by Zoe Chant
Theresa handed over the keys. Her hands shook. Another escape route was closed to her. But she'd already decided to do this. She'd signed the paperwork. She wasn't going to back out now.
***
The town car glided through the streets of downtown. Theresa leaned back against the seat, trying to smooth down the skirt of her black dress. The email had told her to wear evening dress, but of course after the long drive her dress was crumpled up beyond repair. She should have brought it along in her bag and found a place to change before the meeting. Too late now.
The Arcadia was one of those fine dining palaces that Theresa had only ever seen from the outside before. All the decor was in white except for a glittering silver curtain in the middle of the room.
She was going to end up spilling her wine on that snowy white tablecloth, Theresa just knew it.
The hostess was enthusiastically cheerful, and her wide smile grew even brighter when Theresa mentioned who she was here to meet.
Samuel Ashbel rose from his table to greet her when she approached. Theresa's breath caught. The pictures didn't do him justice. He was the most gorgeous man she'd seen in her life. His perfectly tailored suit hugged a lean, powerful body. The candlelight lent a fiery sheen to his dark hair, which fell in softly tousled strands around his dark, intense eyes.
"Ms. McKenzie? I'm Samuel Ashbel," he said, stretching out his hand.
She took it. His grip was firm but gentle, and his skin was very warm.
"Please, call me Theresa," she said.
"And I'm Samuel. I'm so glad you could make it. I hope the paperwork wasn't too much of a hassle."
"Oh, um, it was fine," Theresa said.
He came around the table to pull out her chair, which no one in her entire life had ever done for her. She'd been pretty sure that kind of chivalrous gesture only happened to European princesses, these days. But then he was a billionaire, and he probably did spend time with nobility.
In her crumpled, badly-fitting dress she felt like Cinderella meeting Prince Charming while dressed in her rags. For the hundredth time, she wondered what had driven him to choose her.
At least so far it didn't seem like he was disappointed with the reality of her, compared to the pictures she'd sent. He was smiling as he sat down. For a moment, his eyes almost seemed to glow with a golden fire. But then Theresa blinked and the illusion was gone. It had been nothing but a reflection of the candlelight, of course.
"Did you find the office okay? How was the drive?" Samuel asked.
"Oh, um, it was fine," Theresa said, because he probably didn't want to hear a long tirade on the evils of Illinois roadwork.
"Would the lady like something to drink?" the waiter asked, approaching with their menus.
"Just a water for now, please," Theresa said distractedly, staring down at the menu. There weren't any prices on it at all, which probably meant this was one of those 'if you have to ask, you can't afford it' kind of situations. Well, presumably Samuel wasn't planning to pay her 50,000 dollars for her company but then stick her with the dinner bill. She scanned the elegant menu page in front of her, trying desperately to find something that actually sounded recognizably like food and also like it might be more or less affordable. Maybe she'd just order an appetizer…
"I'm sorry, I know this place is really pretentious," Samuel said.
Theresa looked up at him, startled.
"The food really is worth it though, I promise," he added with a smile. "If you want a recommendation, the lobster pie is to die for."
Oh, good. She'd been kind of terrified she was accidentally going to order a $200 dish and piss him off. But if he'd recommended it, he couldn't get mad at her for ordering it, right? And she'd never had lobster before.
"Do you want to split the shrimp appetizer?" Samuel asked.
"Sure," Theresa said. It did sound really good, and she figured she couldn't go wrong going along with his suggestions.
"Would you like any wine in particular?"
Okay, and now she was thoroughly out of her depth again. Sometimes her and Carolyn got tipsy on a seven dollar bottle of white wine on Saturday evenings, and that was where her experience with wine started and ended.
"Um," Theresa said.
"We could just order a bottle of Merlot," Samuel suggested. "They have some really amazing vintages here, but frankly, they're a little bit wasted on me. My brother always tells me I have a simple palate."
"That sounds good," Theresa said gratefully.
