Page 21 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Wow, you look just like your photos. You’re beautiful,” he says, smiling as the waiter fills his water glass.

“Oh, thank you. You look… a little like your photos as well,” I say with a forced smile.

“Well, I will admit those photos are a little old. I have aged somewhat.” That’s quite the understatement.

The man in the photos looked to be in his midthirties, maybe late thirties, showing him mountain climbing, then in a suit, then swimming. The man sitting in front of me, I would guess is pushing fifty, has filled out a lot, and his hair has receded and thinned to the point of being almost nonexistent. Not that I mind bald men, but he is nothing like he portrayed, and already I wonder what else he would lie to me about.

As Roger looks through the menu in front of him, we fall into an uncomfortable silence. I think again of Tennyson. His presence just lights up a room. His personality acts like a magnet, his conversation just as attractive as his looks. Obviously knowing what he will order, Roger places the menu down and looks at me.

“So your profile mentioned that you work in finance. What kind of work do you do?” One of us has to talk, even though this night is already not going to go the way I had hoped.

“I work in mergers and acquisitions at the top end of town,” he says, his eyes going from me to around the room and back again. I hear my cell vibrate in my purse, and I grab it to ensure there is no emergency. I don’t care if I seem rude for it either.

Tennyson: How is the date?

Of course it’s him. I swiftly type a reply.

Me: Great. Lovely restaurant.

I drop my cell back in my purse and pick up my menu, burying my head in the words. I feel frustrated. Frustrated because this is a waste of my time. I have a hundred other things I could be doing, speaking with Tennyson on our late-night calls being one of them. My chest lurches a little, knowing that I would be having a much better time tonight if he was with me instead.

“That sounds like it would be high pressure? Do you enjoy it?” I ask another question since he’s yet to ask me one. But I hear the vibration in my purse yet again as I do. I ignore it this time.

“I do. I have always worked in finance. But being here in DC, I will say that I am getting some political aspirations.”

“It is that kind of town,” I say with a smile. I know better than to talk about politics. It is a topic that I like to stay clear of, because in this town, people are very opinionated on the matter. My purse vibrates once again, and I smile to myself and ignore it. I will talk to Tennyson later. I just need to get this date over with.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, stepping up to us.

“I will have the steak. Medium rare with a side of steamed greens. She will have the same," Roger orders for me and I am a little taken aback. The waiter leaves almost instantly, effectively dismissed by my date's flick of a hand, the menu whisked from my grasp so quickly I sit and wonder what the hell just happened.

“So are you a Democrat or a Republican?” he asks just as I take a sip of water to steady my nerves, and I almost choke. That is the first thing he’s asking me. Really?

“Oh, I'm so sorry, it went down the wrong way.” Grabbing my napkin, I dab my mouth. My purse vibrates again, but Roger doesn’t notice. “Please excuse me. I just need to freshen up,” I say as I stand, grabbing my purse and heading for the ladies’ room. I weave between the tables, making my way in the low light of the restaurant to a small bathroom toward the back. As I push open the bathroom door, relief floods my body, and I hold on to the vanity and take a breath. What am I doing? Why can’t I find a nice man?

My purse vibrates again, and I open my bag and grab my cell.

Tennyson: Who is he?

Tennyson: Where did he take you?

Tennyson: Has he even asked about your bed socks yet? Because if not, he is not worth wasting your time on.

I laugh at his last message, my mood lightening instantly. I am acutely aware that our conversation is not on work at all, though, which is dangerous territory. His keen interest in my date is a problem, and I debate on whether to lie and tell him the date is amazing or go with the truth.

The truth wins.

Willow: No bed socks. It’s been ten minutes, and I already want to escape. The bathroom window looks very inviting.

I tap my reply quickly before grabbing my lip gloss and touching up my makeup. I didn’t ruin it, but I am not ready to go back out, so I take a selfie in the bathroom mirror. Evidence for my sister that I am, in fact, out and on a date. While it may not end how either of us had hoped, at least I tried. That should win me enough time to not try another dating app again for at least another six months. They are seriously depressing. I post the image to my social media, tagging her in it, knowing she will see it on the other side of the world, with her constantly being glued to her social pages.

Throwing everything back into my purse, I take a deep breath and head back out to my date. While I really wanted to order the chicken, I might as well enjoy my steak. Because after tonight, I plan to stay in work mode for as long as possible.

* * *

After enjoying a bottle of red and a tender steak, I have discovered that Roger is one of the most arrogant and self-centered men I have ever met.

“So, you see, that is why I would be a good president. The financial acumen, business presence, and family ties all point me in that direction.'' I hate to burst his bubble, but he is most certainly not president material.

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