No Love Attached

chapter twenty : tequila tears

| No Love Attached |
chapter twenty : tequila tears
•••

     Aaron Fitzgerald was everything I expected him to be at dinner. Naturally charming, funny when needed, and a pretty good conversationalist, much like all the other men of importance I knew. With nothing spectacular other than his looks, that were so strikingly handsome they could stop an oncoming train, my mind drifted elsewhere.

     Thoughts of Penney cheating on Damon, Leo coming to my room after, and Josh all circled my brain on a continuous loop.

      Despite my recent lack of romantic excursions with men, I dealt with their acts on a daily basis. It didn't take me long to get into the groove of things. I used to have a "bit" when I went out with men before Josh Lewis. I would only laugh when things were actually funny, roll my eyes semi-frequently, call them out on their ridiculous antics, and made flirtatious comments that intended I would not sleep with them. Even though I was highly considering it. It drove men nuts in my experience. It was a similar behavior to the one I was sporting now.

      Throughout the meal, I decided I was not interested in Aaron in any way other than platonically. But I knew if I was going to get what I wanted, I had to act otherwise. Like any woman who's lived in New York, I knew how to fake a connection with a man. So, I laughed when I was supposed to, flirted when I was cued, and inconspicuously leaned over to give a better view of my cleavage when it was needed.

     In a sea of ordinary moments, one presented itself and it could change everything based on my answer. He had mentioned wanting to publish F. Scott Fitzgerald's book.

     Right after a long sip of his old fashioned, he looked up and asked, "You want to publish the book. Why should I let you? In fact, how do I know that's not the only reason you're sitting with me right now?"

     He was smart. He had to be. A man who excels in all things money and business always had to be on his guard.

     I had two cards left to play in my hand. If I dared to show them, I'd be playing very dirty. But I'm afraid they may be my only chance at publishing this book.

     So I put them both on the table.

     I smirked and took a slow, pointed sip of my drink. "You're absolutely right. I want to publish it. And you're going to let me because I'm the best at what I do. You wouldn't have let me even read it if you didn't already know that,"

     "But that's not why I'm out with you right now. Look, my fiancé died four years ago and this is the first time I've been to dinner with a man for something other than business since." The words tasted like poison on my tongue. Never had I ever used them to get what I wanted.

     "I do want that book. So just tell me what I have to do to get it." I dragged my words out in a sensual manner for the last sentence.

    And with that, I put some money on the table for my dinner and drink and got up.

     I could feel see his mouth agape as I walked out of the restaurant.

     My trump cards: sex and tragedy.

     The cold London air hit me hard before I hailed a cab; a skill that came naturally to me, living in the city.  As the car began to pull away, a very dumbfounded Aaron came out of the restaurant door, chasing after me.