by April Fire
This guy is a mess, she thinks to herself as she watches him spew words out of his evidently uncontrollable mouth. “That’s up to you, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Oh, please, call me Richard. Or Rich. Wait, no, not Rich because I’m rich, just Rich because – well it’s short for Richard, really, that’s the only reason, I’m not trying to show – “
“That’s fine,” she says, purely to cut him off before she loses a few years of her life to this conversation. “I’ll just call you Richard.”
“Okay,” he nods, looking relieved and wringing his weirdly large hands together in front of him. “Right, yes.”
“So…brunch? Or lunch?” she asks, fighting a smile.
This is apparently a very difficult choice for Mr. Shepherd, who purses his lips and flicks his gaze towards the ceiling. Lauren can’t help but wonder how in hell he’s made it this far in the business world.
“Alright, brunch it is,” she eventually says, reasoning that this way, the whole ordeal will be over with rather more quickly.
His face breaks into a smile and he nods vigorously. “Yes, okay, good plan.”
As they leave the foyer, Lauren realizes that the way things are going, she’s probably going to have to pick the restaurant, too. “So – how many Michelin stars are you after today?” It’s part mockery, part genuine question.
“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, the teasing flying completely over his head. “Just take me wherever the food is good.”
The place that springs to Lauren’s mind as she gets into the car is not what she’d ever call fine dining, but it’s cute and fast and it’s only a couple of blocks away, anything to save gas.
“Emma not coming?” she asks as she pulls out of the drive, more than a little disappointed that Emma with her frizzy hair and even frizzier conversation isn’t here to break the tension.
“No,” he says like it’s obvious, “she’ll be asleep for a while yet. She knew we had nothing to do today so I let her get hammered.” Lauren laughs at that, and she sees Richard smile along from the backseat. For a few seconds, he seems a little more composed, but he says, “Is – is that alright? I can call her? If – if this is too – y’know – awkward,” and he’s back to his usual self.
“It’s not awkward,” she says lightly, and she nearly points out that he’s awkward, but catches herself when she remembers that he is actually still the client and could fire her at the drop of a hat if he wanted to. She reminds herself to stop insulting him at every turn; she’d never dream of doing that to any other client. Richard is no different. Manners are still key.
“Listen,” Richard starts, and Lauren sees him shift uncomfortably in his seat and knows it’s something other than the highest quality leather upholstery that’s making him squirm. She braces herself for whatever he’ll say next. “I really am sorry for not saying anything, I shouldn’t have acted like you were no-one, I mean, we dated, for Christ’s sake, that’s hardly nothing, and it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it “
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren interjects, but Richard just carries on rambling.
“ – so maybe we could, y’know, start again? Like, without me screwing it up?”
It’s one of his more sensible suggestions, so Lauren nods, deciding that maybe she could give the guy a break for at least a little while. “Alright then,” she says, “as long as it doesn’t get out that we dated. I doubt Kingswood would be very happy if they found out I’d screwed one of their clients.”
“Indeed,” Richard laughs, “Okay. So – so how’ve you been?”
“Good, I guess,” Lauren replies, “I like my job, my family’s good, I’m okay, so - yeah. Good.” She wishes she had something more impressive to tell him. “I’m guessing you’re doing well.”
“Yeah, if, y’know, banking is your thing. It’s – interesting. And obviously the pay is good,” he adds, then looks down at his lap like he regrets saying it. “I’m not trying to show off or anything, I’m just-”
“You’re wearing a four thousand-dollar suit and you’re being driven around by someone else, but yeah, you’re not trying to show off,” Lauren quips, grinning at him in the rear-view mirror to let him know she meant no harm.
Uncertainty flickers across his face before he grins back, nodding “True, true,” at her and adding “Don’t forget the haircut. I paid good money to look like such a handsome son-of-a-bitch.”
