by Amy Rose
He looks up at me, slightly annoyed possibly for avoiding his question. “Yes Angela, I’m going to purchase the home. So will you come to New York?” Okay, that’s great news. He is purchasing the house. Two sales in two days. I am on fire! Sandra will be ecstatic; the sale won’t go through for at least two weeks and it could even drag out up to six weeks. Anyway, I needed to answer him. How am I going to tell this ridiculously wealthy man that I don’t have enough money to just purchase a plane ticket. Maybe I should be crafty.
“I guess I could have a look at the prices of flights. If one suits the time frame that isn’t over the top, price-wise I should be able to come.” I worded that well, I thought, not saying I was broke, but also not committing. I’ll continue with my preferred method “or maybe if it suits you, you could bring the camera and laptop with you when you collect the keys at closing?”
“Angela, you wouldn’t need to worry about purchasing plane tickets. I will cover all costs for your trip to New York. I want, ah…need for you to come to New York. The plans for the new design are best being viewed at my place, and you can collect the items then. I won’t let you be out of pocket for travel costs that you wouldn’t have even needed until now.” he keeps eye contact with me for a moment and then looks back down at his meal. He wants to see me again. He said it. He tried to cover it up by saying it’s for work purposes but I think he was trying to say he wants to see me again. Why would he want to see me again, besides the obvious reasons?
He needs someone on the ground in Nashville. Someone who knows the building. That’s where I come in. It saves him bringing in someone else, someone who would not be as familiar with the characteristics of the home as I am. He certainly doesn’t want to see me again for my charm or my personality, and certainly not my looks. And just then, when I should have stayed quiet, I didn’t. Instead I asked a silly question, one that I will immediately regret “You want to see me again?” As soon as the words left my mouth I want to shove them back in. What on earth have I just done. You silly fool, Angela, that was a thought. Not something to blurt out at the dinner table.
He is going to laugh at any moment now, he is going to look at me and laugh, before I have the chance to look away, his head snaps up at my comment. “Yes Angela, I would like to see you again. The question is, would you like to see me again?”
I’m sure at that very moment I felt my jaw hit the table.
~ Chapter Eight ~
I pick up my glass of water and take a small sip. This way my mouth isn’t going to remain gaped open for no reason. This will also provide me with enough time to gather my thoughts, and try to make sense of what he has just told me, and more importantly, how to answer the question he has just asked.
Of course, he wants to see you again Angela. Duh, he needs to. It’s for work purposes, that’s all, we are going to be working on a project together, financially beneficial for both of us. He will no doubt pay me some sort of wage to do the leg work here. All that is required is to meet up in New York once, run through the design ideas, collect the laptop and camera, and then I will hop on the very next plane and be on my way back home. There is absolutely nothing personal about this at all.
“Angela?” hearing Elliot’s voice brings me back to the here and now. I must have zoned out for a minute, I looked up to him embarrassed, smiling weakly, not wanting to speak just yet. How on earth would I answer that? Becoming impatient he asks again “Would you like to see me again?”
He looks at me, our eye contact unwavering, awaiting my answer. “Of course.” It rushes out before I can even think about it, my libido making the decision before my brain. He smiles at me, happy with the response he has received, and then continues with his meal as if there were never an interruption.
I’m almost one hundred percent sure that I hear him say ‘good’ under his breath. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part? Why was it so important for him to know if I wanted to see him again? I mean really, we have just met. Maybe it was due to the fact that he has probably never had to work at it in his whole life. Every woman he has ever met has more than likely fallen under his spell and thrown themselves at him, and yet, here I sat unwilling to answer his question right off the bat. Did it worry him?
We finished our meal in relative quiet after that, both seemingly concentrating on our meal. Each time I peered up, Elliot’s eyes were elsewhere, looking at another table, at the floral arrangement sitting in the center of the table or, more often than not, at his nearly empty plate.
