He gave a slight shrug of those broad, heavyset shoulders and looked at me with a wry smile.
“I might have a nice penthouse apartment there, but I still walk the streets with everyone else. Take the subway and eat with the rest of them. It at least keeps me a little grounded,” he remarked with some self-deprecating humour. “And it’s easier to get people to work for you there who aren’t all just looking to lick your boots and tell you whatever they think you want to hear.”
I laughed, more genuinely and less uptight as I looked at him with a sparkle in my eyes. I was smitten with the man. He was unlike anything I figured he’d have been, and made me feel so much more comfortable with him even if my heart kept pounding like mad.
“What’s your favourite part?”
“Of New York?” he asked, looking away as he thought over my question, giving it serious consideration. He took his time before leaning back in towards me, resting his hand upon my knee and smiling ever so slightly.
“Looking out over the city from my apartment. Seeing the hustle and bustle in the day. The lights at night. I feel like I’m a part of something so much bigger than I am. Really feel it, you know? Not just a casual knowing it. But I can look out and see the evidence of human accomplishment, of how far we’ve come and what we can do when we come together,” he remarked with a handsome smile on his face, looking straight into my soul it seemed. That strong hand of his resting on my bare knee.
I laughed. Maybe that was rude, but if he liked New York, he must be used to that already.
“Yea, I feel the same looking out my basement studio and seeing the crack addicts fallen down on the sidewalk in the middle of winter.” It was dark, but true. With my student loans and a useless degree I couldn’t afford the luxury he so casually spoke of.
“That’s a shame,” he said to me so smoothly, his smile never vanishing, even if it did temper itself to a warmer, modest one. “A lovely, friendly woman such as yourself shouldn’t have to live like that,” he remarked, looking me over as his strong hand squeezed at my knee. “You should come for a trip with me out to my cabin. Now, don’t go getting ideas. I might live in a New York apartment, but when I say cabin… I meant cabin.”
He grinned at me, like he was in on some devious secret I wasn’t.
Like he wasn’t just talking about a McMansion in the woods, I guessed.
Though maybe with his rich way of thinking, what he really meant was that he had one of those huge log monstrosities, bigger than any house I’d ever lived in.
It was hard to say when I was talking to someone so outside of my pay grade.
“What do you mean by cabin, then?” I decided to ask. It was the safest course of action.
He sipped his champagne.
“Single room spot, out in the middle of the woods,” he began, his voice takin’ on a deeper, huskier tone. “No road to it. You gotta park your car, then take a canoe, then hike on up to it. Then there it is, in the middle of nowhere. A cabin I built myself. No electricity. No running water. But damn,” he shook his head, grinning joyfully at the thought, “it’s pleasant. And homey. It’s something built with love and care.”
He looked t
o me from the corner of his eyes, as he reflected on that special place to him.
And it sounded nice. Not like I pictured it at all. It sounded more like the place my pop had built when I was a girl. We only got to go a few times before he passed, and then it was too painful for us to go back, but I still thought back on it with fondness.
My eyes softened and went to my lap, the skirt covering the upper parts of my thigh, and he must’ve noticed because he brought his index finger to my chin, lifting my gaze to his.
“So how about it?” he asked, his deep voice so casual and calm. “Come spend a weekend with me there. Or a week. A month even,” he remarked, a grin slowly forming on his face as his eyes locked with mine. “I can arrange it all with your employers, no worries there,” he assured.
All through it, he leaned ever so close to me, our lips growing nearer and nearer as our eyes locked.
I was lost to his charms, to that calm, cool demeanor. To the way he held me captive, and made me feel like a real person. I was quickly growing addicted to that sensation, and I nodded my head gently.
“I’d like that,” I murmured gently.
He finished the last of his glass and flashed me a handsome grin as he laid his hand atop mine. That tough skin of his not rough, but hard, and clearly the result of manual labour. He rubbed his thumb over my slender fingers, all the while looking into my eyes.
“You know, I’ve flown a lot on these private planes the studios and publishers arrange for me,” he remarked, looking into my soul I felt, with his artist’s gaze. “And I’ve never encountered a flight attendant with such natural feminine beauty that shines forth so radiantly.”
He had the words of a poet, and suddenly I understood so perfectly why he was as wealthy as he was. Hearing him speak like that, I’d give up so much to hear more, to lose myself to it. To him.
And it was then the words truly dawned on me, what he was really saying... about me.
I’d never heard someone speak about my looks like that before. Sure, I tried to take care of myself, but I was curvy, with a big chest and a soft stomach. My skin was pale, my brown hair contrasting against it, but I’d always thought myself a bit plain, truthfully.
I was at a loss for words, and I stared at him, agape.