My answer surprises him. His fork and knife are poised midair above his steak as he leans back against his chair. His wide mouth with full lips covering perfect white teeth retracts as he sucks in a deep breath, and audible hissing escapes from him. His elbows rest on the table, knife, and fork still not touching the plate.
Mr. North gives a visible shake of his head. “She's here? Here in this restaurant tonight?” he asks.
“She could not be here,” I lie because that's what I do. I need this money, and Charlie made this happen for me. “If you're asking, I can make this work.”
He licks his lips, clearly angered by this new information. The fork and knife finally clatter to the plate: his jaw flexes, and the muscles around his neck strain.
“My fucking luck,” he says more to himself than me.
“Charlotte couldn't be here tonight. She had a last-minute emergency. I work here. We’re best friends.”
I hold my tongue, waiting to see if the lies are enough to make him happy. I don't understand the harm in this lie because I’m just serving food, and anyone can do that.
He sneers. His eyes hold mine hostage, “Well, I guess I'll just fucking work with what I've got. Like I always do. You work here so you must not make a lot of money. Correct?” He glares at me.
That’s rude to state that I'm poor, but okay.“That's true,” I say before biting my tongue to hold it in place.
“You go to college?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a rich family? Come from rich blood? Come from any kind of money?” he asks.
I shake my head, “No. None, Sir.”
He continues his ruthless monotone verbal assault, “Let me take a guess. You come from a poor bad family. You grew up in a shit shack in the middle of fucking nowhere. You ran away. You then got lucky enough to go into debt getting yourself into college. Hoping you can make it far away from the small, sad world your parents brought you into.”
“You’re still trying to get away from your shitty roots and upbringing from being nothing, and you're still struggling. You’re poor as shit, probably living off of cheap noodles and just hoping things will get better.”
I don't say anything because he's hit the nail. But also, how he's just written me off in such a demeaning way cuts me down in a way I’ve never experienced.
I stutter, and he cuts me off again. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”
No longer able to hold his gaze, I slice my eyes to the floor to my cheap heels I was happy to find on sale at the mall on Black Friday, “Yes.”
Chapter 10
Those merciless blue eyes pin me in place, cementing me to the floor.
“Well, let me give you a tip about the real world. You don't get money for free. You have to work, and it's fucking hard. Sometimes you get lucky. Most of the time, you don't. You just get fucked.”
“I come from old money, but I wanted to piss off my family. So I took my money and created something different from my family's line of work and investments. Something none of them would want to touch with a ten-foot pole or the best damn lawyers they can afford.”
My face remains impassive as I wait for him to finish up whatever's happening here.
“I run a manor, an academy of sorts,” He leans forward, and a ghost of a smile touches his lips. “You've signed an NDA? A nondisclosure agreement, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know why you signed it?”
“So you could have your privacy, Sir,” I reply.
“It's a little more than that,” he retorts. “Yes, it's all things private, but it's so I can do or say whatever the fuck I want without repercussions. I'm rich enough to get out of any situation with the right amount of money and the best lawyers.”
I nod my head in agreement as I understand.
“Anyway, I run this manor. Business savvy or financially challenged young women go to earn more money than they could ever fathom. Poor young women like yourself come to me. I arrange training for them. They then work in sessions for other wealthy people with a certain taste that only these women, in particular, can provide. These young ladies help wealthy gentlemen live out their dark fantasies.”