When we had both finally finished our meals, I placed my silver cutlery down. The small chink of heavy metal hitting porcelain, and the silence was broken. Seeming to be relieved that it was the case, Elliot looked up at me through his lashes and opened his full lips. “Would you like some dessert, Angela?”
I know exactly what I feel like for dessert, and it can’t be served up on a plate. My libido was throbbing internally, wanting so desperately to come out to play. What in God’s good name is going on with me tonight? I’m not this kind of person. I don’t think about sleeping with people I don’t know. I never have been; men frighten me most of the time. I keep to myself and don’t allow myself to feel anything for anyone. It’s so much easier this way, keeping them at arm’s length. That’s the safest option. So why on earth is my libido choosing this very inconvenient moment to wake from her three-and-a-half-year slumber? If he is playing a game, I could try to keep up, play the game with him, see if I get a reaction. I mean practice makes perfect, doesn’t it? I take a deep breath and prepare myself to flirt.
“I hadn’t even given it a thought actually, my main meal was so very good. What were you thinking of having, Elliot? Maybe you could twist my arm. I bat my eyelashes very gently, not knowing how many times I need, to be convincing. I settle for just twice, hoping that I haven’t overdone it.
I have never been any good at flirting. Liam told me that I generally look like I’m either trying too hard, or I’m acting as though I don’t care. So knowing that, I decide that I probably look ridiculous to Elliot. He is probably laughing on the inside.
What I do know is that this man has brought out something in me that I can’t deny. Sitting across from him at this table feels so right. A part of me I have kept locked away for safekeeping is begging me to let it out. He smiles at me again, broader than before and flicks his tongue out slightly, running it along his bottom lip, slowly.
He knows what he is doing, and damn, he is doing it well. I know that in that moment I have taken another deep breath, and seeing the recognition in his eyes, I know that he has seen me do it. His mouth forms into a small grin, he is definitely playing me, I know for certain now that he is. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He is practiced at this game, no doubt about it. I look down at my hands, not wanting to be made a fool of anymore. I need to leave this table. Thinking of options, I decide that I need an exit strategy.
“Thanks for the offer Mr. Sands, but I don’t think I will have any dessert. I probably should push off now anyway, I have to work early tomorrow and it’s starting to get late.” I drop my napkin onto the table in front of me and look once more at Elliot. I can see that his smile has left his features. Instead, his mouth set in a straight line. He seems shocked I was trying to excuse myself from his company. I look away, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes.
“I understand that you need to work tomorrow, but it’s only 8:30 pm, Angela. If you don’t feel like dessert, that’s fine. Could I persuade you into at least staying for another drink?” He clearly wants me to stay. I don’t know why, but I want to stay too. With his request for me to stay for another drink, it jogs my memory from earlier. I remember that I was going to buy him a glass of champagne and celebrate him purchasing the house.
I lift my hand slightly, looking over at Sam. I give him a signal and he heads towards us. I believe he must have caught on to who Elliot is, so he was being very attentive. “Yes ma’am. What can I get for you?”
“Ca
n I please have two glasses of Moet, Sam?” he nods in response and walks towards the bar of the restaurant
“Moet? Why did you order champagne?” Elliot asks. Sam returns with two champagne flutes three quarters full and hands one to each of us. Once he has excused himself, I begin.
“I want to congratulate you on your purchase of the Belle Meade Homestead Mr. Sands,” and I raised my flute to clink with his, before swallowing the bubbly gold fluid.
Elliot added to the toast “To new friendships and successful business ventures.”
We both sip at our champagne slowly. I relish in the sweet taste and feel the bubbles popping on my tongue. I savor each mouthful. Being someone who doesn’t drink regularly, I have to be super careful. I can’t let it go to my head. I get chatty when I have been drinking. I need to get out of here before it hit me hard.
We each swallow the remainder of liquid from our glasses and set them on the table, I place my hands beside me on the seat and push off, standing up. Seeing that I was leaving, Elliot quickly copies me. We walk over towards the chairs where we had met earlier this evening. Once we are there, Elliot turns to me, “I won’t be a moment Angela, just going to settle the bill.”