It’s good; it breaks the tension a little, makes this seem like less of a transaction and more of an amicable reunion, and Richard becomes less like a client and more like a friend. Lauren’s rather disappointed that this new found relaxed Richard has to leave so soon when she pulls up to the restaurant, a little shabbier than she remembers it.
“Well, here we are,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the little building with its peeling yellow paint and neon sign in the window and wondering what the hell she was thinking when she brought him to this place. “It used to be nicer.”
“Didn’t we all,” Richard sighs, but he doesn’t look too fazed; he undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the door, only stopping at the last moment. “Aren’t you coming?”
Lauren nearly scoffs in his face. “I’m your chauffeur, not your chaperon.”
“Well, yeah, technically, but – uh, aren’t I gonna look like a lonely loser in there all by myself?” he reasons.
“You’re a businessman, I’m sure you’re used to it,” she says before she thinks, then winces at her own words. That wasn’t entirely how she’d intended that sentence to come out. “I mean, people will think you’re there on business. Which you are. Take a notebook,” she encourages, patching it over with a weak smile.
“Please? I’ll buy,” he prods, as if she’d expect anything less from a multimillionaire. “What else are you gonna do? Sit in a parking lot twiddling your thumbs?”
Lauren would like to point out that she has phone calls to make and spreadsheets to edit, but she really can’t deny that the prospect of several syrup-coated waffles blows her hastily made peanut butter sandwich clean out of the water. “Fine,” she exclaims, hating that she’s been won over yet again by waffles. “I’ve gotta move the car though, so you can get out now, or you can walk. Remember walking?”
“Shut up,” he spits, but follows it with a smile and settles back down in his seat. “But yes, walking will be excellent.”
***
The waffles are worth it. They’re face-sized and doused in syrup, with a large helping of whipped cream piled on top, and she didn’t have to pay for them. Richard gets some gourmet sandwich with lots of lettuce in – God knows why when there’s waffles on offer – and manages to squeeze mayonnaise all over his hands in the process of biting into it.
Lauren would laugh at him, but she’s not much better – the whipped cream seems intent upon smearing itself as far over her face as it can, and her delicate napkin dabs just aren’t cutting it. But Richard doesn’t seem to hate her for bringing him here, so she considers it a success.
“So,” he starts, after she’s watched him struggle with a particularly big mouthful of sandwich. “How’s, y’know, stuff outside of work?”
“Yeah, alright,” she hums, but she knows what he’s really asking. “I’m not married and I don’t have kids, either, by the way. You?”
“Oh, no, me neither,” he says, and she sees the way his face brightens. She’s not entirely put off by it – it’s a little worrying. She also doesn’t like the way she feels somehow better now she knows he’s not married. Crushes play havoc with careers. “I’ve got too much stuff on, y’know? I never stay in one place long enough for anyone to look at me twice.”
She tuts at him. “Shut up, Mr. Millionaire, quit complaining.” If there’s anything she hates, it’s the pity card, but the way he frowns slightly makes her want to take it back. He’s still her client, after all. “So where do you call home, then?”
“My mom’s house,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I’ve got a house
in LA and another in Miami, but it’s not the same, y’know?”
Vowing never ever to let him see her tiny little apartment, she tries to look vaguely sympathetic. She remembers his mom, though – she only met her once, when she visited the college, but she was kind and stubborn and didn’t take any crap. Lauren’s kind of person.
“How’s she doing?”
“Oh, she’s doing well. She’s making sure I don’t wreck her business,” Richard laughs, taking a sip of his weird green smoothie. Lauren rather wishes she had someone to make sure she wasn’t wrecking her business. Someone other than James-the-ass. “Did the waffles hit the spot?”
“Definitely,” Lauren smiles, giving her belly a pat. “If only every client took me out for lunch like this.”
“Brunch,” he corrects with a smirk, “and I think you’ll find it was you who took me out.”
“True,” she says, “do you make a habit of paying people to take you on dates?”
