Page 47 of King of Players

Quickly stopping as the page started to load, I kicked myself mentally for going to such lengths for a woman who had clearly stated that she didn’t want to be with me. I reminded myself of my date tonight with Katja, the gorgeous celebrity tattoo artist whom I had met a week ago at a high end fashion house party.

Shrugging off thoughts of Kaira, I went on my way, heading for my next meeting with a director. It was then followed by lunch with a cousin, drinks with my agent, and then a break at home, where I got ready for dinner.

As I added the final touches to my look, I took a step back and examined my appearance in the mirror. Black suit, black shirt, and shiny Italian shoes. The whole missing Kaira thing was starting to get old, and for the past six months, I’d been soldiering through dates like chores to be crossed off a list. Not a single woman sparked my interest, and the conversations kept getting duller the harder I worked on making them count.

Clearly, I was in a rut. But Katja had seemed different. Throughout the party, we had talked about politics and current affairs, and her cynical nature made for the most amusing jokes. Dark as they were, I’d laughed heartily, reclaiming some of the joy I used to feel with every new woman before Kaira was thrown into my orbit.

Promising myself a good night, I walked out of the house with enough energy to make it happen.

“So, do you have any restrictions when it comes to food?” I asked Katja as we examined the menus.

“Yes,” she mindlessly said, while her eyes ran over the page. “No meat, no dairy, no eggs. I’m gluten-free, sugar-free, and absolutely no preservatives.”

Nodding, I knew where I had heard that before. Literally everywhere I turned in my professional circle. In the end, she ordered a plain salad with lemon squeeze on the side. “That’s it?” I asked.

“Well, yes. These places need to understand that we’re no longer giving in to their ways. There’s a new world order and they have to accommodate it.”

“Right.”

“The capitalistic machine has to bend to our wishes, you see? They’ve been feeding us crap for decades, even making us crave it.”

“Ah.”

“And now—”

“Now the very same machine is intelligently changing the name of the game, and everyone is blindly following. The illusion of self-awareness and environmental responsibility is the new campaign, you see.”

She snorted, blinking at me in visible disbelief. “You talk like my grandfather!”

“Oh? Then I’d love to meet him. Sounds like a sensible man.”

“He’s a hardline conservative with obsolete doctrines, who still believes that men and women are different and should be treated as such!” she argued.

“You don’t think they are?”

Straightening her back, she crossed her arms over the edge of the table and stared into my eyes with determination. “You do. Care to elaborate?”

“I would never expect myself to have the power or the gifts it takes to be a mother, for instance.”

“Don’t butter me up. That’s the oldest trick in the book. First, you try to flatter us with the whole ‘giving-mother-by-nature’ bullshit, and then you sneak in your own superiorities.”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

“Then carry on,” she challenged me with a faint smile. “Forget I interrupted you and let’s see where your speech was going.”

“I was going to say that I believe women are so much more evolved than men. I’ve met some incredible women—my own mother included—to know this for sure. Yes, we may have played a dirty game in order to dominate the world, but really—”

“Really? This is the sort of thing you say on dates to get into a woman’s pants.”

Tired of feeling attacked while the evening hadn’t even properly started, I leaned back in my chair, decidedly speaking my mind. “Katja, I hate to say things like this; but you seem to be forgetting that I don’t need any tricks to get there.”

“Of course. You’re Chad Niles, the sweetheart, the heartbreaker, the ladies’ man.”

“If that’s what you think of me, then why did you agree to this dinner?”

“Because at the party, I thought I saw something different. I guess I was wrong.”

“Well, join the Club of the Disillusioned.”

---