Ceasefire (8 page)

I
almost stormed out of
La Fleur
.  Almost.

I
didn’t, because that would’ve been a breach of contract, and I didn’t have the
money to pay Roman back for the advance.  Surely he would drop me on the spot
if I walked out on my very first client, pissed off and throwing a tantrum.

And
besides, Eric was nice enough, it was only a date, and he’d paid for an evening
with me.

Confronting
Roman could wait.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Once
Ariana had seated us at our table, I tried to play it cool, like we weren’t
there together because he’d paid forty thousand dollars for the night.  And if
I tried hard enough, I was sure I could bury my shame.  If this was another one
of Roman’s tests, then I had to pass it with aplomb.  When I was little, I’d
wanted to be an actress, and that night was a perfect opportunity to revisit
those old, forgotten dreams.

I
said, “How’d you do that?  With the hostess, I mean.  I heard a couple back
there say they’d been waiting for two hours, and you just walked right up and
asked to be seated.”

He
nodded and took a sip of his water.  “It’s a lot easier when you own the
restaurant.”

“You
own
it?”  That certainly answered my question.

“Yep. 
I love the food here and got sick of waiting like all those snotty pricks up at
the door.  They think that just because they have a couple extra zeroes in the
bank account, they’re supposed to be treated differently.  That whole sense of
entitlement makes me want to vomit.”

I
giggled, and it helped.  My emotions were wobbling back and forth like a
metronome, and then something occurred to me: Eric had already paid for my time,
so I thought why not accept it, get out without too much emotional damage, and
have fun while I was doing it?  

We
only get one reality, one chance, so embracing it and molding it to our
advantage is much better than hiding behind regret and disgrace.  I was doing
what I had to do because I
had
to do it.  That’s honorable, in a way.  I
unfolded my napkin, placed it in my lap, and then leaned up on my elbows.  I
didn’t care about etiquette or being proper.  Or even being too nice.

I
said, “Is that so?  Make sure you get back to me when it registers that you’re
actually a billionaire.”

“I
don’t think it’ll happen.  I grew up broke and hungry in a tin can mobile home
down south.  Old habits die hard.  I mean, yeah, I can make one phone call and
be on a private jet to Belize in an hour, but check my bathrooms at home and
you’ll find single-ply toilet paper.”

Again,
I laughed—I was having
fun
. 

And
then things went wrong.  How quickly situations can change within a matter of a
few words.

“Eric,
come on now.  Life’s too short for that.”

“That’s
a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s not
too
far from the truth.  Here’s
to the good life on a budget.”  He lifted his water glass to toast.

“And
to soft toilet paper,” I said, clinking mine against his.  At that point, what
little conversation we’d had was going so well, I figured why not get
everything out in the open?  Get it out there, get it over with, and move on so
we could enjoy ourselves.  “So, should we talk about why we’re both here?”

“Yeah,
about that.”  He blushed and fiddled with his butter knife.

Something
dawned on me—a thought that took away most of my embarrassment about my
situation; I was there as an escort, but Eric had been
searching
for
company provided by an escort service.  Which one of us was more desperate?  A
subtle, but proactive attempt at taking control was enough to soothe my
conscience.  “I’m not judging you,” I said, reaching across the table and
patting his hand, “but why are you paying money for a woman’s time?”

He
fired right back, but I was prepared for it.  There wasn’t a trace of
bitterness, just good-natured ribbing.  “And I’m not judging
you
, but
what’s one of the brightest business minds I’ve ever seen doing taking money
for her time?”

Quoting
Roman, I said, “It pays better.”

“Oh,
I doubt that.”  He readjusted himself in his chair and cleared his throat. 
“And it leads me to this…there’s something I need to tell you, and it’s part of
why I’m here.  It’s…God…it’s about money.  I don’t know how to say this, so
I’ll just be blunt.  I saw that you were working for an escort service and I
felt responsible, I guess, because if you’d gotten your spot as a VP of my
company like you were supposed to, you would’ve walked away with about
twenty-five million dollars like the rest of them did in the buyout.”

