It’s probably for the best. It’s not like a man like Mr. Ford could really want to keep someone like me around, anyway. Who knows how many times he’s done this? It’s best if I just enjoy my last night with him and indulge in as much amazing food and wine—and Mr. Ford—as I can. But I’m definitely saving room for dessert both here at the restaurant and later in his bed.
We’re shown to an amazing table that overlooks the Hudson River. Of course it’s the best table in the house, I’m not the least bit surprised. Mr. Ford holds my hand as we make our way through the restaurant. Tingles erupt up and down my arm at his touch, and I let myself imagine what it would be like to be married to a man like him—a crazy fantasy, I know, but tonight that’s what I’m all about. The fantasy!
Mr. Ford tucks my chair in and sits across from me. He looks unbelievably handsome in his suit, his eyes sparkling in the low light of the candles. His chiseled jaw clenches, and he purses his lips as he looks at the menu. There’s so many little quirks about him that I have yet to discover. It’s like I’m a reporter for the night, taking it all in so that I can come back and remember every single detail when he’s gone.
“You’re comfortable?” He asks, finally looking up at me. My heart nearly stops at his beauty.
“Yep. I’m great.” I say.
“Good.” The waiter arrives and takes a breath, but Mr. Ford interrupts him. “We don’t need to hear the specials.” He closes his menu. “We’ll both have the Porterhouse Steak. One of each side. Two wedge salads, and a bottle of your finest champagne.”
The waiter smiles, the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. “Yes, sir. Medium rare?”
Mr. Ford glances at me and I nod. I’ve never been to a steak house like this before so I assume if the waiter suggest that, then that’s how people do it. “Yes, please.” I say. The waiter nods and shuffles off into the crowded dining room. “Wow. This place is wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like it, Olivia. You deserve a taste of what it’s like to have nice things.” His steely gaze is perplexing. I can never quite tell if he wants to eat me up or spank me silly. I suppose I’d enjoy either of those options.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, unable to take the silence stretching between us any longer. Mr. Ford gives a subtle nod. “Twenty-four thousand dollars for twenty-four hours is a lot of money to just…bewith me for the night. Level with me. Why are you doing this?”
For the first time since we sat down, Mr. Ford’s jaw unclenches and his eyes go distant. Immediately I regret asking him again, but I have to know. This is not the kind of opportunity that comes around often for a girl like me.
“I already told you. I wanted you. And I always get what I want.”
“Bullshit.” I spit out a little too loud. The woman next to us drops her fork against her plate. I turn to her and mouth a quick sorry. “Just tell me why you’re doing this.” The hollow feeling pings my gut. “Unless, of course, this is just what you do. Sleep with women for an exorbitant amount of money because you can. And that would make sense, but you’re…” I look at him from across the table.So hot. So fucking hot that my pussy ignites with every glance you cast my way.“You don’t need to do this, I bet.”
“Olivia—”
“No.”
“No is not part of the deal, Olivia.”
“I’ll do anything you ask me to do. Hell, I’m glad to, but you owe me just this one answer. Why are you doing this?” For a moment, Mr. Ford doesn’t say a word. His eyebrows knit, and his fists clench against the white tablecloth. Clearly, I’ve struck a nerve, but I have to know. Before this night is over and I never have the chance to ask him again.
With shaking hands, I reach across the table and gently lay my hands over his. The rage in his eyes melts like icecaps. My breath comes in short spurts, and I realize that I’m nervous. That if he asks me to leave right now, no money, no deal, I will do what he says.
“Tell me.” I whisper.
Mr. Ford takes a deep breath. “When I was little, my mother and I lived out of our car for three years.” My eyes go wide. I was not expecting this.
“Go on.”
“It was horrible. She did a lot of horrible things to make sure that we were able to eat. Things that I can’t even bring myself to talk about. I was left alone in that car all of the time. I missed an entire year of school, held back.” A huff escapes his mouth. “No friends. No other family. It wasn’t until a teacher recognized my potential, called child protective services, and got me off of the street and into a loving foster home.”
“Oh my God, Mr. Ford.” Tears sting behind my eyes watching him fight his own tears. This big, burly bossy man on the verge of an emotional break. “I’m so sorry.” I trace circles on the tops of his knuckles with my thumbs. He doesn’t seem to notice. He also doesn’t look at me.
“So, I know what it’s like to be homeless. And I know what it’s like to feel helpless.” My heart sinks in my chest ever so slightly knowing that he’s just paying it forward. That I’m nothing but an opportunity to keep the karma rolling. I guess I can appreciate that, but it still hurts.
“I see.” I say. “That sucks you had to go through that.”
“I don’t want you to have to go through it, too.” He quickly says.
“Thank you.” I say, and fight back tears. For a second I thought I was having true feelings for him. But now I see, I was just confused. Treating him like a savior and me, his little project to save. At least I know the truth.
“Champagne?” The waiter appears seemingly out of no where. We unlock hands and pull back to our separate sides of the table. Familiar silence stretches between us as the waiter pours the bubbly, then puts the bottle back into a bucket of ice.
Mr. Ford holds up his glass and I follow suit. My heart hurts for him. My heart hurts for me.
“Cheers.” He says.