I smile and nod at him. I take a seat in the same chair I had been in at the beginning of the evening, and thoughts quickly fill my head. I will need to contact him in a couple of days, once I have confirmation from the current owners that they will accept his offer. Speaking of offers, I will need him to make his official by placing it in writing. I can’t ask him to do that right now; here wasn’t the place. But he is heading off tomorrow. I can get him to email it to me.
Before I can think too much more, he is back. Standing in front of me once more, he offers me his hand and pulls me to him. Once I am standing beside him, he continues to hold it in his own.
Déjà vu hits me. This is the exact same physical contact he had instigated prior to dinner. He didn’t let go of my hand as we exited the restaurant, continuing this nice and welcome contact while we walked through the hotel lobby and across the parking area until we are standing in front of my car.
When we come to a stop beside my driver’s door, I turn toward him, looking at our joined hands, then up to his face, half covered in shadow. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Sands, it was a lovely meal.” No need to add that it was an expensive one, too. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.
“It was indeed, however it was not as lovely as the way you look tonight, Angela.” He breaks our eye contact and looks down to our joined hands and slowly raises them. Facing my own towards his lips, he gently kisses my knuckles and allows our hands to fall back down gently.
I feel my cheeks flush with heat. How can a simple press of his lips to my knuckles affect me so? I am eternally grateful that in this moment, we are outside, in relative darkness. There is no way that he will be able to see the blush creeping across my cheeks.
I ever so gently try to pull my hand from his. I feel some resistance, but he lets it go, “I look forward to seeing you again upon closing, Miss White”, why would he say that, why would he be looking forward to it? I mean, I feel the same. Maybe I should tell him so; so do I, Elliot, so do I.
I smile at that thought, a big smile speeding across my face, that no doubt he can’t see in the dark. He leans forward. Sensing and hoping what is coming, I stay incredibly still and when his lips meet my cheek in a kiss, that feeling from before erupts on my skin. This time it was more like fire. I involuntarily move my face only an inch so my lips would be closer to his. He felt what I was doing and removes his face, breaking the contact.
Honestly, he may as well have just slapped me. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen. Surely he wasn’t about to kiss me, right on the mouth, but maybe he might have pecked me again. But no, instead the sting of rejection is bitter, the hope that was beginning to flower in my chest begins to fall.
“Ah, Angela, I’m afraid if I kissed you right here and now you wouldn’t get home as early as you were hoping.” He takes my hand again and kissed it twice, holding it to his cheek for a moment before releasing it beside my body.
That softened the blow a little bit. From what had just been said, it sounded to me as though he did, in fact, want to kiss me. “Until next time, Miss White.” He opens my car door for me and helps me to sit down. Once I was safely inside the vehicle, he closes the door for me with a sound thud.
I see him stand there the entire time. While I fasten my seat belt, turn the ignition on, and pull out of the parking space, he remains in my view until I drive away. What was that about? What on earth was I playing at, attempting to kiss him. You are a damn fool, Angela White. I will need to get my emotions in check before I see him again. I have even forgotten to ask him to place his offer in writing. I will need to send him an email later to confirm.
When I arrive back home, I shower and wash off all of the emotions of the day. The hot steam doing wonders to clear my head. After I am finished, I begin preparing myself for bed. Once I am comfortably cocooned amongst my blankets, I retrieve my cell phone from the nightstand and open my email program.
Dear Elliot,
I forgot to ask you to please place your offer in writing so I can present your proposal to the current owners.
As soon as I have a response I will be in contact.
Warm Regards,
Angela White
Licensed Real Estate Agent
Nashville Realty
P.S. Thank you for dinner, I had a lovely time
Once I hit send, I quickly peruse my other emails seeing if the owners of Liam’s new residence had gotten back to me. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything there. I sent myself a quick email reminding myself to follow up with them tomorrow morning. I see a couple of emails from other real estate agents with new listings in the area which I look at and then delete.
