The first is a short, dark-brown knitted pullover with wide arms, soft-fabric high-rise trousers in black, and brown Burberry loafers.
The second is a knitted vest with a dark, wide, fitted shirt, high-rise, wide-legged plisseé trousers in black, and flat leather boots.
The third is somewhat more daring: a knitted V-neck cardigan in cream, a white blouse underneath, black trousers made from a thicker material, and heeled boots.
They are all exquisite and will fit her perfectly. I know why I picked a queer man to work for me. I need someone who understands fashion and style, has an eye for aesthetics, and can read people emotionally. Not that all straight men are blithering idiots, and all gay men are fashion experts, but I happen to find that many gay and bisexual men are more inclined to aesthetic pleasure and present more emotional intelligence.
“They are wonderful,” I say. “Although I am sure she will pick the first.”
If she says yes to the plan,I add in my mind. Something I cannot foresee, but I have confidence in my persuasion skills.
Henry packs the outfits back into the three boxes and takes them to the car. While I thought about using a different car today with lower public visibility, I have decided against it. I want her to feel special today. I also feel the desire to push her threshold.
It is not without a little anticipation that I step into the car. Maybe it is an error on my end, maybe it is not. But who am I not to try?
All the way to Greenwich, I am planning my moves: what I am going to tell her, what I am going to do.
It is no different from planning events, except that I now interact with a human being who is closed off and shy, something I rarely see at my events, where the people aim to draw all the attention to themselves.
We arrive at the school just in time as the children are walking out of the gate. We park on the opposite side, and I stay in the car until all the children and parents are gone.
The man Mia was on a date with walks out of the school with two other colleagues at some point, but no sight of Mia.
“Would you like me to look for her?” asks Henry.
“If she does not appear within the next thirty minutes, I’ll call her.”
So, we wait. I can be very patient, but today I am not.
Once the thirty minutes are up, I take out my phone and dial her number.
It rings, but she doesn’t answer.
“Okay, get her,” I say, and Henry does as told.
The anticipation in me has taken over by now. Nervosity is not part of my personality at this point in my life, but today my heart beats faster than usual.
I cannot sit still any longer, so I step outside the car and lean against it.
I take in the street with its brick buildings. Simple cars, some cypresses and mediocrity shout at me. Greenwich is so different to where I live, it feels like an entirely different universe.
And then the gate opens.
Henry holds it open for her to step through.
I see her, and my heart races.
She is so beautifully uncomfortable. One brief glance up at Henry as she steps through the gate.
A stolen smile appears on her face as she turns and glances at me. My heart skips a beat the moment she does.
I have no idea how she will react
“Miss Phillips,” I say as she walks up to me, and I open the door to the Rolls-Royce. “Please, take a seat.”
She stops and looks up at me. A devouring, insecure glance with her flushed cheeks. I want to grab her, kiss her, touch her, feel those lips on mine again—but I won’t, not until tonight.
“Where are we going?” she asks with her sweet voice, and my heart skips another beat.
