Page 64 of Contention

The restaurant he chose in his neck of the woods is a fancy, new age sort of steakhouse, complete with a lounge area for the barflies. On the way over, she distracts herself by looking at the menu on her phone, feeling her mouth water, looking at all the creative, farm fresh plates on their website.

The place itself is a lovely brick building, all front windows smoked slightly to give privacy within. The name of the restaurant glitters in seductive lettering on the front over the double wide dark wood doors. The smell of food blasts Kara in the face as she steps inside, taking note of the exotic décor and dark stone floors. It almost feels like she’s stepped into a palace in a jungle, vaguely. There’s a giant tank in the middle of the eating area, filled with large fish swimming from the floor all the way up to the ceiling of the restaurant.

The hostess eyes her up and down as she goes to sidestep check-in, opting for the bar. “Do you have a reservation?”

The snooty tone of the hostess makes Kara grit her teeth, forcing a sly grin on her ruby lips. “My ass has a date with one of those bar chairs. Thanks for asking though, very kind of you.”

The uptight woman scowls, putting her hands on her hips before facing forward again, checking in another group of people.

Sliding into a luxurious chair at the wood carved bar, away from the dining room, Kara purses her lips into what she hopes is somewhat on the sultry-bitch scale, waiting coolly for the bartender to take her order. The gentleman is wearing a nice button-down shirt with a tie, looking very much like an upper crust sommelier of sorts.

With her dirty martini in front of her, Kara takes a few aggressive sips, her nerves finally catching up with her. No matter how she plays it cool, how she tries to become the persona she is currently adopting, her spine is still crawling with anxiety. She’s meeting Nicholas Havenwood-Calais and she’s going home with him after.

After getting into an argument.

You don’t have to go home with him, you know,her thoughts tell her.

But, she does. She needs to clear this sick fantasy from her thoughts. She needs to get him out of her system, to forget why she wants him. Perhaps, just this once, she will learn her lesson. Perhaps, if she’s lucky, she’ll hate it. Perhaps the angry hole inside of her will be fulfilled and she can leave this all behind once and for all.

Sighing, Kara munches on her blue cheese stuffed olive, feeling her lips curve into a genuine smile; it’s fabulously done. Some places are just shit at stuffing their olives, but not this place. The bartender chuckles, “That good?”

“God, yes.” She gushes. “I see why you charge three dollars extra for them now. Worth it, pal.”

The man leans over the counter with a laugh, plopping another skewered olive in her drink. He winks at her, “That one is on me.” Then his eyes widen at something behind her, his back straightening.

Kara doesn’t need to know what the bartender is looking at. She smells him before she sees him.

The warm scent of rum and sweet tobacco, mixed with coffee falls over her like silk and Kara’s heart leaps. An arm slides around her shoulders before she even has the chance to turn and see him, soft lips pressing to her temple in a rush that sends her nearly spiraling. “Hey, sweetpea,” he rasps against her skin, very much so in her space with his overpowering presence. “Tormenting the locals with your feminine wiles, are we?”

The bartender makes himself scarce rather quickly, as if embarrassed to have been caught hitting on some guy’s girlfriend right in front of him. As Calais’s lips leave her temple, a light brush of contact, she imagines him giving the bartender a knowing look, enjoying the man’s discomfort.

Kara shifts in her fancy seat to take a look at Calais, taking note of his left arm casually slung over the back of her chair in a possessive fashion. He’s in business casual; nice jeans, white shirt, and a dark navy sport coat. Seeing him not in a suit somehow makes him seem more attainable, tangible.

Of course, she’s seen him in sweatpants before, but even this outfit is an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. It makes him appear human. Even the small hints of wealth on him, such as his fancy watch and his pristine, distant appearance can’t detract from that. Staring up into his tropic sea eyes, Kara shrugs one of her shoulders slightly, saying, “I grew bored waiting for you.”

He exhales hard through his nose, like a laugh that never made it past his lips. “Devious minx.”

Grinning slightly, Kara says, “I like that one. Very charming. Now, feed me, I’m fucking starving.”

“As always, I’m impressed by your vulgarity.” Staring down at her, he grips her by the chin, his thumb just a hair away from touching her bottom lip. “This is a bold color on you.”

She swats at his hand with a mild glare. “Don’t mess up my lipstick.”

“It’s going to get ruined later anyway,” he says lightly even as the man to his right chokes on his drink.

Kara studiously pretends those words have absolutely no effect on her. Opening up the faux leather-bound menu, Kara looks up at Calais. She doesn’t have to crane her neck far for because he’s practically on her, even perched on his own chair. “What do you suggest, gentleman ofexquisitetaste andlovelymanners?”

Calais cocks one of his dark eyebrows at her. “You want to eat at the bar? I have a reservation for a table…”

“I rather like it in here. These bar chairs are practically dining room quality anyway, why move?” She does enjoy staying in the bar, actually. Eating in bars by herself has been a thing for as long as she can remember. Living alone for so long gave Kara that little habit. It was easier to eat at the bar alone than it was to eat alone at a table, surrounded by families and large groups. At least, usually the bar was for single or couples, or the people who really did want to be left the fuck alone.

Generally, Kara falls into the last category.

Whatever he thinks about that, Calais doesn’t make mention. Instead, his eyes drift over the menu in a way that belies his familiarity with it. When he orders, he gets a few different small shareable plates that come at prices that Kara wouldn’t feel comfortable ordering by herself. Bison meatballs? Honeycomb ricotta on fancy toast with allspice? Siracha honey cauliflower? Avocado tuna poke? Her mouth waters.

As they sit and chit chat about casework aimlessly, Calais winds a few strands of her hair around his fingers, causing Kara to be hyperaware of everything his says and does. “That case has been closed from the start,” he’s saying of the Debra Mills case against Max Dotaire. “Your client wasn’t vetted close enough and I’m sure Derrick is ready to cut his losses.”

“Says you.”

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