The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  My insides squirmed as I thought about it. Where would we go? Why did he want a travel companion? The questions raced around in my head ceaselessly, but I knew that I couldn’t pass up two grand.

  Hi L,

  Thank you for emailing me. I would be glad to meet you. Yes, I am free tomorrow. What time and where?

  - Jessica

  I kept the email as curt as possible. L was clearly a no-nonsense guy, and I didn’t think he would respond to a sugary message. My heart hammered as his reply came within minutes. I trembled as I clicked on the new email.

  Jessica,

  Please be at the A16 restaurant in San Francisco at 7 pm. The hostess will show you to my table. RSVP soon.

  Thank you,

  - L

  I let out a strangled laugh at his email's clipped tone, and I suddenly felt a lot less worried. This wasn't the sound of a guy who wanted to get into my pants. He was something else entirely, but I wasn't sure what. Intrigued, I sent back a confirmation, and he replied lightning-fast.

  See you tomorrow.

  - L

  The bedroom echoed with the sound of my nervous giggle. I closed my computer and climbed into bed. What is he going to be like? I tossed and turned in my bed, the promise of two thousand dollars easing my nerves. The adage burned in my mind: if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  3

  Anxiety clawed at my stomach as I painstakingly applied my makeup. I chose the same black cocktail dress that I wore in my profile picture. Maybe he would think that was lazy. Oh well, too bad. It wasn’t like I had a ton of options in my closet.

  I wore nude stockings because the city was always at least fifteen degrees cooler than the East Bay. Then I pulled on my faux wool coat and grimaced at the missing buttons, hoping the billionaire wouldn’t notice how very poor I was.

  The billionaire. I’m meeting a stupidly rich man for dinner, and I still don't know why.

  Well, I knew why. I’d be two thousand dollars richer, which was more than enough to pay back Natalie. Even if it amounted to nothing, I’d have breathing room for a few more weeks. As I prepared to leave, the front door opened, and I heard Natalie come home from work just as I was preparing to go out.

  She looked like she hadn't slept at all; there were dark arcs under her eyes, and I felt a rush of guilt.

  Her eyes moved down my body. "So, you're doing it?"

  “Yes.” I brushed past her, hoping my tight-lipped expression was enough not to start another round of disagreement.

  “Jessica, please don’t do this.”

  The sad note in her voice turned me around. “I’ll be fine.”

  Her body was still rigid. “Text me as soon as you’re done.”

  I inwardly rolled my eyes, but I knew that Natalie was concerned and only wanted me to be safe. “Whatever. Fine.”

  I opened the door and walked into the crisp November air. As a lifelong Californian, any temperature below seventy degrees made me reach for a sweater. I tried to imagine myself in a cold climate and laughed through my chattering teeth.

  And it’ll be even colder in the city.

  The BART was only a few blocks away. I felt ridiculous as I tottered in my heels through the neighborhood. Cars sped past me with their bass raised to ridiculous levels, pounding up my legs and into my heart. I followed the distant scream of the metro, and again I wondered what he would be like—and why he was so secretive.

  What if he wants to kiss me?

  I kept myself calm by imagining a two thousand dollar check written to me.

  It’ll be fine. It might even be fun!

  When it was over, I could write an article about what it was like being a sugar baby for a billionaire. God, I hated that word.

  The doors to the BART hissed open, and a slew of tired-looking businessmen and women commuting from the city spilled out of the train.

  I sat down with a painful grimace on the stained seat cushions, trying not to imagine how stupid I would feel next to such a well-bred man who was probably born into money, raised by a series of nannies and teachers at his overseas boarding school.

  Shut up and relax.

  But I couldn’t help obsess over the fact that these shoes hurt my feet, and he'd notice that I couldn't walk gracefully in them. I was always fumbling my way through life as if I had a permanent blindfold.

  Oh, shut up.

  I kept opening my phone during the BART trip, half-hoping that I would receive an email from the billionaire canceling the meeting. Just relax, I kept telling myself. I wobbled on my heels as the train stopped on Montgomery and left the heated train, my legs freezing as I ascended the escalator into the night.

  The streets flooded with people who just left work. Even during the weekdays, San Francisco nightlife thrived, and those who were wealthy enough to afford to live in the city would hit the city’s many restaurants and lounges with their coworkers. I used to walk past them all the time during my internship. Jealousy burned in my stomach when my coworkers would go out together and leave me behind, knowing I always took the BART home. The eight-dollar cocktail drinks and tapas plates were too big of an expense for someone on a zero-dollar per hour wage, so I skipped hanging out.

  I walked to the MUNI bus around the corner and dumped quarters into the machine. Then I glanced at my phone and felt my heartbeat in my throat. Six-thirty p.m.

  No turning back now.

  The MUNI shuddered and banged up the steep streets, and I wanted to throw up as the bus stopped on the street I was supposed to get off. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I agree to do this?

  You agreed out of desperation.