They made polite small talk while they waited for their appetizers to arrive, talking about the weather (unusually warm for the end of September) and hockey (which it turned out neither of them cared about at all.)
"Oh, thank God," Samuel said. "I go to so many functions for work, and 90% of that is small talk, and half of that is people wanting to talk to me about the Blackhawks. I could not possibly care less about hockey, and I still have to follow every game, because I never know when I'm going to have to talk about it for an hour and a half just to make some major client happy."
"God, that sounds awful," Theresa said laughing. "What exactly do you do, anyway?"
"I'm head of the company's charitable foundation," Samuel said. "My brother calls it the tax write-off division," he said, with a self-deprecating little laugh. "But it's actually… Our people do really good work. They save a lot of lives." He smiled, his eyes lighting up; it was obvious how much he liked his work.
"Right now I'm focusing on a project that's trying make sure remote villages in the Sudan have access to safe clean water. We're working together with a local team to build wells in the traditional way. It's pretty amazing, actually," Samuel said. He was gesturing animatedly as he talked. Theresa caught herself watching his strong, elegant hands, charmed equally by his enthusiasm and his expressive body language.
"Some of these techniques are hundreds of years old," Samuel continued. "They seem simple, but they work better than anything we could do now with the resources we've got available. We provide the heavy equipment for the actual digging, but the locals are the ones who choose the best spots to make sure the well doesn't run dry and the water stays clean, and we're using traditional methods for the scaffolding and the brickwork… oh God, I'm sorry," Samuel said. "I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I'm just really excited about this right now. I didn't mean to bore you."
"Actually, I thought it was really interesting! Please keep talking," Theresa said.
Samuel's obvious interest in his project was contagious. Theresa had a librarian's love for learning about obscure topics, and Samuel had a talent for explaining and story-telling. By the time the waiter arrived with their appetizers, all their cutlery had been repurposed as an impromptu scaffolding around the vase in the middle of the table, and Samuel was trying to show her how the supports interlaced for better stability.
The waiter cleared his throat.
"Oh. I'm so sorry," Samuel said, looking at the pile of cutlery in the middle of the table. He hastily cleared a space. "Now I've mixed up all your forks, too. Umm, I think this little one here is for the shrimp."
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who isn't sure!" Theresa said with a laugh.
"I have no excuse, I'm at fancy dinners all the time," Samuel said. "But honestly, I just start from the outside and then work my way in."
"I thought that was only in Pretty Woman!"
"Nope, that's pretty much how it works."
The shrimp were fantastic, juicy and buttery, with a hint of lemon and garlic. Theresa let out a quiet moan of pleasure at the taste, then caught herself, blushing. But Samuel only smiled.
"See? Told you the food was worth it."
He ate a shrimp himself, closing his eyes in pleasure for a brief moment. He really was almost shockingly good-looking. Theresa looked away before he could catch her staring.
There were ten shrimp on the plate, so she could probably eat four without looking greedy.
"Will you tell me a little about your job? You're a libr
arian, right?"
"Yes," Theresa said. "Not that much to tell about it—we're just a little small town library. Nothing like what you do. We do have a little outreach program, though—"
She told him about the program, where men and women from the local senior's home came to read to little kids from the town. It had created some surprising connections. Theresa talked about eighty year old Gwyneth, who'd ended up bonding with little Sayesha, and babysat her four times a week now so her mom could go to school.
Samuel listened intently, asking questions a few times. Theresa couldn't imagine how her little work project could possibly be that interesting to a billionaire, but Samuel genuinely seemed to want to hear about it, so she kept talking. "We even used to have a van to drive the seniors from the home and back, but it broke down a while ago. It needs a new axle and a couple other things. The mechanic says it's gonna be over a thousand dollars even with a charity discount, and we're still collecting donations."
"You could apply to the Aurum foundation for a small grant," Samuel said. "That's exactly the kind of thing we help with."
