I got to Wishes a little ahead of schedule. The place was alive with smiling couples and I briefly wondered how many of them were there on first dates. Come to think of it, are any of them here for anything other than that? Does Wishes parade itself as a traditional nightclub unless you’re “in the know” or does every man packed in and grinding a woman on the dance floor pay millions of dollars for the opportunity? It still freaked me out a bit. Mason said that the donation wasn’t required, and that it was for the service not for the women, but it still felt a single degree of separation away from an escort service.
“Mr. Williams?” I turned to my left, and a gentleman dressed in a simple, understated pair of black slacks and a white button-up offered me a light bow. “Your date has already arrived. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to her.”
Damn. I wanted to beat her there. “Thanks.” Oh well, I’ll at least get to take an unmonitored look before greeting her.
The man led me to a part of the club that I hadn’t seen previously. It was up a flight of stairs and onto an iron balcony, where the sounds of the dance floor could still be heard, though at a much quieter decibel. White tables were dressed with maroon tablecloths and topped with glass-encased candles. People were eating high-end, full-course meals, and I could only imagine it was the part of Wishes reserved for those looking forward to actually being able to hear their date – a first date.
Each table we approached that had only a woman at it made me nervous. One woman had brown ombre hair that faded to blond at the bottom and blue eyes in a dress that, for what it was covering, may as well not have been there. There was a woman with black hair sitting in a bun right on top of her head who smiled as soon as she saw me approaching. There was a blond who wasn’t even subtle holding her arms in a way that popped her breasts out. All uninteresting in their own right. We passed them all, giving me short spurts of relief, before continuing on to someone else who didn’t strike me.
We were starting to get toward the back and each additional step brought me closer and closer to thinking I was being scammed after all, when finally the man stopped and held his arm out toward a table. “Ms. Zenrille.”
The woman stood up out of her chair and my heart stopped. She was short but boasted some magnificent curves. She had wavy red-orange hair cascading down her shoulders and chest and her entire face was covered in enticing freckles. Her dress was a gray, ¾ sleeves number that covered her chest and arms, but left her shoulders bare and clung to her down to mid-thigh. She had on a pair of deep red pumps and a matching lipstick that accentuated her thick lips. When she smiled at me, her cheeks cratered into dimples and her green eyes sparkled.
Now we’re talking.
I stuck out my hand. “Hi. I’m Andrew Williams.”
She took my hand and just that little bit of movement sent her flowery perfume coiling around me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Parker Zenrille.”
The man gave me an extended look, almost as if to scold me for having any doubt, before giving me another shallow bow and walking away.
I motioned to Parker’s chair, holding it out so she could sit back down, and then I took the seat across from her. “Well,” I started, “this is a welcome surprise.”
“Definitely. A blind date with almost no details was a little nerve-wracking.” She looked up at me and her eyes flared with enthusiasm. “But I’m quite pleased with the results.”
My whole body was buzzing with excitement. “Agreed.”
A waiter came by and took our drink orders and left us with small, laminated cards on which several meal choices were listed. There were no prices listed next to anything, which was to be expected. It was automatically assumed that I’d be paying, not that I minded for a bombshell like Parker.
She scoffed, flipping the card over a couple of times. “Typical of a nice place like this to not list the prices. They give you a tiny portion of chicken and then charge a hundred-and-fifty bucks for it.”
I chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first place that’s done it.” I looked up at her. “It’s not a concern though.”
She grinned, but her smile seemed forced. “Must be nice.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, no,” she said with an awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just used to counting all my pennies so…”
“Oh, well, I’m paying.” It was awkward. Don’t most women just assume the guy’s paying? I didn’t like discussing it.
Her cheeks got a little darker. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to back you into anything.”
“No, it… You didn’t. That was the plan, so whatever looks good to you, go for it.” Would a joke make things lighter? “Buy the whole menu if you want.”
Her smile faded a little. “Thanks, but I’m not that kind of girl.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m… I was just joking.”
“Oh.” She started to survey her card again, concentrating on it way too hard to just be assessing her meal choices.
Fuck, had we gotten off to a bad start.
Neither of us said anything until after we placed our orders, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Parker had chosen the only salad on the menu because of money concerns, or because that was truly what she wanted. I didn’t question it though as wine was dropped off at our table and I was really hoping that some bubbles would smooth things out a little.
“So...” She was the first to start, which I was grateful for. “What do you do?”
“I’m the Chief Marketing Officer at my dad’s law firm, Williams, Williams, and King. I’ve got an MBA, and head up most of our marketing operations there. My dad wanted me to go to law school, but that’s not really my thing.” I took a sip of my wine, hoping it would inspire Parker to start on hers, but she left her glass untouched. “I like it, but it’s been a bit boring lately.”
“Oh, so you were born into all this?” she asked absent-mindedly and it plucked me wrong.
“Um. I mean, my dad built it from the ground up, so it was there when I was born if that’s what you mean?”
“Did he help you get a high-level position right away?”
I scoffed. “I wouldn’t say he helped. I interned there through college and then I started out in a cube just like everyone else and worked my way up.”
“Oh, cool.” She had a look of disbelief on her face.
“What?”
She finally did take a drink of her wine before answering. “Oh, no, it’s just… You worked for it, but it wasn’t like your dad was going to give someone else the job over you, right?”
What the fuck is this chick’s deal? “Are you suggesting I only got it because my dad owns the place? I put in hundred-hour workweeks when I was trying to get to where I am now.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sure you worked very hard.” Those were the words that left her lips, but there was still an uncertain look to her face.
Change the subject. “What about you? Where do you work?”
“I’m a receptionist at a construction company my cousin owns,” she replied simply.
My eyes widened. “Is that a joke?”