“A lot of the people who love working for the rich and famous like to think they’re doing the rich people favors when we ask for something,” Roland said, swirling the bourbon in his glass.
He was seated on the barstool next to me at the bar, his knee awfully close to mine as he faced me. I was leaning toward him, smiling, because I couldn’t believe he’d actually found me and I admit, I was flattered.
“Truth is, I would have found a way to get your number regardless.”
“Oh, really?” I mused, smirking. “Well, aren’t you a cocky one.”
I learned a lot of things about Roland that first night out, like the fact that his favorite color is red, and his favorite candy bar is Snickers. I also learned that he was married before, but that his wife passed away, which somewhat explained the sadness I saw in his eyes the first night I met him. He was a widower, and that must have been hard. He’s pretty close with his mother, but she travels often and is always on the go, so he doesn’t spend as much time with her as he’d like, and his father left when he was seven (which we bonded over, considering my father was absent too), and his favorite movie was Scarface, which I made fun of because what guy didn’t claim Scarface to be his favorite movie?
Even knowing all of that though, there was still so much about him to be discovered. But I left that up in the air that night and instead found myself drunk and clinging to his hand as we made our way to his hotel room.
We drank some more and had sex and it was incredible. I should have been a little ashamed about letting him have me on our first date, but he knew exactly how to talk to me, how to touch me, using just the right amount of control and pressure to drive me crazy. Plus, it’d been so long for me and I was lost in the night with him, wanting to forget about all my worries. There was no shame to be held because we bonded that night, and it’d been so long since I’d bonded with anyone—let alone a man.
Our relationship moved at a steadier pace after our first date. Roland called more often. Sent me flowers every day for a week—all a different bouquet. Shelia wanted to know who my mystery man was every time she saw a bouquet on the counter, but I refused to tell her because I wasn’t sure if this was something that would last.
Roland and I ate dinner together and walked the beaches. We’d tried going out for a movie once, but paparazzi showed up as soon as he’d parked the car, and ruined it. He whisked me away apologetically, and then took me to a pristine condo he owned in Miami and let me pick out whatever movie I wanted to watch over popcorn and margaritas.
The whole paparazzi thing was new to me. I didn’t think he was that famous—not to the point people were ready to snap pictures of him and ruin his dates. After the movie incident, I’d googled him, and his Wikipedia was the first thing to pop up, along with a photo that was taken when he was in his prime during his golfing career. There was also a mention of his wife, Melanie Graham, and the years they were married before she died.
Following that were freshly posted articles about Roland Graham’s young, new love interest (me), which I rolled my eyes at. I didn’t even bother clicking the links to read the articles. I knew how those things worked. They were probably calling me a random lowlife who was completely out of his league and, frankly, I didn’t need to read about that to know it as somewhat of a fact, so I closed the browser and went on about my lowlife day.
I guess it was a good thing Roland didn’t feel the need to hide our relationship. If he hadn’t been taking me out, then I would have been second-guessing our relationship, but he was showing me off in so many new places and sharing his time with me publicly. He was giving me a lot of effort and so many gifts and it felt good receiving that from someone like him.
I was bothered by the paparazzi—the fact that those hounds with cameras could just disrupt our dates—but I suppose I wanted the world to know we were becoming a thing too—whatever that thing was—so I dealt with it.
For three weeks, everything went great with Roland . . . but then Kell called and made me reconsider ever getting involved with a man like him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The potent scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries filled my senses as I drummed my fingers on the wooden table.