“Hey, Kingswood is the one paying people to take me on dates,” Richard points out. “Speaking of which, I was just wondering if – if you’d maybe like to come to dinner with me? I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date, or, y’know, it could be a date if you wanted it to be, but I don’t wanna put any, like, pressure on you or anything, so, so…yeah,” he tails off, fixing his green-brown eyes on her and chewing on his lips.
It’s about as haphazard as it was when he asked her out all those years ago, in a bar in front of all their drunk friends – although this time, there’s no-one shouting about Richard’s status as the biggest virgin ever to walk the earth, and no incapacitated housemates drooling on Lauren’s shoulder. She gets the same little flutter in her stomach when she looks up into those stupid cute puppy-dog eyes, though.
“Alright,” she says after a few rather tense seconds. “I don’t really know if I want a relationship right now, ‘cause of, like, work and stuff,” she reasons, “but a date – even if it’s not a date - would be alright. Good, even,” she says, realizing she’s rambling just as much as Richard.
He relaxes instantly. “Great! Okay, yeah. No, I mean, I’m not really in a position to have a relationship – but that doesn’t mean I’m just, like, using you, I just – wanted to, y’know, check.”
“It’s cool,” she breezes with a wave of her napkin. “It’ll be fun. Just a fun – thing.”
“Yeah,” he nods. The atmosphere quickly descends into awkward, and they’re both left sitting in silence, sipping at their drinks and avoiding eye contact.
“So, uh,” Lauren offers, when the tension reaches critical, “when were you thinking?”
They agree that tonight would be too soon, but they’re both busy for the rest of the weekend and Monday is always hell at the office, so Tuesday it is. She hopes she doesn’t regret telling Richard to choose the restaurant – she doesn’t want to be picking caviar out of her teeth for the next week.
The awkwardness dissipates on the drive back to Richard’s hotel; she figures if they steer clear of relationship talk, he doesn’t clam up on her. He’s easy to talk to once he gets going and gets over the compulsive sentence-wrestling he seems to participate in when he’s nervous, and, dare she say it, she quite likes him. He was always rather cute, and that hasn’t changed. The fact that he’s now looking cute in an expensive suit doesn’t hurt the situation one little bit.
I could do a lot worse, she thinks as he disappears into the depths of his hotel with a smile and a wave. It’s only one date, after all – what’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter Six
“You asked her out, didn’t you?” is the first thing Emma says when he walks into their hotel room. There are two large bedrooms, each with ample facilities, and yet here Emma is, sitting on his bed with her laptop.
“Why are you in here?” he asks, flopping into the large and regal armchair by the door.
“Oh, my mini-bar’s empty,” she shrugs. “But you did, didn’t you?”
Richard swears his face doesn’t move at all, he hardly looks at Emma and keeps his hands fastened to the arms of the chair, but still, he must give something away, because she squeals, “You did!”
“It’s not a date,” he says quickly, trying to reassure himself of that fact. He wishes he’d never used the word at all, it just seemed to remind them both of college. “It’s just a – thing.”
“Yeah, right,” Emma tuts, rolling her eyes at him. “I knew you liked her!”
“What?!” Richard whines, “she’s pretty, okay? She was pretty then, and she’s still pretty now, and it just felt, I dunno – “
“Right?” Emma supplies unhelpfully, “perfect? Like all your dreams of a fairy tale romance had come true?”
“Shut up,” he snaps as she laughs. He’d fire her if he didn’t like her company so much. “I didn’t propose.”
“No, but you will,” Emma sings, practically bouncing up and down on the bed, “and you’re rich, so you can make it perfect! Take her to Paris, or, or, Venice, or that place where the sky goes all green and blue and stuff!”
“The North Pole?” Richard says skeptically, “romantic.”
“She’s from Chicago, she can handle her snow.”
“She’s from Wisconsin, actually,” Richard corrects.
This makes Emma positively scream. “You love her already!”
