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ANDROMEDA
I'm smart and talented,and I scare more men than a vasectomy without anesthesia.
“Let me repeat this to be sure I understand what you’re telling me.” I tapped my fingernails on the rim of the generic white coffee cup and tried not to laugh in his face. “You’ve found a new financial management company?” He nodded eagerly. “And they’ve come up with a new and better way to predict the market.” Nod, nod. What a moron. “And you think I should invest in it?”
My date’s blond hair flopped over his eyebrows, he nodded so enthusiastically.
No point in even bothering to try to hide the incredulous tone in my voice now. “Andthe minimum deposit is fiftythousanddollars?”
Mitch and I had hit it off well enough at the speed date last night. I’d been hoping it might turn into something more than a few awkward minutes in the middle of a night chock full of blunders.
Last night, while we’d still been hopeful idiots, we’d made arrangements to meet for breakfast, and I’d gotten up a whole stinking hour early just to straighten my hair into a sleek knot. The springy black waves had nearly defeated my try at smooth. Bits had already begun working their way loose, but, meh, no loss. This man was either a shill or a fool. Honestly, I was slightly more irritated that I’d gotten so dressed up. As I listened to him talk, I shook my head. Nope. I was definitely more irritated at the equivalent of a bad timeshare he was trying to sell me. This horrible pitch was worse. At least I looked pretty dang good as I prepared to slap ol’ Mitch down.
“Yes, Andromeda. What do you think?” Mitch’s confident smile had gained a fixed quality at my sarcastic tone. The grin reminded me of my nephew, pretending he hadn’t taken a cookie while the crumbs were still all over his mouth. Ingratiating and a little scared. That smile meant he knew he was in trouble, but he also knew that his only chance at pulling this off was staying confident in his answer. Even if that answer was totally wrong.
What’s even wronger than wrong? Insult. That was the word. This was an insult.
On a toddler, that look might be cute. On a grown man, not so much. Mitch’s hazel eyes flicked from side to side, their light color harmonizing with his tan and well-styled streaked blond hair. An excellent styling job: his clothing, casual but upscale, completed the picture of an affluent man without cares. He was well put together.
Pity he’d just tried to sell me on a terribly concealed Ponzi scheme. No doubt that the whole persona of a man in control was the front he affected in order to lure people into his scheme, probably women that looked at him and saw an attractive, potentially rich man and wanted to please him in order to gain more of his attention. His attention wasn’t something I cared to have. Too bad for him.
Leaning forward, I batted my eyelashes. “I think that a guaranteed thirty percent return yearly for the next ten years shows that you think I’m either greedy, an idiot, or probably both. Please, illuminate me more on this, ah,opportunity.” Leaning back, I smiled at him, eating another bite of my pecan and strawberry oatmeal.
The bacon and eggs on Mitch’s plate were my heart’s love, but unfortunately not my waistline’s. That, too, might have contributed to the sharpness in my tone. I wanted to snatch his bacon.
Not his proverbial bacon. Don’t be dirty. His literal bacon.
The poor schmuck spluttered, staring at me in shock. No doubt he wasn’t used to someone seeing straight through his load of crap, and even less so when it came to someone telling him that it was a bum deal. Bonus points for me being a woman. “I’ve invested my personal assets there,” he said in a whining, defensive tone. “It’s real.” Leaning back, he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “I was trying to help you out.”
Oh, my hero. Be still my heart. “Kind of you. If it’s true, and not you trying to scam me on your own, I’d suggest you get out of it as soon as possible.” I slid out of the booth, the hem of my white maxi sundress floating around my ankles and playing peekaboo with my favorite gold ankle bracelet. I was 5’1, but the heels gave me another three inches of height, and I liked long skirts. The white contrasted with my skin, giving it a bit of a glow. I’d worn one of my favorite outfits for this dud of a date, but I looked better than usual, so maybe this hadn’t been a total waste of time.
“You’re leaving?” Man, he really didn’t take rejection well.
“Yeah, sorry bud, but I don’t think we’ll suit. I’ll pick up the check. It looks like you’ll need all your liquid cash soon.” I grabbed the paper on the corner of the table and whirled around to walk toward the register near the door.
There hadn’t even been a quick lay before he’d tried his pitch.
Ugh. This was the third date gone all wrong in as many weeks, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d been put under some kind of curse of loser attraction. If so, could someone put me out of my misery and just tell me so that I didn’t have to keep wasting my time on guys like this? I could’ve still been at home in bed. I had a great book I was dying to dive into.
Or sleeping. Probably sleeping.
The little café, located on the ground floor of the building where I worked, had seemed an ideal location. I’d expected the date to last long enough for me to head to work after, but it looked like I’d be putting in a little extra time this week. No point in going home just to turn around and come right back.
After paying, I strode for the elevator, catching it just as it opened, and stared at the doors, avoiding enticing conversation from the other occupant, a silver-haired man about my age.
The hair color suited him, contrasting with his mature—though not old—face and frame. The color wasn’t found often in nature and had likely come from a box, which I didn’t mind at all. I enjoyed the scenery from the corner of my eye as the elevator whisked us upward. He put off some sort of spine-tingling aura or something, cause I felt electrified just being beside him. Weird.
A pack of caffeine distracted me from my shivers, as I hadn’t yet had a chance to drink more than a sip of coffee before More-Money-Mitch had begun his spiel. I sighed at the thought of the pot that was likely ready at the office. The receptionist, June, made it in exchange for me and my coworkers providing the coffee, which worked for all sides.
I bade my elevator companion goodbye with a glance and nod, then walked into the office. Yolande, our HR rep, stood enjoying her java and the view out of the window in the reception area. She glanced in my direction and raised her brows as I walked in. “Date this morning?”
It wasn’t my first failed breakfast date at the downstairs diner. “Yes.” I shrugged. “The lucky streak continues.”
She gave a breath of a laugh, then headed for the office she shared with Trevor, our IT guy. He was likely already hard at work. It was almost eight, but he was usually in by six, checking to see if there had been any reputation disasters overnight.
RepuPair contracted with celebrities and companies facing fallout from many kinds of unwise decisions that became public. We worked to give our clients back a façade of good behavior—though in some cases that façade was paper thin.
