It’s not a good idea!
It’s a terrible idea!
It’s all the shit that the world’s worst ideas are, indeed, made of!
I won’t say yes.
I can’t say yes.
Dad’s bright brown stare shifts to me, silently scolding me to stop being stubborn and do the thing he swears I don’t do enough.
Take a risk.
Ugh.
He knows I’m not like him.
I’m not a real risk taker.
It’s easier for me to calculate and compare and assess how your decision will affect your outcomes in the long range of things.
It provides with me stability.
One very important thing he couldn’t exactly provide for me growing up due to military life and then that of being a mercenary.
It resulted in me grappling onto it every chance I could, a skill taught to me by my aunt – rest her soul – who had the womanly hand in raising me. In general – to this day – I do very few things without having heavily examined the repercussions of them.
I love challenges and puzzles that I’ve had time to pick apart my chances of winning and surviving and excelling.
I’m not sure I can make this an exception.
My eyes meet Mr. Bennett’s once more, and there’s no denying the ache to be closer to him.
To call him Benicio.
To make all the bad decisions that would feel oh so fucking good.
To make all the pulse racing ones I masturbated to last night after writing them down in graphic detail.
He redirects his stare back to my father. “I can step outside if you like, Mr. Brooks. Give you two a minute to discuss your evening plans.”
“Nope.” Dad effortlessly smirks. “She’s already made her decision. Haven’t you, Scribbles?”
I repeat.
Fuck. Me.
“Fine,” I quietly concede and stomp over to retrieve my purse. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
My boss doesn’t bother hiding his victorious grin. “Very well then.”
Nope.
Definitely the opposite of whatever that shit is.
“I’ll meet you outside.” The statement is followed by me grabbing my bag. “I need to have a word with my dad first.”
“No, you don’t,” he quickly denies. “Just go, Scribbles. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Fuck my life, aren’t parents supposed to cock block, not set their child up for the takedown?!
You know, most days I’m super grateful for our less than conventional relationship.
Today is not one of them.
“Fine,” I grind out through gritted teeth. Leaning over, I plant a kiss on the side of his bald head and whisper out, “I hope you know I will get even for this.”
“It would be worrisome if you didn’t,” Dad chortles back. Our eyes meet again, and he shoots me a sweet wink. “Have a good time, Chantal.”
His use of my name reaffirms the earlier sentiments he proclaimed wordlessly.
Scribbles expresses our best friend, good-natured, extremely lax, non-traditional style relationship.
Chantal exhibits the loving, fatherly, here to guide you to live your best life traditional side.
I’m thankful I’m fortunate to have both.
Even if I’m not currently adoring either.
I follow Mr. Bennett to the outside of my father’s one-story home and over to the curb where a limo for us to be driven around in is actually waiting.
God, I kind of thought I was being facetious about that part.
The blond male leaning against the car shoots Mr. Bennett a teasing smirk. “È un rapimento?”
My brain immediately recognizes it to be Miko’s and the tone to be mocking.
Mr. Bennett darts a glare his direction. “No.”
“Are you asking if he stole me?”
“Kidnapped,” Miko promptly informs, “which I guess is more or less the same shit, huh?”
I start to reply when I’m cut off.
“She’s not being kidnapped.”
“You sure?” Miko adjusts his black suit jacket. “She doesn’t really have the expression of someone who is in your presence willingly, so much as begrudgingly.”
“Can it be both?” I join in on the joking.
“Possibilmente,” he chuckles despite our boss’s unamused demeanor.
Mr. Bennett steps in front of Miko and turns my direction to take over the conversation. “Where would you like to go for dinner, Chantal?” He offers me a polite grin. “We can go anywhere you like. I have a standing reservation at every restaurant in this town, most of Keleston, and can always get a reservation anywhere I don’t.”
Still displeased with the way he more or less bullied his way into having dinner with me, I stand for a moment in silence calculating the obvious options and their possible outcomes. His offering of letting me pick where we go implies that I do have a say in this date, yet the fact he mentioned he has an in at every restaurant is him flexing the reach he possesses at all times.
Maybe it’s meant to impress me or perhaps even instill fear.
Unfortunately for him it does neither.
It makes me spiteful.
And a spiteful woman can be a very dangerous thing…
An idea slowly forms forcing a smirk onto my face. “Anywhere?”
“Anywhere.”
I give him a small hum and casually announce, “I wanna go somewhere you’ve never taken another woman.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I want to have dinner somewhere you’ve never taken another female.”
Silence is all he presents me with while his bodyguard snickers.
My grin grows wild at the same time I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m sorry, is that a challenge for you, Mr. Bennett?” The continued poking has him threatening to glare. “Perhaps an impossible task?”
“Possibilmente,” Miko repeats, chuckles escalating.
“Abbastanza,” Mr. Bennett grumbles over his shoulder prior to meeting my stare again. “Benicio.” His hazel gaze overwhelms my brown as he closes the distance between us. The proximity of his face to mine becomes no more than an inch and his volume a low growl, “You will learn to call me Benicio, whether that’s on your feet or on your knees is your only choice in the matter.”