“Would you stop now, please,” Richard says flatly, running a hand through his hair. He’s already stressed enough about Tuesday, he doesn’t need Emma talking marriage.
“What are best friends for?” she smiles, and Richard almost retaliates, but remembers that sadly, his PA probably is his best friend right now. And he definitely doesn’t keep Emma around for her organizational skills. “So where are you gonna take her?”
Richard makes a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan. “I have no idea. I don’t know what she likes. I don’t know whether she’ll expect me to take her somewhere really high-end or, or if she’d hate that more than anything. I just don’t know!” he exclaims.
“Wait, wait,” Emma says slowly. “What did you mean, she was pretty then? When?”
Shit. Richard rather thought he’d got away with that one. He sighs – he can’t get out of it now, she’ll only pester him until he spills the beans. “I knew her in college.”
Emma gasps like she’s in some courtroom drama. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me this?!”
“Because I knew you’d read into it far too much and start screaming at me like you are now,” he says flatly, rolling his eyes.
“A college sweetheart,” Emma says dreamily, “how perfect is this?!”
Rather than merit her question with an answer, Richard gets to his feet and heads off towards the bathroom. He needs a shower before he meets up with some so-called friends at the hotel bar tonight, and he’s so ecstatic with excitement that he needs to douse himself in scalding hot water before he can possibly face them.
He steadfastly does not think about Lauren, or the fact that she might possibly be interested in him, and instead worries endlessly about where he might take her. Impressing her suddenly seems so much more important than licking the boots of business people.
***
“So, let me get this straight – you’ve hired a different chauffeur?” Lauren asks Richard over the phone whilst she hides in her office.
“Only for today!” he protests, and she can practically see him waving panicked hands around like he always used to when he thought he needed to defend himself. “You can’t chauffeur yourself to the restaurant.”
“I damn well can,” she snorts, “which of my competitors have you hired? I bet it’s one of the shitty ones.”
“Uh, Knightly?” Richard says uncertainly, “it was the first one that came up.”
Lauren groans. “They’re awful. One of their secretaries called me a bitch when I was starting up.”
“Really?” Richard says, and he actually sounds genuinely concerned.
“Well, only ‘cause I called
her a jumped-up douchebag,” she reasons. That was an interesting day.
He laughs, which is a relief – at least he hasn’t changed so much that he no longer appreciates her argumentative side. A side which has served her very well over the years, she’ll have him know.
“So where are we going?” she asks, trying to keep the flirting out of her voice and failing spectacularly.
“Ah. Well,” Richard says cryptically. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
At that, she stifles a grin, peering through her blinds to check that James or Julia isn’t watching her smile like an idiot at her phone. They’d definitely talk. “Okay. I’ll wait and see,” she says, not even trying to squash the butterflies. It’s like college all over again.
“I can’t wait to see you,” he says quietly, once her stupid breathing has calmed down. “Like – not in a clingy way, I just – uh, can’t wait to see you outside of work, like – as a, uh, friend, rather than a driver,” he babbles, trying to save it.
“Hey, it’ll be good to see you too,” she tries to reassure him, “not in a clingy way,” she adds with a laugh, and he takes the mocking in good humor, thank god. She tries to remind herself that if this goes to hell, she could end up losing a client.
They talk for a few more moments, and Lauren is rather taken aback by just how much she likes talking to Richard – he’s become so much more confident over the last few days, over the last few years, even, and it looks good on him. And yet, he hasn’t quite lost that endearing shyness she’d liked so much when he crept up to her that night at the bar.
She’s unusually excited, unsettlingly eager to get out of work and get home. She hardly ever gets excited about dates anymore – the people she meets online are usually shifty-looking guys whose cars she is reluctant to get into and are the reason she carries pepper spray around in her purse everywhere she goes. She’ll take it tonight, too; Richard is probably not a psychopath, but you never can tell. Maybe the so-called banking is all a cover for the bodies of previous wives in his basement.
