“Sorry.” She doesn’t look sorry. “But like I was saying—”
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to be really unhappy, Tiffany.” Court is speaking entirely too mildly, like he’s vaguely annoyed with a puppy that hasn’t been housebroken yet.
“But…” She pouts. Then her eyes widen. “Wait! Are you going to hire her?” She points like I’m something that ought to be scraped off hot asphalt.
“I have zero interest in working for him,” I say blandly. “I don’t date my bosses.”
“Tiff, meet Pascal. See how gorgeous she is? Scary smart, too. A strong, independent go-getter. Just my type.”
He’s probably saying all this to piss Tiffany off. But pleasure warms my cheeks anyway because those are attributes I’m working hard to achieve.
He continues, “Now listen. Good luck with your job hunting. I’m sure it’ll be fruitful for you.” His voice has turned coolly formal, his words hard. It surprises me, because he always seems so jovial and fun. “Don’t ever interrupt my personal time again. If you want to talk to me about professional matters, you can make an appointment and pay my hourly rate of five thousand dollars, wired in advance.”
Her mouth drops open like a maguro I can see on the cutting board. “How can you be so cold?”
“Quite easily. Goodbye.” He gives a little wave.
Her massive chest heaves. I brace myself for a scene, but she inhales—very impressively—a few times and stomps out of the restaurant, making more noise than a rhino trying to kill a roach.
Court turns to me with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine. Does, um, this happen a lot?” I’ve never had an encounter with an ex’s previous girlfriend like this. I can’t pin down how I feel about it. Annoyed, obviously. Awkward. And pitying…because it’s just pathetic for any woman to do what Tiffany just did. But that doesn’t mean I feel much empathy for her.
His left eyebrow twitches. “Define ‘a lot.’”
“Like…a few times a month?”
“It happens. They know who I am, what I have, who I know.”
“That must be irritating.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is.”
Our server finally brings our entrées. I start to pick through the beautifully laid out maguro with my bamboo chopsticks, my appetite no longer quite so hearty. Our mood is quiet and somewhat somber.
I place an elbow on the table and prop my chin on my fist. Court is eating like there’s nothing wrong with his appetite. Maybe he isn’t at all bothered by the fact that people try to use him because of his money and family. But I am. I’ve never dated somebody like him before, and I wonder…
“Do you ever wonder if I’m going to use you?” I blurt out.
He nods, his mouth set in a flat line. “You already have.”
I have? When?
How?
“Last night. It was great.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes shimmering with something stormy that should scare me but doesn’t. “You need to do it again.”
My face flames, half with embarrassment and half with inexplicable pleasure. “You aren’t taking me seriously.”
“Of course I am. I can’t believe you’re worried about it. You aren’t like them. You left me fifty bucks that first time, remember?” He taps his chin. “I think it maybe covered the service charge or something.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Nope. Gonna milk it for life. When I’m old and lying in a nursing home bed, I’m going to be like, ‘Skittles paid me after great sex. One thousand dollars.’”
My eyebrows are probably disappearing under my hairline. “A thousand dollars, huh?”
“Adjusted for inflation.”