“Then we'll make it a two-night stand,” he said. “Or a three-night stand. Or-”
“All right, all right,” I said, holding up both hands in surrender. “I'll go. Leave me a message here and tell me when and where.”
“Good,” Christian said smugly. Then, he turned and sauntered out the door.
He had only been gone for a couple of moments when Mina burst in. She must have been lurking by the windows, watching to see him leave. “Do you realize who that is?” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, as though he might overhear us.
I shrugged a little and went to check the messages on my phone.
“That's Christian Wall!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, not sure what the big deal was. “You realize I take their full names down when I book the appointments, don't you?”
“Jesus, you live under a rock, don't you?” she asked, rolling her eyes. She thrust her phone toward me, open to a news story about him.
“Holy shit,” I said, grabbing the phone from her. “You don't think it's him, do you?”
“I told you a millionaire was going to walk through those doors one day,” Mina said. “Only he's a billionaire. You got his number, right?”
I paused and stared down at the phone for a long moment, hardly able to believe any of this. “Actually,” I said, looking seriously up at Mina. “I've got one better than that. He's picking me up here for a date on Saturday. He's taking me to dinner.”
Chapter Eleven
Christian
When it came down to it, I didn't date that many girls. There wasn't a reason to; after all, most girls practically threw themselves at me. The closest I came to dating anyone was meeting someone at a bar and buying a couple of paltry drinks for her. We all knew where the night was going to end, though; that was never a question.
For some reason, things felt different with Gretchen.
I called up Mark a few hours before the date. “I need to get a suit tailored,” I told him.
“Oh,” Mark said, sounding a bit flustered. “I know a good place that I can take you to.”
“Good,” I said. “Meet me here in twenty minutes.”
When Mark pulled up in front of my hotel, I was already impatiently waiting outside, even though he got there a few minutes early. “What do you need a suit for anyway, man?” Mark asked as we drove.
I shrugged. “I'm going on that date tonight; remember, I told you about it?” Actually, I'd asked him for recommendations about where to take Gretchen to. He'd been a bit taken aback by that, especially when I'd shot down his first recommendations, which were for a couple cheaper, less formal places.
I supposed it didn't fit with his image of me for me to take a girl to a nice restaurant. All the media ever focused on were the clubs that I walked out of and things like that. It wasn't like I didn't have the money to splash out if I wanted to, though. And anyway, I wasn't always such a player. And I had a feeling Gretchen might appreciate going someplace nicer.
“And, what, you didn't bring anything nice with you?” Mark asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
I shrugged. “I did.” God, I would sound like such a girl if I admitted that none of it seemed quite right. I was going to look sexy no matter what I wore. But I didn't want to wear a charcoal gray suit
next to Gretchen, as tan as she was. It just wouldn't look right. Blue, on the other hand, might.
I searched through the racks at the shop that Mark brought me to, fingering the material, pleased to find that it fit my standards pretty well. Of course, the material was all a lot thinner than what I'd find back home, but that only made sense given the heat in Hawaii. I didn't want to wear something thick and coarse in 80-degree heat; that would be crazy. It got a little cooler at night, but not that much cooler.
“This is the one,” I said, pulling a navy-colored suit off the rack. “Just need to get it fitted.” I glanced over at Mark. “You might as well pick something out too,” I told him. “My treat. You've been great while I've been here, above and beyond what I would expect from a cab driver.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at me. “Who are you dating tonight: Gretchen or me?” he asked teasingly.
I rolled my eyes. “I don't go that way,” I told him.
I stood still as the seamstress measured me and made some sketches in chalk on the suit. I frowned when I saw Mark was looking at plain black suits, though. “Come on,” I told him. “Unless you have a fucking funeral coming up, when are you ever going to wear a black suit?”
Mark looked over at me, seemingly startled. Poor kid didn't know anything about fashion. I couldn't help rolling my eyes again. “No one wears black suits anymore, man,” I told him. “Grey, or blue, or you're a surfer, you could probably pull off coral jacket even if you wanted to. Just don't go with black, of all things.”