  Wrapping my coat tight around myself, I descended the steps. The sea air whipped down the streets from the Marina and tossed my hair around my head. I raced across the street toward A16; a small restaurant tucked into the wall teeming with people behind its softly lit windows. The tiny, square sign glowed in the misty air. I stopped for a moment to calm myself. I checked my phone one last time to find a text from Natalie:

  Good luck

  Closing my eyes, I said a silent thank you to her for the confidence boost needed to grasp the dark door’s brass handle. The smell of baking crust and tomatoes blasted into my face, making my mouth water. It was funny how I rarely realized how starving I was until the smell of something appetizing floated across my nose.

  The interior of the restaurant was dark and intimate. Like most places in San Francisco, the space was small. The bar and kitchen stretched on the right side of the restaurant, and a row of tables draped with linen on the left. The back of the restaurant had a long table enclosed in a glass room, slightly separated from the rest of the restaurant.

  I squeezed past the people waiting for a table on the sides and approached the hostess.

  Well, now what? What do I tell her? I don’t even know his name.

  “Ma’am, would you like us to take your coat?”

  An employee swooped in from nowhere and held out his hand.

  “Oh!” I was clutching my coat as if I depended on it for survival. “Yes, please.”

  I slipped the fake wool coat from my shoulders, feeling naked without it. My black purse dangled from my shoulder.

  The hostess gave me a dubious smile as if she could see through the carefully constructed wardrobe and deduced that I had nowhere near the amount of money to afford this place. “Welcome to A16! Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes.” My high-pitched laugh made me cringe. “It’s for seven o’clock. I’m supposed to meet someone. My name’s Jessica.”

  Her eyes widened with renewed interest. “Ah, yes. Mr. Pardini has been waiting. Please follow me.”

  Yeah, that’s right, I thought as I returned a proud smile to her bewildered expression. I have a date with a billionaire.

  The cacophony of surrounding conversation swallowed my short, nervous laugh. My teeth clenched together so hard that my jaw ached. How awkward would I be with the billionaire?

  Stop referrin
g to him as ‘the billionaire’!

  Something stirred inside my head when the host mentioned his name. Pardini. Where did I hear that name before?

  The hostess walked straight to the bar, and I scanned the people sitting on the stools, trying to figure out which one was L. She walked to a man dressed in a dark blue suit sitting on the bar, his long fingers playing with the stem of a wineglass. I couldn’t see his face at all, only the back of his head thick with dark brown hair, imperfectly groomed as though he had just had a long day at work. Afraid to touch him, she leaned in.

  “Mr. Pardini!”

  His head turned to the left, and I glimpsed a stunning profile. She said something I couldn’t catch and his dimples creased into a smile. Now it was his turn to pick me out of the crowd. I wanted to run away, but his cool blue eyes froze me in place. His calculating gaze swept up and down, and I was so entranced that I didn’t even notice he slipped off the stool and walked toward me.

  He was so beautiful that it made me sad because I knew that someone like that would never, ever be into me. It was impossible.

  “Hi, I’m Luke.”

  A high-pitched, teenage voice squealed inside my head. Oh my God. This guy is incredibly hot.

  Stunned into disbelief, I forgot my fear. I pulled my lips into what I thought was a sweet smile and slipped my hand into his. His hand was reassuring and instant heat traveled through his skin and into mine, up my arm and glowing somewhere in my chest. He was the stuff of fantasies, and yet, his face wasn’t so perfect it was unnerving like so many actors in Hollywood with straightened teeth as white as Chiclets.

  I had to say something, but his mesmerizing eyes promised there was no other person in the world he would rather see than me. I sniggered and felt a violent blush creeping up my neck.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Really, really nice.

  He made a slight "hmm," and his smile became a grin as if he knew the effect he had on me and was enjoying it.

  “If you follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

  I squeezed his hand. I forgot she was there.

  Let go of his hand! And stop staring at him!

  I dropped my gaze and let go of him. My hand trembled as it returned to my side and I felt like one of those Twihards shrieking at Robert Pattinson. What was wrong with me? I walked in front of Luke and followed the hostess as she brought us to the back, to the room separated by a wall of glass. It was meant for larger parties, but Luke paid to reserve it. Of course, he did. He had piles of money.

  Luke pulled out my chair with one hand like a perfect gentleman, and I sat down, inhaling something that must have been cedar cologne. The scent disappeared as he swept around the table, but it left me intoxicated, and I blinked at him as though I were drunk. He was so handsome that I couldn’t bear looking at him longer than a few seconds. Would he be able to detect how hard I was crushing on him? He looked more like a male model than a businessman. His dark hair fell into his eyes with a casual elegance that few men could achieve. He smiled at me and my cheeks burned.

  “Would you like anything to drink, ma’am?”

  God, yes.

  She slid a drink menu under my hands, and I snapped my attention toward it. I recognized none of these wines. The only wines I knew were of the Charles Shaw variety that sold for five bucks a pop at Trader Joe’s.

  “Just get me a dry red. Something you think is good.”

  She nodded. “Would you like another glass, Mr. Pardini?”

  “Yes, please.”

  His voice stroked me. It was deep and calming. When the hostess left, there was no reason to avoid looking at the remarkable specimen sitting in front of me. When I met his gaze, he smiled again, and warmth flooded my chest. Pardini. A small explosion took place in the pit of my stomach.

