Her eyes widened. “Um… yeah, okay. I’m not sure how to answer that since you basically just insulted me.”
“I was going for flattery, one fail for KP.” I attempted to look remorseful. “I mean to ask, is being a server at this location your life’s ambition?”
She laughed at me outright.
“I think I prefer the insult. But to answer your question, I work here because it’s near my house and is open all night. I have a day job that pays shit, so I have to work extra.”
I waited for more, but that was all she was going to give me.
“Ever entertain the idea of getting a higher paying job? Just so you didn’t have to work so much?”
I was trying to keep this light, communicative, but what I really wanted to do was whisk her out of here, bridal style, drive her to some secluded hill and kiss her succulent mouth, which still had a faint glossy pink on it from an earlier application of lip tint.
“I work with at risk kids. Their families can’t pay a lot, so it’s worth it. There’s more to life than money.” She eyed me hard.
“That’s noble,” was all I could muster since I was lost in the thought of her lips.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you? Did you always have too much money or did you rob a bank or something?”
“Always had it,” I answered as I poured two glasses of champagne and took out our dinner.
Dean & DeLuca never disappointed. I brought out some arugula salad with mandarin oranges and goat cheese, seared salmon with tarragon truffles, handcrafted bread with cheeses, and an assortment of Belgian chocolate truffles for dessert. She seemed impressed by the spread.
“Must be nice to be able to afford this,” she said absentmindedly as she glanced at the food.
“It’s very nice, but rich people have problems too. Do you eat fish?”
I hadn’t thought about it, that she may have been a vegetarian or some kind of animal rights activist. I panicked for a moment.
“Fish is fine. Rich people problems? What do you mean? What could they possibly have problems with?”
“Um, dating feisty waitresses.” Oh god, that was a slip. “But it’s a conversation for another day.” I blew off her inquiry because I was absolutely not ready to go there, not tonight.
Tonight was about getting into her pants. Wait? No, um, tonight was about getting to know her. I was horrible at this. As I brought out the food, the mousy waitress placed chipped, dingy plates and utensils on the still disturbingly tacky table. This was almost as rough as camping, but I brushed it off, I had a larger purpose to focus on.
“Pass me your plate,” I ordered, and she did so cautiously.
“So,” I continued our conversation, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Are you seriously asking me this?” She seemed exasperated with me.
“I want to get to know you.” Why was I being so awkward?
“Why do you want to know me so badly? Just because you think I’m beautiful? There are plenty of beautiful people in the world.”
I leaned forward, wanting to touch her so damn bad I nearly had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching for her. “Well, you are exceptionally so.”
“Is this a date?” she asked point blank.
“Maybe.” I stared in her gorgeous brown eyes and waited for what that fiery mouth might shoot back at me.
“Or maybe it’s what?” She hadn’t even tasted her food, and she seemed ready to bolt. I had to snag her.
“Or maybe it’s something more casual. It doesn’t have to be anything as formal as a date per se.” Well, I said what I wanted to say, and yet… wow, it came out all wrong.
Damn!
“Casual as in…?” she goaded me.
“As in whatever you might want it to be. I have plenty of money, we can do whatever you fancy in any way you fancy it. I’m good at a lot of things. You’re sure to enjoy yourself. I’m quite a skilled lover, I think you will be well satisfied. I’ll pay for everything and make sure that your every need is taken care of.”
I needed to just shut the fuck up right now.
I was letting my lust do the talking, and I instantly regretted it. Why couldn’t I be sincere? What was holding the part of my heart that knew how to be a gentleman captive? Was I only capable of seducing women?
Tears welled in her eyes, and she threw her napkin on the table. “No, thank you, Mr. Preston.”
“Call me KP.” What was I doing? “Listen, I just want to talk.”
Wow, I sounded so desperate.
“You want to talk about ‘what I fancy and how I fancy it,’ well, here it goes. I fancy world peace and fairness for all people, not just people like you who already have too much. I fancy a man who doesn’t ask me why I would want to work in a dump like this. I fancy a world where a person can do their job without some megalomaniac coming in and ruining their day. What I don’t fancy is being propositioned, for a second time. And… Mr. Preston, do you know what I fancy most of all? I fancy a man who can see me as a human being, not just a walking vagina. I want a man who doesn’t think a few thousand dollars, a bottle of champagne, and some wild caught salmon is enough to get me on my back, ready for you to give me ‘something I’m sure to enjoy.’”
When she stood and turned to walk away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. I hoped it wasn’t too rough, but this was my last chance. “How can I make this better? I came all this way just to…” I faltered, unsure how to go on without making this worse.
She wrenched her arm out of my grip. “You came all this way to get what you weren’t able to get last time.” She took off her apron and walked away, then grabbed her coat on the rack near the door. I moved to follow her, but she turned and held her palm out as I approached.
“It’s not like that at all,” I was nearly begging.
She looked at me dead on, her gorgeous face stern, strong, and so fucking sexy.
“Everyone in the restaurant has googled your name, they know who you are. Your reputation as a producer of big movies is well documented. Bravo. So too is the fact that you are a womanizing scumbag with a mean temper. I don’t need that in my life, and believe it or not, your money doesn’t change my view on this one little bit. Shocking as this may seem, Mr. Preston, there are some people in the world money can’t buy. Ma, I’m leaving for the night. Fire me if you want.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and pushed the door open. She paused and looked back at me. “Don’t follow me, and please, don’t ever come back.” Then she was gone, the glass door slamming behind her.
Ma waved her hand in the air with disdain. “Hotheaded kid,” she scoffed then looked at me with her snaggletoothed grin, “come back whenever you want.”
The gristly, half-drunk man sitting at the bar next to me angled his face toward mine. “Modern women, ain’t no way to snag ‘em these days,” he said earnestly.
He smelled of cheap booze and looked as if he was due for a new razor as his facial hair was unevenly shaved.