Page 8 of Falling for Mr. Bossy Pants

I head out to the front thankful for the much-needed distraction.

Chapter four

Jared

I stand and stare at the clothes in my closet. There’s a sea of gray, black and navy Armani suits all staring back at me. I take a step into my walk-in and turn to the other side. Long sleeve button up shirts are neatly hung all showing the crisp lines of being dry cleaned and pressed. I raise my eyebrows as I notice that they’re hanging in color groups. The blues are together, followed by various shades of gray, a few green and red then a large group of white. I don’t recall being this particular. I open the drawer that houses my ties. I sigh out loud noticing they’re grouped just like the shirts. It’s amazing what the mind does subconsciously. Lossaro’s isn’t black tie, but you certainly can’t show up to dinner in jeans. I decide on a dark gray suit with a white button down and skip the tie to bridge the gap of being too formal.

I stand in the mirror fixing my collar when a wave of jittery energy makes its way up my back. Dating has always triggered my nerves. I can feel my throat start to narrow and I quickly head to the bathroom and press a cold washcloth to my face. I can’t pinpoint why this happens. I’m not necessarily nervous around women, but there’s something about making conversation with a stranger that makes me uneasy. I can talk about business until I’m blue in face, but if you ask me my favorite movie or what I do for fun I become someone who looks like they’re being questioned by the police. Maybe it’s because I don’t even know how to answer those questions because I haven’t watched a movie since I was in my twenties, and I couldn’t even tell you any popular movies in the last five years if I tried. What do I do for fun? Well saying I work for fun isn’t the sexiest answer but it’s my truth.

I smack my cheeks a few times. I can shake these nerves off. I have years of practice, I’m just a little rusty. I shake my entire body as if I’m trying to get a spider off my arm. If anyone saw me right now, I’m sure it would warrant a laugh. I walk down the stairs grabbing my wallet and keys off the console table and head out the front door. I unlock my SUV and get into the driver’s seat. The restaurant is only a fifteen-minute drive. Just enough time to get myself to fully settle.

I pull into the parking lot and head to the valet. As I make my way in the main entrance, I spot a blonde woman sitting on a bench near the hostess. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress holding onto a small sequined clutch. Based on the tiny profile picture from her text, I think I can safely assume this must be her and make way over.

“You must be Melanie,” I say in a gentle voice.

“Yes, and you must be Jared. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes, great to meet you. Are you ready to sit? I made reservations so I’m sure our table is ready.”

She smiles. “That sounds lovely.”

I give the hostess my name and we are directed to follow her to our table. Walking behind Melanie I feel a small bead of sweat fall from my brow. I quickly take the back of my hand and wipe it away. We sit and I watch her reaction as she looks around eyeing the large fireplace in the corner and the massive chandeliers hanging throughout the space.

“I have never been here, but I have heard great things,” Melanie says.

“Oh, Lossaro’s is an institution here in Littleford. The food is amazing. Everything is great on the menu.”

“Seems like you come here often I take it?”

If she only knew. Lossaro’s has been my go-to place for all sorts of important business meetings. I’d love to say that I have only taken dates here, but Melanie is actually the first. All the other times I’ve come here were for client meetings or coming with my parents and sister for a birthday or anniversary.

"I'm guilty. I have a lot of business meetings here."

She nods at me then we take a few minutes in silence to examine the menu. I don’t need to look but I pretend I’m examining my choices. I’m getting the filet. Medium rare with mashed potatoes and seasoned green beans. It’s what I always get and I could use anything that feels like a sense of comfort right now. The waiter comes to take our order then leaves us in awkward silence.

I scan my brain thinking of all the questions I should be asking a woman on date. Small talk and getting to know people on a personal level is not my strength. Luckily before I break out in full body hives Melanie starts the conversation.

“So, Chad is your insurance agent?” She asks, seeming mildly interested.

“Yes he is. We’ve known each other for years now,” I say, not sure if I should offer any more information.

She then tells me about how her and Chad met. Apparently, Chad was running on the path near their building and Melanie was sitting on the bench tying her shoe when Chad reached down to check his phone, not paying attention and ran right into her tripping himself and falling to the ground. I make sure I nod at intervals so she knows I’m listening then force a smile as she ends the story.

“That story doesn’t surprise me. Chad can be clumsy,” I say, completely making up my assumption on the fly. I have no idea if Chad is clumsy. I only ever have business calls or an occasional coffee meeting with him to review insurance. I’m just trying to do my best with small talk.

Melanie continues talking about her family and her job. And just as the conversation comes to a natural stopping point our food arrives. Everything looks perfect as usual, and I eagerly dig into my filet. A minute passes and Melanie looks over at me.

“So, tell me about you. You run a huge successful tech firm. That must be exciting?”

I answer her question with basic cool comments making sure to keep it business focused. I don’t see the need to tell her about the struggles I had getting the company off the ground or the fact that I invested every penny I had into it completely risking my livelihood. Then, her next question throws me for a loop.

“So, you must make a ton of money, right?”

I pause and look down at my food. I know people have a natural curiosity when hearing someone is a big time CEO or has their own business. I get it. But to blatantly ask someone you barely know this question is off putting. I take a sip of my water contemplating my answer. I can tell she doesn’t think her questions is inappropriate, as she sits looking at me waiting for a response. Then it gets worse.

“I mean, you must make millions and have a swanky house. Living like that must be a dream.”

My stomach drops. I am no longer interested in the filet on my plate, and I am definitely no longer interested in this woman sitting across from me. My entire body begins to feel hot, and not in a good way. I love talking about Whitmore Tech, but talking about how much money I make is something no one needs to know. Heck even my own family doesn’t know. I breathe in deep and decide my next action quickly.

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