“It’s a restaurant at the top of the Eiffel tower,” he tells me. “When we’re there for the wedding, I’d love to take you there.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I really do. But it does sound really nice, and I love nice restaurants… I just can’t afford them. I also love the idea of being at the top of the Eiffel tower at night and enjoying the views. Even if itwould bewith him.
“We’ll have to see,” I say. “It could get really busy. I’m my mother’s maid of honor, as you probably know.” I don’t give him the satisfaction of saying, “Yes, I’d love that! So romantic! You’re so amazing!” I’d rather stick my finger in my mouth and expel that expensive calamari appetizer before uttering any kind complimentary word to him.
“You’d love it,” he goes on. “The views are gorgeous, and the food is amazing.”
I stick my fork in a slice of avocado. “So what is it that you do, Matt?” I ask in a matter-of-fact tone.
He clears his throat. “Well, I sorta work for my dad. I’m an attorney at his firm.”
“Oh,” I say. “What do you mean… yousortawork for him?”
He stares down at his plate and cuts into his steak. “Well, not sorta, I guess. I work for him.”
“I see,” I say. “You are a glowing example of nepotism. That must be hard. I couldn’t stand working with my mother all day. Don’t get me wrong… I love her, but she drives me crazy.”
Yep. Stick it to him, and continue babbling before he can defend himself… that’s the strategy I’ve taken, and it seems to work. He seems ill-at-ease. It was a low-blow, I know.
“Well, I never see my father, actually. We barely interact, and trust me, it’s best that way.”
“So you probably do pretty well there,” I add. I can tell he does okay for himself. Men like him reek of money; the nice suit, the air of superiority, the talk of travel, and the watch on his wrist. “You’re paying for my dinner, I assume.”
His eyes grow wide as saucers. “Of course! I’m the one who invited you,” he points out. “I always pay.”
“A gentleman, I see.”
He smiles. “I try,” he says. “Especially when the woman is worth it.”
“And what makes a woman ‘worth it’?” I ask. I’m nowhere near done with him.
He’s caught off guard for a second, but recovers well. “Well, first off. Someone kind,” he says. “Someone smart, interesting… someone I can have a decent conversation with. Someone classy. Someone funny.”
I smile, thinking he’s full of shit. But then as he fixes me for just a moment, his eyes darken and his gaze travels to the swell of my cleavage. “And someone sexy. Someone I want to bend over the back of my Audi and fuck all night. Someone who doesn’t mind getting her hair pulled.”
I almost choke on my wine.
