I have a car at Jameson, but I chose to Uber instead so we don’t have to worry about parking. On top of that, I’m not quite sure I could explain my car to Jaime. It’s a Maserati GranTurismo, a purchase I made when I moved into Jameson headquarters in Pittsburgh. Without any debt and no mortgage or rent payment—living in the Jameson building is a perk—as well as making a shit-ton of money for the dangerous work I do, it was a luxury item I’ve not had a single regret about buying.
But Jaime believes I’m a used-car salesman. While I vaguely implied I make a decent living at my work, I also told her I lived in an apartment with three other guys as car sales is an up and down sort of business. My lie about living in an apartment with other guys was to keep her from wanting to visit my home, which, again, would blow my fake cover.
I consider coming clean with her tonight—telling her I lied about my job and explaining the truth about my career. But I decide against it for two reasons. First, I’m not sure this is going to go anywhere. It’s highly likely that while yes, I’m curious about Jaime, I could be ready to slink out of her place in the morning, making it my first two-night stand. But, more importantly, I don’t think I can bear to see the disappointment the admission of my lie would cause. I’ve learned enough about her to know she has integrity.
So, without knowing if this is going anywhere, I choose to keep my true profession a secret. I reason to myself that chances are this is going to fizzle sometime soon anyway.
But it’s definitely not going to fizzle tonight. Not with the way she’s looking.
The drive to the restaurant only takes fifteen minutes, and our table is ready when we arrive. I’d chosen a small French restaurant Kynan recommended for the romantic atmosphere. While I’m not a big fan of French food, I did confirm they have steak on the menu, which is good enough for me.
When we’re seated, the maitre d’ hands me the wine menu before inconspicuously melting away so I can inspect it.
Before I can even peruse the listing, Jaime gives a nervous cough, causing me to look up at her with a mildly curious expression. She looks around the restaurant, then to the wine list. “Um… when you said we were going fancy, I didn’t think you meant this fancy.”
She’s cute, worrying about what this is going to cost me. It endears her to me further, because she couldn’t care less that I sell cars for a living, but she doesn’t want me to break myself trying to impress her with the finer things. Again, I’m tempted to tell her the truth, but I tamp it down just as quickly.
“I wanted to bring you somewhere really nice for our first date.” I tilt the wine list down so she can see me fully. “I can afford this. Probably not for subsequent dates, but for tonight, please don’t worry about what anything costs. I have it budgeted, okay?”
Jaime looks unsure, but she gives me a timid smile with a nod. Which again, endears her to me, because she let me be in control. She let her worries go, deciding to trust I know what I am doing.
After I order a bottle of wine, we discuss the menu. I act interested in all the choices, but I’m set on the steak. Once we order, we get to know each other over an appetizer and the delicious red wine. While we had plenty of conversation at the bar last night, it never got very deep.
“You said you were from North Carolina,” Jaime says, lowering her glass to the table after a delicate sip. “You have a lot of family back there?”
I nod with a grin. “A lot. Both my parents are native and come from big families, so I have aunts, uncles, and cousins galore.”
“But no siblings,” she says. It isn’t a question. She’s confirming what I told her last night.
Shaking my head, I reach for a piece of bread. “No, but remember those cousins I told you about? I’ve got a few I’m really close to. They could be considered siblings for practical purposes. We sure did get into a lot of trouble as well as fought a lot.”
Jaime laughs and nods as if she knows a little something about that.
“You said you have a brother and a sister, right?” I ask, slathering rich butter on the bread. Jaime doesn’t touch it, though.
“Brian is older by five years. He lives with my parents. Laney is going on twenty-one and in her last year at Pitt.”
I don’t comment about her brother living with their parents still. Jaime told me she was twenty-six, which makes her brother about thirty-one. Odd, but I don’t want her to know I think so.