Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
He’s not at the bar yet, so I take a seat in the lobby and spend a few minutes scrolling through my phone like any other thirty-something-year old woman would do. I get a little distracted watching TikTok reels and look up every few minutes until I see a man that matches Matt’s description go to the bar. He’s wearing another designer suit with a matching Gucci belt. His style is a little flashy, and I take that into consideration. People who have to show off their wealth usually have big insecurities, or they’re not really as rich as they want you to think.
I reach into my bag and pull out my digital voice recorder. “Subject is in sight and just sat down at the bar.” Carefully, I put the voice recorder in the front pocket of my purse so that it’ll pick up our conversation without being noticed.
Slowly getting up, I watch him get his phone from his pocket as soon as he sits down, needing something to do so he’s not totally alone. I continue to do my best analysis as I walk over, sitting two stools down from him. The bar isn’t that busy yet. People do come in who aren’t staying here, but not around eight-thirty on a Tuesday night.
He orders a whiskey—top shelf and neat—and I tell the bartender that I’m waiting for someone so I’ll just have water for now. Matt looks my way a few times and I smile politely and look around, keeping up my act that I’m waiting for a date.
“I think I’m being stood up,” I say after ten minutes go by.
“Sorry to hear that,” Matt replies and finishes his whiskey. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Ummm….” I smile and shake my head. “What the hell, why not?” I scoot down next to him. “Thanks. Maybe my night won’t be so bad after all.”
“Here’s to hoping. You look like a white wine kinda girl.”
“How’d you know?” I flash a big smile, internally groaning. I hardly ever drink and if I’m going to sip on something, I don’t want it to be wine. The vibes coming off this guy already are giving me the biggest ick. What does Whitni see in him?
He orders me a glass of wine and moves his stool closer, making small talk. I keep my purse in my lap so the convo can get picked up on the recorder. It doesn’t take long to confirm Whitni’s suspicions. Matt is a total loser who thinks his shit don’t stink. Within ten minutes, he’s trying to get me to “get out of here” with him.
“Well,” I start, leaning back with the hopes my body language will clue him in that I’m not leaving here with him. Something tells me I could hand him a piece of paper stating such and he’d just tear it up, not respecting me at all. “Thank you for the drink. I’m so embarrassed I got stood up but the night wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Hey, maybe it worked out after all.” He flashes a smile and even though he’s not all that good looking of a man, he has a charm about him—and he knows it. “Do you want the rest of the bottle?” He motions to the expensive white wine behind the counter. “You can take it home or we can take it upstairs and continue this conversation.”
I look down, tucking my brunette hair behind my ear in a way that makes me appear modest and shy. “I have a rule.”
“A rule?” He widens his legs and moves closer, putting my knees between his thighs. I resist the urge to gag, though this would be a great photo to show Whitni.
“Yes. A rule.” I look back up and smile, meeting his eyes. “I don’t even let someone kiss me until at least the second date. We can’t even consider this a first.”
“Oh, we can’t?” He laughs and even though he gives me bad vibes, I can see how someone like Whitni could get sucked in. She’s a successful woman and for some reason, successful women seem to get fooled by losers like this.
“You didn’t ask me out.”
“Well, Mya,” he says. “Give me your number then.”
“I have a better idea.” I pick up my phone and open a text. “Send yourself a message so I have yours.”
His fingers sweep over my skin—a little too intentionally—as he takes my phone. He fires off a text and his phone vibrates inside his suit jacket pocket. He grabs my wrist as I go to put my phone back in my purse.
“You interest me,” he says quietly, making me lean in so I can hear him. “I will see you again, Mya.”
“We’ll see,” I say back, careful in my movements so I convey fake attraction. The bartender comes over to close out the tab and reach for my purse, though I have no intention of paying.