Old Money

2. Four

MIA

"Are you from the city?" Charles asks as I pour a drink for the man beside him.

I'd rolled my eyes to myself when the thin man with thick black rimmed glasses had ordered a martini. Charles had found that amusing and tried to hide his chuckle. You can tell a lot by a person's drink order.

"Just outside actually. A small suburb. I moved here a few years ago with my friend Lucy." Charles toys with the half empty glass between his hands. He had refused my offer for a third drink, instead he's babied the second for the last thirty minutes.

"And how is the great city of New York treating you, Mia?"

The sound of his rough voice speaking my name feels foreign. He seems genuinely entertained by me and I couldn't tell you why. The men who come here pay thousands of dollars a month just to be able to step through the door of this club. They don't have time for bartenders or conversations with their waitress. They want their drinks neat, on the rocks, or dry and that's as far as getting to know them goes. As I hold his gaze in thought, bills and stress come to mind, but I push the negative to the back and smile.

"It's exciting. Not what I expected, but I've enjoyed every minute of it." My response is not a total fabrication of the truth.

Had I had my hopes too high when Lucy and I packed up our bags and moved here? Probably, but that didn't change how much I loved walking down the street and never seeing the same face, or the way the city really never does sleep. You can do anything, anytime and that might be the best part of it all. It's freeing.

"What do you miss the most about home?" Charles leans forward and rests his elbow on the bar before raising his glass to his lips, finishing the rest of his scotch, all while keeping his gaze locked on me. Something stirs in the pit of my stomach at that look, butterflies? A blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks when I realize I've been caught admiring his bone structure and the warm laugh lines around the corners of his eyes.

"You play with your hands when you're nervous." His voice is low enough so the gentleman to his left can't hear and I bite my bottom lip. I hadn't realized I was doing it until Charles pointed it out. "It's kind of," he pauses. "Adorable." I quickly snap my arms down to my sides.

"Thank you." I'm not sure if thats how I'm suppose to respond, but its the only thing that comes to mind. I turn around to face away, busying myself with putting the bottles back in the rightful position on the shelf.

"So?" He asks after a few moments of silence.

I glance down at his left hand to see that there's no band there to indicate that he's married, but I guess that means nothing when it could easily be slipped off for a night out. A man as good looking and obviously wealthy would have to have been snatched up long ago.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?" I ask trying to remember what we had been talking about before he threw me for a loop.

His compliment was so subtle. The guys I've dated in the past have always been so forward, so blunt and sometimes too pushy. It's usually more than I appreciate, but I guess that's just the way things are now.

"What do you miss about home?" I ponder his question as my gaze flickers out the front window of the club where there's a steady stream of people walking in every direction. The cars are backed up in traffic, barely moving.

"Driving." My voice is barely audible over the chatter of the people around us, but I know he hears me by the way his eyebrows raise in interest.

"Driving, thats what you miss the most?"