“They have steaks. Chicken. All that.”
“What if I’m a vegan?”
“You’re not. You admitted to licking the cheese grease off my pizza. Who does that, by the way?”
“Maybe I was trying to see if I could give you cooties.” Sutton blushes, but she picks up the menu and pretends to be nonchalant. I give her props for her supreme control. If I was in her place, I think I’d be a raging mess. Right. Not like I’m not already. Then she continues, “Anyway, I would have been happy with a burger and fries. You didn’t have to break the bank.”
“I have money to spare.”
“I know. You always stay in the best of everything. First-class ticket. Suites at hotels. I know even your suits cost over three grand a piece, and you have them specially tailored to you. I also know your shoes are obscenely expensive. Everything you own is expensive. Why not eat at a place that costs a hundred dollars for a plate too?”
“It does not cost—”
Sutton thrusts the menu at me. She has her thumb on one of the appetizer items. Steak. Just the steak. Ninety-eight dollars. Potatoes, vegetables, and anything else will be counted as extra. A baked potato is twenty-one dollars. Well, shit. She’s right. I can’t remember ever looking at the prices before as work dinners get paid for by the company. I just swipe my company credit card at the end of the night while Sutton takes care of the rest.
“Order your grandma a meal too. It’s on me.”
“By you, you mean the company. I’m going to have to put this through on the credit card reconciliation, aren’t I?”
“Why don’t you just let someone do something nice for you and not complain about it?”
“Because this isn’t nice!” She shuts her menu forcefully. “You aren’t doing this to be nice, and this isn’t a real date. I don’t want a two hundred dollar meal. I don’t need one, and I feel bad about the price. A meal for me and one for my grandma would cost me like a week’s salary. How do you not think about that?”
“Because I work hard so that I don’t have to.”
“But I work hard too! All day! Is the work I do, making sure you have everything you need to make you comfortable, any less important than what you do?”
“Well, in the big scheme of things…”
“Argh!” Sutton shoves the menu at me. She grabs her purse and roughly shoves back her chair.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving. I’m catching a cab. This was a stupid idea because I could never date someone like you. Fire me if you want. I can’t do it.”
I can’t just sit here after my date just left, so I rush off after her. I trail her through the restaurant, but Sutton has the advantage of being smaller than I am. She’s lithe and fast and makes quick work of the maze of the restaurant.
As I chase her out onto the street, my mother’s face flashes before my eyes. Lately, she has this look of disappointment whenever she talks to me. Well, that and hope. She’s also so damn hopeful. Like she thinks that one day, I’ll transform back into the person I was before Dad died. Before I took over the company. Before. Always before. She’s always disappointed. Disappointed in who I am…and worried. She has this look, which is a mixture of all three, and it always reminds me of how my dad would look at me if he could see me now.
Sometimes, I’m a hard pill for myself to swallow.
“Sutton!” I burst out the front door of the restaurant. At least I now have space to walk freely.
She glances over her shoulder, turns back around, and flips me a not-so-friendly bird. Her hips sway as she power walks down the sidewalk, away from me. God, she’s fast, even in those heels.
I break into a full-on run. She’s at a disadvantage since she’s not willing to attempt to outrun me in those heels and the tight dress she has on. I grab her arm, and right as our skin makes contact, my throat closes up.
Oh god. Please. Please not here.
It might be after eight and dark, but the street is busy enough. There are cars driving by and people still out walking.
“Sutton, please…” My skin breaks out into a clammy sweat, and I feel like my chest is going to implode. Fire erupts from my stomach up into my throat, and adrenaline bursts through my veins. My heart is pumping. It’s pumping really hard.
“Oh please. You think faking a panic attack is going to help you? Jesus. Haven’t you heard about the kid who cried wolf? I’m not coming to help you next time. Oh right, that’s because I quit.” She tears her hand away from me.