spending so much time on my own I wasn’t turning into a petless variation of a crazy cat lady. I needed to start getting out more, because I was already walking a perilous line between friendly oddball and weirdo who tells strangers about her bowel movements while in line at Starbucks.
“Let me guess,” he said, tapping his forehead. “You went wild one day and bought more shoes than you have room for in your closet, and now you have tons of credit card debt.”
I snorted, mildly annoyed that he’d immediately gone to shopping, because that’s all us silly girls do, right? Then again, Ihadjust exposed my breasts to strangers for money, so I could hardly blame him for doubting my ability to make prudent life choices. “Nope. Student loan. I owe over a hundred grand.”
His eyes bugged. “That’s madness! Is that what university costs these days?”
“It is when you went to Dewhurst,” I said, feeling rather smug. Too many shoes, my ass.
“Wow, Dewhurst. You must be smart.” He paused for a moment and then added, “You seemed too clever to be in a wet t-shirt contest.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He flashed me his palms. “I didn’t mean to insult. This place, though, it’s so . . .uncouth.” He made a revolted face, as if somebody near him had just passed wind. Likely with this crowd.
“Hey,you’rehere,” I snapped, defensive, though I agreed with him.
“I have my reasons for being here. And we both know that you don’t belong any more than I do. You’re a pretty girlandyou’re smart. There are better ways for you to make money.”
“Meaning?”
He pulled a business card from his front pocket and handed it to me. Smooth as satin but stiff as cardboard, it was as creamy and white as the man’s flesh. The text of the business name was bold, sleek, and jet-black: DIGNITARY. I rubbed my finger over the man’s name, struck by the omission of his title. “What kind business is this, Mr. Graves?”