Speechless,
I almost knocked over an empty wine glass because my hands immediately lost all
feeling.  A knot the size of a grapefruit welled up inside my throat.  Why
would he tell me something like that?  That’s certainly the kind of thing I
could lived the rest of my life without knowing.

“And
that’s the reason I’m here, Kim.  Because of the guilt.”

“What
guilt?” I spat.  I couldn’t help it; I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.

Eric
shook his head and sighed.  “It’s my fault that you didn’t get the job with
us.  I pulled for you.  Really, I did—I angled hard, but there was one guy on
the board that wouldn’t budge, and it was someone I should’ve gotten rid of
long before you showed up.  My…
negligence
, or procrastination, whatever,
it cost you twenty-five million dollars.  I understand that we can’t see the
future and all of this is a huge, retroactive what-if, but once I saw your
picture in the lineup…”

“You
felt sorry for me.”

“Yes
and no.”

“‘Look
at poor little Kim, she’s a prostitute now.’  Was that it?”

“Partly,
yeah.”

“There’s
no partly about it,” I said, throwing my napkin on the table.  “That’s exactly
what it was.  I don’t need your pity, Eric.  I’ve made my choices and I’m
fine
.”

“Please
don’t be that way.  Listen, all I wanted was to talk to you so I could
apologize.”

“And
you had to order me off a menu to do it?  Why didn’t you just look me up in the
phone book?  Or track me down on Facebook?”  The window of realization opened a
little more.  “Oh my God, this is charity, isn’t it?  You’re paying for my time
just so I’ll get paid.  It’s all because you feel guilty, and don’t you even
try to deny it.”

“That
wasn’t my intent.  Honestly, I—”

“I
should go.”

I
moved to get up from the table at the same time a waitress finally arrived at
our table and apologized profusely to “Mr. Landers,” as Eric ordered a bottle
of Cabernet.  “It’s okay, Sandy.  Bring it fast, though, because I think we’re
going to need it.”  To me, he added, “Don’t be upset, please?  Let’s talk…we’ll
have a nice meal.  All I wanted was to make sure you were okay.”

Gritting
my teeth, almost hissing, I said, “
Your
guilt is not
my
problem.”

“I
understand that.”

Some
of the nearby diners had begun to give us furtive glances as they tried to eavesdrop
on our heated conversation.  Well, my end was heated, and Eric wasn’t doing a
very good job at damage control.

“This
is so stupid,” I said.  “I’m doing this because I don’t have any other options,
at least none that I’m willing to accept.  I’m providing for my son, damn it,
and there’s no shame in that.”  I didn’t want to talk about myself anymore. 
“And you never answered my question—what were
you
doing looking for an
easy lay, huh?  Huh, Mr. Billionaire?  Why go through Roman when all you have to
do is flash your wallet and you’ll have women throwing themselves at you? 
Why?”

“I—”

“Answer
me.”

“Let
me finish, okay?  I’m trying to tell you.”  Eric sighed, glanced around the
dining area, and noticed the waitress arriving with the wine.  He waited until
Sandy poured our glasses and scuttled away before continuing.  Leaning across
the table, lowering his voice, he said, “I wasn’t the one looking.  Not
technically.  My partner…Robert…his brother just got divorced and he wanted to
do something for him.  He’d planned this ridiculous ‘Naughty or Nice’ party and
we were looking for…entertainment.”

“So,
just a couple of dudes scratching their balls and strolling down the hooker
aisle.  That seems like such a weird thing to do with your business partner.”

“Kim,
honey…no.  My
partner
partner.”  He held up his ring finger and pointed,
though there was no jewelry signifying anything.

“Oh…
ooooh
.” 
I don’t know why, because his sexuality shouldn’t have mattered—he was still
offering me something resembling charity—but the fact that he wasn’t a
sleazeball, looking for a good time, softened my chagrin.  Just a little, just
enough to ease me back down to an acceptable level of mental stability.