"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't tell you that to ask for a donation!" Theresa said, mortified. His friendly interest had lulled her into telling the story the way she would to a friend, and she hadn't thought about how it would come across.
"I know," Samuel said. He waved off her concern. "Seriously, I know. I'm a billionaire. After a while, you get very good at knowing when people are fishing for money. Most people do, sooner or later." He smiled. "I know you weren't, though."
There were two shrimp left on the plate. Samuel nudged it towards her. "Here, help yourself. I can always come here again."
"Oh, um, thank you," Theresa said. She always felt bad taking the last of anything. People always thought curvy women were greedy anyway, so she tried to hold herself back when she ate in company. Samuel seemed happy to watch her enjoying the food, though.
The main dish was amazingly good as well, buttery lobster meat melting on the tongue. Afterwards, Theresa felt pleasantly full without being stuffed. She leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh.
"The desserts here don't really live up to the rest of the menu, but we could get ice cream at the Navy Pier, if you like," Samuel said. "They'll have fireworks at nine. It's a little touristy, but it's a pretty spectacular show."
"I love fireworks!" Theresa said.
The sun had gone down while they'd been eating, and although earlier the sunny afternoon had made it feel almost like summer outside, now that it was dark, the air was cooling down rapidly. Theresa shivered, hugging her arms around herself. S-he'd had a jacket in her suitcase, in the trunk of her car, but she'd been too flustered to remember to take it out.
"Are you cold? Here," Samuel said. He shrugged out of his heavy coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was warm through and through from his body heat and felt heavenly on her chilled skin.
"Won't you be cold?" Theresa asked.
"Nah, I run pretty hot," Samuel said. He brushed his hand against hers for a moment, letting her feel the heat that radiated off his skin.
"Must be nice," Theresa said wistfully. She got cold all the time. If this was a real date, she could take his hand, maybe huddle up against his warmth…
But it wasn't a real date, Theresa reminded herself, and if anything she could be glad he hadn't gotten grabby with her yet. Although the more time she spent in his company, and the more she got to know him, she was starting to think she wouldn't mind him touching her at all…
The main tourist season was over, so the pier wasn't as crowded as it could have been. Samuel found them a sheltered spot, out of the chilly breeze that rose off the water, but with a good view of the lake.
"If you save our spot, I'll get the ice cream," he said. "What's your favorite flavor?"
"Oh, um. I shouldn't," Theresa said guiltily. She'd already eaten way too much today. "I mean, look at me, do I really look like a woman who needs any more calories?"
Samuel frowned. "You look like a gorgeous woman who should eat exactly as much ice cream as she feels like eating," he said.
Theresa looked up at him, flustered. She never quite knew what to do with compliments, and he'd sounded so sincere about it. "Well, I guess one scoop won't hurt," she said.
Samuel had been right about the fireworks show: it really was spectacular. Theresa ate her ice cream and watched the bright blooms of fire explode in the sky. Samuel stretched out his arm along the back of the bench, brushing lightly against her shoulders, and the heat radiating off him kept her warm.
Theresa realized with a start that she was having a really good time. This was the nicest date she'd had in a decade. It might just be the nicest date she'd ever had in her life.
Except it wasn't a date.
Samuel was rich and gorgeous and charming. If he wanted to take a woman out to dinner and a fireworks show, all he had to do was ask. Instead, he'd offered fifty thousand dollars. Which meant there was something else he wanted, and the other shoe was probably about to drop as soon as they went back to his place.
She shivered.
"Still cold?" Samuel asked. He wrapped his arm around her. Theresa let herself lean into his warmth, and tried not to think about what secrets he might be hiding.
***
Samuel's penthouse stretched across the entire top floor of a skyscraper. The living room was an enormous open space, and the outer walls consisted entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. Despite its size, the room was surprisingly comfortable, furnished with dark, soft-looking leather sofas, heaps of pillows and blankets inviting her to sit down and get comfortable; but it was the view that captured her attention.
