She laughed. “Idiot. I’ll see you at seven.”
We ended the call and I stared at my phone for a second, before shaking my thoughts off. I stood up to head to my meeting.
A crazy idea was running through my head.
A very fucking crazy, sexy, dangerous, highly appealing idea.
Six
Michael was one hundred percent right. I needed a distraction from my impending exit from the States. I wondered how that worked. Did an INS officer escort me to JFK and I was put on a plane? Not that I would wait for that to happen. I wasn’t going to resist if it came to all that. I didn’t fancy being handcuffed to an air marshal.
All day I’d been working on listing the auctions for Michael’s clothes (well, Becca’s but it felt weird to think about his wife), trying not to think about it but the truth was nothing could fully distract me.
Except maybe a cocktail and sex.
We were meeting on the Upper East Side on his suggestion, so we were somewhat midway between our apartments and that was a bit disappointing. I didn’t see much shag potential there if we had to go all the way downtown after dinner. Maybe he was trying to make it seem like he wasn’t expecting sex. He was polite, after all.
It was actually something quite charming about him.
That didn’t mean I didn’t want to have sex though and I was not taking him to my place. It would be like having sex in a fitting room.
I stepped out of my Lyft and smoothed my skirt. Weather be damned. I’d worn a dress and over-the-knee boots with a wool trench. I wanted to make the man drool.
Instead of going with a small clutch appropriate for dinner, I’d gone massive tote so while it still went with my outerwear, I could slip some overnight things in. Just in case. Toothbrush, deodorant, facial cleanser. Clean panties.
Michael was waiting in the entrance to the restaurant. It was a perfect choice for a cold winter night. Sicilian cuisine with a cozy ambience. Upscale, but in a classic way, as opposed to trendy.
“Hi,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Let me get your coat.”
When he took it off and I turned around, his eyebrows rose. “Wow. You look gorgeous.”
His eyes darkened with desire at my fitted sheath dress in black and the leather boots. I felt victorious. That look was worth the potential for a broken ankle. Besides, I’d only been outside for a couple of steps in each direction. Minimal risk. “Thank you. I decided just because I’m internally having a meltdown doesn’t mean I should let that be reflected externally.”
“I appreciate the effort.” Michael gave my coat to the hostess. He was wearing dress pants and a shirt and jacket without a tie.
“How was work?” I asked.
“Boring. No surgery today. Just endless meetings.” He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to follow the hostess.
The table was tucked in the middle of the restaurant against an exposed brick wall.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, after he held my chair out for me.
I sighed, making sure to keep my shoulders relaxed. I didn’t want them up around my ears while we were having dinner. “There’s nothing for it, right?” I smiled up at the waitress as she approached. “I’ll take a glass of pinot noir, please.” No use in pretending I didn’t want it immediately if not sooner.
“Let’s order a bottle.” Michael asked for a wine list.
The waitress mentioned a few options and they discussed it back and forth while I zoned out. It felt very natural to spend time with Michael and that annoyed the hell out of me. One, because it was looking virtually impossible for me to stay in New York. Two, that I’d done it again. Chosen an older man with money who slowed down my wine order by the need to make sure it was the best option. And I didn’t even care. He could order whatever he wanted as long as it was red and liquid. But that wasn’t the point. The point was first it was wine,
then it was “I forbid you to cut your hair, and have you gained weight?”
I didn’t know he would be like that, obviously, but I’d dated enough to suggest that was a strong possibility when there was an age and financial gap.
Not that it mattered. We were going to have a few weeks to hang out, at the most.
It also meant he would be a great candidate to be my fake fiancé because I had reasons to stay emotionally distant.
“What do you think?” Michael asked me. “What’s your preference, Felicia?”