Page 26 of The Opposite of Romance
“Where are you going?” Liv asks.
“Umm, I have a thing in the city.”
“Like what you had last week?” Asher quips.
“Yeah, something like that,” I respond, but Olivia stares at me for a second too long.
I hate not being fully honest with them, but what would I even say?
I have a date with a random hot older guy? And he’s filthy rich? And I’ve had my lady parts waxed in caseit leads to more? Nope. I think this works fine. Besides, it’s not like he’s picking me up, so they’ll see him.
Asher and Olivia are spending their screen time while Sandy helps me get ready. We decide on a little black dress she brought me.
“You’re sure it’s not too short?”
“For church, yes. For a date with a billionaire? Not short enough, to be honest.” I punch her shoulder playfully, and we both burst out laughing.
She clears her throat as I’m finishing up, getting my small black clutch ready. I turn around, noticing she has a stack of condoms in her hand.
“I’m aware it’s been a while, but these are condoms. Use them.”
I roll my eyes because she’s silly, but she forces them into my bag. It’s not like I actually plan to have sex with the man today, but the possibility sends flutters to my stomach.
My phone pings with a text.
Unknown number
The car is waiting out front.
Sandy squeals with excitement. “Ok, be safe, but have fun!”
“If he kidnaps and murders me, tell my kids I loved them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s rich. He could have you kidnapped without wining and dining you first. Besides, if he were into that, he probably wouldn’t aim for a 36-year-old divorced mom. Ouch,” she adds when I pinch her arm.
Oddly enough, her words bring me slight comfort. She’s right. Unfortunately, with his net worth, he could probably have girls trafficked to him. And if he were like that, he’d probably go for young girls barely out of their teens, like the rest of those creeps. The thought makes me shudder. I mentally note to make another donation to the anti-sex trafficking organization and proceed to say goodbye to mychildren.
They barely notice me, focused on the show they’re watching, so I slip out with no further questions.
The car waiting for me is a black limousine. The driver opens the door for me, and I get comfortable on the dark leather seats. Everything inside screams luxury. Typically, I would open every compartment to check what’s in it, but I’m too anxious for that. Rather, I grab a water bottle and slowly sip the water, willing myself to calm down.
When was the last time I was on an actual date? I think it was almost four years ago. David did nothing for our anniversary. I was hurt, and he acted dumb, asking, “Do we still celebrate it?” The next day, after the fight, he took me to a restaurant two blocks away from our house in Seattle. It was distant and awkward, and he got mad because I was ‘acting out’. I kept a cool expression, but my insides were burning with rage.
By the time the limousine arrives at its destination, I’ve gotten hot then cold a million times. I’m surprised the car’s cooling system still works, considering the number of times I’ve turned it off, and back on again. It didn’t stop the nervous sweats from appearing, but luckily my deodorant is doing God’s work.
We stop in front of a small French restaurant named La Nuit. I’ve never been here before, but I heard about it. It’s one of those impossible to get into places.
“Mr. Sterling is waiting for you inside,” the driver informs as I exit the limousine.
My heels click on the pavement, and I take a deep breath.Let’s do this.
The hostess points me toward the table, but I would have no trouble finding it on my own, considering there’s only about ten tables in the whole place. Also, my date demands attention, his gaze set firmly on me. Not wanting to get caught up in him, my eyes travel the space. Manicured topiaries separate the tables, giving the place an outside feel. The walls and ceilings are intricately molded, replicating old mansions and castles, while crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room.
I approach the table, but Leo doesn’t get up. His jaw is set in stone as his eyes roam my body, freely and shamelessly. Goosebumps prickle my skin. His hand gestures for me to sit.
Oookay. I guess chivalry is dead after all.
I take a seat across from him. The table is set with more cutlery than I could possibly ever need. Sandy would get a kick out of this, so I start counting the pieces, but he clears his throat, demanding my attention.