"Wow." Theresa just barely managed to stop herself from pressing her nose against the glass. Beneath them, the city lights stretched out glittering all the way to the horizon. To the east, the lake lay dark and quiet, dotted with the lights of a few boats. The river snaked through the city like a dark ribbon, limned with golden dots of light.
"The view's really something, isn't it," Samuel said. He was standing beside her, looking down at Chicago with a warm smile on his face. He loves this city, Theresa thought.
"If the windows make you uncomfortable, I can opaque the bottom half," Samuel offered after a moment. "Some people get vertigo—"
"No, leave it. It's beautiful," Theresa said.
He let her enjoy the view for long minutes before he finally nodded towards the big leather sofa. "Do you want to sit down? Would you like a nightcap? I've got a pretty nice scotch, or we could open the rum... There's some other stuff." He went over to go through the bar in a corner of the room. She heard the clinking of bottles. "Martini, Sambuca... Lychee Liquor, um, I don't even know why I've got that…"
"Uh... the scotch, I guess," Theresa said, even though her stomach was slowly knotting into a ball of nerves, and she doubted she could get anything down.
This was it. Moment of truth. This was when he'd come out with what he really wanted.
But Samuel only sat down next to her, handed her a glass, and kept on making the same kind of light, interesting conversation he'd entertained her with all evening: talking about a bridge construction his company was involved with downtown, and then an interesting biography of Alexander Hamilton he'd read.
"They're doing a Broadway show about him now. It's supposed to be pretty good. Do you think you'd want to see it? We could take the jet up to New York on Friday, make a day of it..."
"Sure," Theresa said weakly. She felt half-hysterical with nerves. Sure, why not take the jet. The private jet. Which he owned. With the librarian from Clarksburg, who he was paying 50,000 dollars to, apparently, do nothing but sit around and have a conversation.
Just tell me! she thought. Tell me what you want, damn you!
"You must be tired," Samuel said, obviously noticing her increasing distraction. "I'll show you to the bedroom."
So this was it, then.
She would have liked to know what he wan
ted before they got to the bedroom. But at least she was going to find out soon, now.
The bedroom was sparsely furnished, impersonal. Not his own room, then; a guest room. It had the same floor-to-ceiling windows, the same gorgeous view as the living room.
Samuel hesitated in the doorway. After a moment he reached out, brushing his fingers through Theresa's hair. She couldn't quite help her startled flinch.
"Sorry. You had some lint," he said, showing her a piece of fluff caught in his fingers.
"Oh," she said stupidly.
"Well. Good night then," Samuel said.
"...Good night," Theresa said. It came out shaky, unsure.
Samuel gave her a smile and started closing the door. Hesitated. "There's a bolt on the inside of the door. Feel free to keep it locked at night," he added. "Sleep well."
He closed the door behind himself with a quiet click.
Theresa stared at the closed door. That was it? That was all? Good night? Sleep well? Everything they'd done tonight he could have done for free with any of a million women in Chicago, many of whom would have been prettier, younger, richer or more famous than Theresa was.
She pulled up her online banking account on her phone again, but no, it hadn't been some hallucination: $25,000, in black and white in her account.
No. She couldn't go to sleep like that. She wanted to know what was going on, and she wanted to know now.
***
Samuel startled when the door that had just closed behind Theresa was wrenched open again. Theresa stood in the doorway, her eyes wild. "Why don't you tell me what you want?" Theresa said. The words seemed to break out of her. Her voice cracked.
Samuel looked at her, confused.
"You're not paying me fifty thousand dollars just so you can take me out to see a fireworks show," Theresa said. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you've given me some time to get to know you, and I've had a great time, but the suspense is really killing me at this point, okay? Whatever it is, it's fine, I knew what I signed on for. Just tell me!"
Samuel stared at her. Had she been worried about this the entire time? "I don't want anything from you," he said. "Just—just what it said in the ad. Just your company."