Page 21 of A Smooth Operator

Granted, I never had to worry about money. I had an inheritance with no strings—which I'd used part of to stand up my business. I also ran a profitable nightclub. My restaurants weren't as profitable, but they were definitely in the black. I wasn't living off my family money—per se, though that had been the initial investment that funded my life today.

Still, if I didn't have the money, I'd earn it somehow—I'd scale my life accordingly. I wouldn't want to get married for it. Would I? I didn't know. It was easy to stand here and think this when I had a healthy bank account independent of my family.

"I can't live on that," she exclaimed. "That's a pittance."

"So, you want me to marry you so you get access to your trust fund?" I was baffled as fuck.

"Well, yes, but I also love you."

I shook my head, repulsed by Marina, and extremely tired of all her machinations. "No, you don't. Marry someone else. I'm sure there are several guys who'd love to put a ring on your finger. Pick one of them."

She walked up to me and put a hand on my chest. "I don't want them. I want you."

Her hand slid down my chest, and I didn't stop her. She cupped me, and I lay soft between my legs. No fucking way could Marina ever turn me on again, not after I saw her with Alex. The fact that she couldn't see that only highlighted her narcissism.

I took her offending hand in mine and led her out of my loft. "Goodbye, Marina. I wish you all the best."

I shut the door in her face.

I ignored her cries for me by going into my bedroom and getting into the shower. I felt dirtied by her, and I wanted very much to wash her away.

Chapter 8

Echo

Idressed up for my non-date/date. I wasn't sure why Remi wanted me to have dinner with him. I suspected he was saying thank you for being there with him in his office. Or? No, no, no, don't go there, Echo.

Aristotle said that hope is a waking dream, and just like dreams, it wasn't real. Remi owned a nightclub and two restaurants. He was handsome, rich, and confident. What on earth would he want with someone like me?

But he invited me to his beautiful restaurant. It must mean something.

By the time the Uber pulled up to De La Mer, I was a mass of contradictions: giddy with excitement to be having dinner with my childhood crush; and anxious that I was going to make a fool of myself.

With trepidation, I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking on the polished cobblestone walkway leading to the entrance. Remi's French seafood restaurant stood elegantly against the night, its façade glowing in the warm, golden light.

I adjusted my navy wrap dress and brushed back a curl that had escaped my updo before heading inside. I'd dressed up. Of course, I had. The wrap dress was Marc Jacobs. I got it on sale at Macy's. It fit like a dream, and everyone knew wrap dresses hid all the jiggly bits. I wasn't fat any longer but I was still self-conscious of my body. I had been obese as a child, which was a direct result of being unhealthy due to the lack of proper nutrition.

Aunt Fern hadn't been the best caregiver in the world. I didn't get three square meals in her house. She left me to figure out my food—she was giving me a roof over my head, and the rest was my responsibility. She even locked the pantry and the fridge so I wouldn't steal her food.

Aunt Fern, for all her "Yes, sir, it's God's wish I take care of this poor orphan child," was a mean-spirited woman who didn't have a kind bone in her body.

But once I was in university, I worked on myself. I worked out. I went hiking. I went mountain biking. Once I had an apartment with a kitchen that I shared with others, I started to cook for myself, which was so much healthier than eating at the cafeteria or, at my worst enemy, fast food joints.

Poor people didn't have the same access to food as the rich did. So, when people made fun of my weight, they were making fun of my poverty—it was a double whammy.

Well, look at me now! I was a size eight and not a twenty. My body was toned. Sure, I had an ass and big tits, but that was genetics. I couldn’t change any of that any more than I could change the color of my eyes. As someone of mixed race, I was always asked where I was from, which was code for, so who was black, your mama or your papa? Right after, the question that wasn't asked but hovered in the air was, "Who's your white daddy? Was your mama sleeping with someone important?"

Most people had the decency to keep their speculation to themselves, but mean girls like Marina had no problem voicing it. It used to not bother me; I didn't let it. Strangely, it wasn't until now, when I felt so much better about myself, that being called Poopy Pants annoyed me. I felt far more successful compared to pampered women like Marina and Lani. I'd worked hard to get to where I was, and every time they made fun of me, they negated my truth.

The maître d’ greeted me with a polite smile and led me through the main dining area, where well-dressed couples and groups were savoring the chef’s latest creations. The air buzzed with conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of French music playing softly in the background. Crystal chandeliers hung like stars above the tables, and the delicate scent of butter and herbs lingered in the air.

I couldn't wait to see Remi. Would he like how I looked? Would he give me a hug? I'd love that. He smelled so good. I'd discovered he wore Homme Savage, and since then, whenever I went to the mall, I'd spritz myself with it just so I could smell him. So, my crush was a little more on the side of half in love. Not much I could do about how I felt.

I was guided through an archway to a private room with a partially open ceiling that allowed moonlight to filter in. Ivy climbed up trellises on the walls, and soft fairy lights were strung between the branches of an overhanging oak tree, creating a fairytale-like atmosphere. The table was set with crisp white linens, flickering candles, and gleaming silverware.

"I'm Walter. I will be your server tonight." A man in a suit pulled out a chair for me.

"Where's Remi?" I asked, suddenly scared that I had been stood up. It would be so embarrassing to eat all by myself.

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