Eric
went on.  “When I saw your picture, I knew what I had to do, and Robert, he
actually encouraged me when I explained our history.  I paid Roman for your
time, because I knew if I showed up at your house offering a consolation prize,
you would’ve told me to go to hell.”

“I’m
pretty close now.”  I wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.  Not yet
anyway.  My pride had been damaged.  I was wounded emotionally.  Yet I began to
see that he was trying to offer a kind gesture of help, not some
let’s-throw-the-poor-girl-a-bone donation. 

It’s
all in how you look at it, I suppose.  I couldn’t deny the fact that I needed
the money, and he needed to absolve himself of his regret.

“And
you have every right to.”  Eric drained his wine glass and poured himself
another.  “I’m sorry.  All I can do is apologize—I mean, I realize now that I
could’ve approached things differently.  I’ve never had the best foresight, and
Robert told me this wasn’t the best way to go about it, but I assumed you could
use the money.”

“Eric?”

“Yes?”

“You
have about thirty seconds to turn this around, or I’m getting up and I’m
walking out that door,” I said, pointing toward the entrance.  “I don’t need
your charity.  And I
was
fine, perfectly okay, with how things had
turned out for me,”—a white lie, but I had a point to make—“at least until you
felt it necessary to tell me that I missed out on twenty-five million dollars. 
God
.  Did you actually think that telling me that would somehow make it
better
?”

Eric
sighed and shook his head.  “You know—I just—I really screwed this up, didn’t
I?  It didn’t turn out at all like I’d expected and Robert…he told me not to
mention the money.  He specifically said, ‘It’ll break her heart, don’t do it,’
but did I listen?  No.  Giving you a reason to regret your past was never my
intent.”

“And
what
was
your intent, Eric?”

“To
show you how much of a mistake
I
had made, that’s all.  There were never
any malicious intentions.”  He held up a hand to stop my rebuttal.  “I know, I
know, my guilt isn’t your problem.  But, can I make it up to you somehow?”

I
scoffed.  Before I could respond, Sandy arrived to take our meal orders.  I
hesitated because I wasn’t sure I’d be there long enough to see it delivered. 

“Peppercorn
steak, medium-well,” I spat, a little more venomous than necessary.  Sandy
wasn’t the target, after all.  “And so help me, I don’t care about offending
the chef—I say medium-well, I
mean
medium-well.  A little pink is fine,
but if it’s bleeding, I’ll come back into the kitchen personally and show him
how I want it done.  Bring us another bottle of this, too.” 

I’d
never been such an ass to a server.  I didn’t like it, yet I hadn’t been able
to contain myself.  Missing out on twenty-five million dollars, and being on
the verge of prostitution, well, they can do that to a girl.

Sandy
stammered and took notes.  I’d frightened the poor thing so much, she could
barely ask Eric what he wanted.

“I’ll
have the same,” he said, handing over our menus.  “I understand you’re angry,”
he added, once she’d scampered away.

I
took a deep breath.  This was going nowhere.  We could go round after round of
him apologizing, me insisting I was fine, and blah blah blah, but it still
wouldn’t change the fact that I was hurt and embarrassed.  A little remorseful,
too, but whatever the past may have been like—there were no guarantees—I didn’t
regret a single moment with the light of my life, my little buddy.

I
had an idea.  A small, directionless one, more about possibilities than plans, and
I had nothing to lose.  “You want to make it up to me, here’s how…I don’t have
anything in mind right now, but I will, one of these days.  I don’t
want
your charity, and I don’t
need
your charity, okay?”

Eric
nodded.

I
continued.  “What I want is this: If, or should I say
when
, I come up
with my own billion-dollar idea, I want you to be my backer.  Your pockets are
deep enough now.  Maybe a couple years down the road, or a couple months,
whenever, I’ll come knocking on your door.  Have your checkbook ready, got me?”

Eric
smiled and winked.  “There’s the ballbuster I wish I could’ve hired.”

“Deal?”

“Shake
on it,” he said, reaching across the table. 

I
took his hand, squeezed hard, and the rest of the evening went about as well as
you could expect.