  “I know you!” I blurted. “You were on ET the other night.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to smack myself.

  You did not just say that.

  The smile on his face faltered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and uttered a small groan. “Yes, I’m sure I was.”

  So it was him. The rich playboy with daddy issues used an online dating website. None of this made sense.

  The waitress returned to set the wine glass next to me. I watched her fill the glass and then took an unnecessarily large gulp as she poured him more wine. He held my gaze. I was fascinated by him—and my strong feelings toward him.

  “I apologize for all the secrecy, but it was necessary.” He reached inside his suit jacket that looked like it cost more than my car and pulled out several papers and a pen. He set them down and slid the pile toward me face up.

  Oh right. The non-disclosure agreement.

  In the email, he outlined the expectation for me to sign it “upon arrival.” I pulled it toward me and signed it. The penalty for violating the agreement was a whopping three million dollars. No article writing for me, then. I slid the papers back toward him, and he folded them back into his jacket, looking relieved.

  He looked at me shrewdly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve interviewed several candidates, but I found none of them suitable.”

  Candidates. What a strange word. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

  The mysterious smile reappeared. “I don’t want to get into that today. I want to get to know you.”

  My face grew hot, made worse with the wine. I knew he could see how uncomfortable I was. He was gorgeous, and I was a nobody. I didn't get it. "What I don't understand is why you think you need a paid arrangement."

  No, stupid! Don’t say that. Just shut up and take his money!

  He took another sip of wine, and I heard the liquid hiss through his teeth. Then he looked at me. "I know what I want, and I have very little time. This is just the easiest way for me."

  A small shiver went through my body. Why would he want me? But he did all the same, and it was overwhelming.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Jessica.”

  Now I felt like I was in an interview. "Well, I graduated last year with a Bachelor's in English, and I want a writing position at a magazine somewhere. I'm not picky, but it's been tough finding writing gigs. All I could find were unpaid internships. I signed up for this because I need an income to pay for my expenses. I think that I’m a pretty honest, reliable person. If you want, I could leave references. To be frank, I need the money."

  It was embarrassing to admit it.

  The room filled with the smell of freshly baked pizza. I snapped my head around and saw a perfect sight: the waitress carrying a hot pizza. She set it down on a metal stand in the middle of the table. It was a cheerful, vivid red with burnt edges, no doubt cooked in a wood-burning oven. Little specks of green dotted the sauce, and I smelled the basil from the rising, swirling steam. I reacted in a way that could only be described as Pavlovian.

  “The pizza here is the best in the Bay Area. It’s almost like eating pizza in Rome.”

  I didn’t care where it was from as long as I got to eat it. “I can’t wait to try it.”

  He smiled politely as he cut a slice for me and slid the plate in front of me. Perhaps he was used to girls who only ordered salads when they went out.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Flustered, I glanced at his face and saw he was serious. “No, ‘course not. I’ve never—” My voice cut off. Fuck, I almost told him that I’d never had one. “I’ve never had much time for boyfriends.” My hand trembled as I took another sip of wine.

  I watched him eat the pizza with a knife and fork, feeling barbaric as I picked up my slice with my hands. “Do you live in the city?”

  He gave me an uncertain nod. “I have a house, but I’m rarely home.”

  He probably had places all over the world. I bit into the pizza and moaned as the acidic taste of the tomatoes exploded over the perfect crust, blackened from the wood fire oven.

 
“Oh my God!” I moaned through my mouthful of pizza. “This is—this is incredible!”

  Luke seemed to choke on his pizza as he looked at me and laughed. It differed from all of his polite, almost mechanical smiles. The corners of his eyes creased, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

  Was he mocking me? No, there was kindness in his eyes—not cruelty. I returned his smile and laughed in spite of myself.

  “I’m kind of crazy about food. Every week, I volunteer at a soup kitchen, and I organize the recipes." Perhaps the wine made me so talkative, but I was flattered by Luke's interest and the way he leaned in so he could hear me talk. I kept forgetting that this was an interview.

  “Every week? What for?”

  He sounded suspicious. Of course, he was. He made me sign an NDA, for God’s sake. I gave him a half shrug. I didn't exactly want to go into detail. "It started as a community service thing I wanted to do for my resume, but I found myself enjoying it." A frown crossed my face. "Well, until yesterday."

  “What do you mean?”

  I mentally slapped myself again. He doesn’t need to know every damn detail of your private life! I waved my hand. “It’s not a big deal, but my car got broken into while I was volunteering.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  "Yeah, it sucks."

  We lapsed into silence as we finished the pizza. I devoured three more slices, savoring each bite.

  Does he eat like this all the time?

  Why wouldn’t he? After many sips from the equally delicious wine, I felt myself slip into a warm, happy stupor.

  “So where did you grow up?”

  I snapped to attention. "Hm? Oh—well I moved around a lot as a kid. First, I lived in Richmond, then Fremont, Oakland, Antioch." We were wading in dangerous waters. "How about yourself?"

  His face tightened. “Chicago. Well, I was there until my mother passed.” He shrugged. “Then my father sent me overseas to a boarding school in London.”