Tonight had not gone at all like I had expected, apart from the confirmation that Elliot wanted to purchase the property. That I had hoped for and had even considered a possibility due to the positive viewing we had today. I was well fed. The Hermitage’s chefs certainly lived up to their reputation. That meal was one of the best I have enjoyed in such a long time. Flirting, on the other hand, was certainly not something I had ever hoped for. He could have just been playing me, doing something that clearly works for him to get what he wanted. I had indeed agreed to being his lackey for the duration of the build. I had agreed to hop on a plane and return to a city that I had no intention of ever setting foot into again, except to make sure Grandfather’s properties were being looked after.
I was feeling things tonight that I haven’t felt in what feels like forever. An attractive young man flirted with me tonight, and I somehow flirted back. Something about Elliot Sands makes me want to come out of my shell, consider the possibility of men again, the possibility of putting myself back out there, on the dating scene. Scary as it seems, I think I might be ready.
I enter Elliot’s name into the Google search engine again and select images. Every single one has him clothed in a suit, whether he is at a charity ball, or in his office, well dressed each time. Several have him talking with a beautiful blonde female; his girlfriend perhaps, or maybe it might be an ex-girlfriend. Locking my phone and closing my eyes, I remember him tonight, holding my hand, kissing it, telling me if he kissed me I wouldn’t get home on time. How I would have given anything for him to kiss me just once so I would know what he meant by that statement. Opening my eyes again I looked down at my phone and reach out to plug it into charge and then roll over, getting comfortable for sleep. The notification sound comes from beside me. I reach over and lift my phone so it is visible. The email icon appears front and center. Barely containing the excitement in my stomach, I open it:
Good evening, Angela,
I have attached a PDF version of my full priced offer for Belle Meade Homestead.
I dare say there will be more paperwork to complete if all proceeds.
I hope to
hear good news in the coming days.
Regards,
Elliot Sands
CEO Sands PTY Limited
P.S. I too enjoyed dinner and look forward to doing it again soon
I open the PDF attached, quickly reading through what he had typed. I was happy to see that all was correct. I don’t know why it wouldn’t be; after all, this wasn’t his first rodeo. I would contact the owners first thing tomorrow morning and hopefully they accept. There really was no reason for them to reject this offer, they wanted a full-priced offer, and here was one, $2.4 million dollars offered for the purchase of the home.
I reread the last line of the email several times, smiling like a loon at my screen. He didn’t need to include that on the email and yet he did. Maybe some of tonight was real. Maybe it wasn’t all just some sort of a game for him. I could replay tonight over and over in my head for hours, but for now, it was time to sleep. I place my phone back on the bedside table.
I roll back over onto my side and grab the pillow beside me, pulling it against my chest. I cuddle it, allowing myself to get comfortable. I close my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me.
I’m sitting all alone at a dining table, in the middle of an oversized room. Looking down, I see that the table is draped in a deep navy-blue tablecloth with intricate silver embroidery in a floral pattern.
The table has been set for two people, white china plates with a golden border and delicate filigree etching around the circumference. Beautiful crystal wine glasses sitting in the center of the table beside a pewter bucket filled with ice cubes and a bottle of expensive champagne.
I look across the table and see that Elliot is now sitting in the once vacant seat. He is dashing in a black tuxedo with a crisp white button-up shirt, complemented with a navy bowtie perfectly tied and a matching handkerchief folded into sharp points sticking out of the top of his jacket pocket. He looks so heartbreakingly handsome. And then he smiles at me, his teeth perfectly white and straight. “You look gorgeous tonight, Angela,” he whispers to me. I take the opportunity to look down at myself, wondering what I was wearing, a nice ball gown perhaps? I am shocked to see that I am wearing an oversized, holey white t-shirt and my comfortable tracksuit pants I never wore outside of the house. I lift both of my hands to my mouth, trying my best to hold back a sob that wants to escape my throat. Why on earth would I attend a dinner in a fancy restaurant, with the man of my dreams, dressed in what I used as pajamas?