A Gentleman's Affair

by Linn, A. J.

  “Great. How is tomorrow for you?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

  “I’m actually going to be in Vegas on business until Friday. Will Monday be alright?” I ask as I check my appointment book.

  “Monday works for me. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Jones.” We both have another laugh at our little joke, and I thank her before hanging up.

  “Patrice?” I call out to reception. “How is the flight-booking coming along?”

  “Check your email, sire,” she shouts back.

  “Thank you,” I answer, shaking my head. So efficient, yet so sarcastic. I love that.

  I open the email and see that I am booked on a flight leaving at eight tonight. I glance at the clock on the wall to see how much time I have. Shit, two hours. I shut down my computer and walk out to scold Patrice for this.

  “Two hours?” I use my bossiest boss-voice on her, but it rarely works.

  “Does the man who loves to live life on the edge have a problem? Go throw some briefs in a duffle bag and I’ll drive you to the airport, ya big baby.” And she turns back to her computer screen, waving me off.

  “It’s just cutting it a little close, Patrice. I’ll go pack, and after you drop me off, you’re fired.” I smirk, trying not to laugh as I walk out of the office.

  After a quick shower, I get ready to go downstairs and meet Russ and Mike for dinner. We decide to check out the new restaurant at The Venetian, where I am staying. I enter the elevator and send Rebekah a quick text to say good night, anticipating a late night with the frat boys tonight. Russ and Mike always party while we are in Vegas.

  Dinner begins with shots. We briefly discuss tomorrow’s interview before the next round of shots arrive. I hate to always be the voice of reason with these two, but I have to remind them that we need to be in good form tomorrow afternoon to represent Pisa. But they don’t listen and order another round.

  After our meal, Russ and Mike decide to head out to a strip club to go blow some cash and drink more. I tell them that I’m just going to go back to my room, but after some serious harassing they convince me to come along. Drag me along is more like it.

  So we catch a cab and off we go to their favorite “titty money pit”, as I like to call them. Don’t get me wrong, I love to see naked girls slinking around a pole as much as the next guy. Hell, the old me would be first in line to fuck the hottest stripper there, but I just don’t believe in throwing my hard-earned money away on them. Never did. I can see boobs for free anytime that I want.

  The drinks and lap dances are in full force within minutes of arriving at The Diamond Club. The frat twins even bought a lap dance for me, since I wasn’t about to shell out one cent for one myself. The club is known for having the most beautiful, exotic strippers in Vegas but again, this is just not my thing.

  Jade, the stripper with incredible double Ds who is now gyrating in my lap, has long silky black hair, and she keeps whipping it in my face. Her bronzed and over-glittered tits are mere centimeters away from my face, and I have to admit, the sight of them does lessen the sting of the hair assault somewhat.

  Suddenly there is a commotion next to me. I look over and Mike is being dragged out of the club by a bouncer the size of a large brick wall. Fuck! This is why I never go out with these two. Fucking drama every single time. Jade hops off of my lap, stepping aside to allow the bouncer to pass. Mike is kicking and screaming all the way out the door. I look over at Russ and roll my eyes, asking what happened. He explains that Mike poured his shot on the stripper’s tits and licked it off before she had a chance to stop him. What an asshole. Everyone knows that this is a strictly no touch zone.

  We follow them out and are told never to return. Ever. Eighty-sixed from a fucking strip club! Great. This is not what I need right now: a bad reputation in the city where my next hotel is about to open. Fucking Mike! I will put a call into the owner tomorrow and clear this up. At least they didn’t call the police. Then I would be fuming. This shit I can blow off…

  Waking up with a hangover has never been my idea of a good time. I’m trying my best to forget about last night. The frat boy fucking twins and the strip club. I’m getting too old for this shit. After a long, hot shower and a quick breakfast in my suite, I put on my black suit, dark grey shirt unbuttoned at the top, and my Amedeo Testoni shoes. I call down to the desk for a car to take me to the hotel site for the interview. Russ and Mike had better be on their best behavior today or I will fucking kill them. They are usually professional when it counts at least so I won’t worry…too much.

  The car pulls up to the site and I see that Russ and Mike are already there talking to the photographer and a woman that I assume is the reporter for the paper. I get out of the car and walk over to join them, introducing myself and already feeling the heat from the July Las Vegas weather beating down on me. I hope this goes quick. I need to get out of this suit already.

  We pose for pictures in front of the rough structure that will soon be Pisa. I take charge of answering the questions that the reporter asks, seeing that this is my project and Russ and Mike are only investors. I explain to the reporter about my mom being from Northern Italy, how I conceived the idea, and how we got to where we are today. I must admit the attention for the hotel is exciting. Now all we can do is wait for it to be complete.

  As the driver takes me back to The Venetian, I get a call from Rebekah. She won’t be making it out to Vegas after all. She explains that she has a client with a horse that has gone into labor and she simply can’t leave right now.

  This is long distance dating at its best. Who knows when we will be able to see each other now. Well, work comes first, I do understand that. But I have a feeling that this is going to be more frustrating than I had anticipated.

  I call Patrice and tell her to move up my return flight to tonight, clearly no point in staying now. I think that I’ll check in with Scarlett to see if she can fit me in sooner for that shopping trip for La Fuga.

  I must admit that the thought of seeing her always seems to bring a shit-eating grin to my face. I know, I know. The fucking rule. Maybe I’ll take her off the job so that I can date her.

  Bad idea. A true gentleman would never do such a thing. Ugh.

  No dating Scarlett, I remind myself…again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~Long distance dating sucks~

  As much as I love being in Vegas, it always feels good to be home.

  I can’t help but still feel a little disappointed that Rebekah couldn't make the trip and am now beginning to think that this long distance shit will never work. Besides, there is the matter of sex. Phone sex doesn't really do it for me.

  After exchanging a few emails with Scarlett, I decide to send an email to Rebekah before I leave the office.

  Rebekah,

  I hope that everything went well with the delivery and that you’re doing well. I must admit, I was pretty disappointed when you had to cancel, but understand why you did of course.

  Looking forward to a rain-check soon.

  I’m about to head out for the day. I’ll give you a call later.

  Donovan

  Scarlett was able to move a few things around to meet for the shopping excursion, so we will be spending the day scouring Los Angeles for furniture, draperies, and carpet.

  Let’s face it…I’ll really be there just to nod my head every now and then. But I suppose that she does need my input, and I will make damn sure that beer is included at some point.

  We meet at a furniture store on Melrose. Or, should I say, a huge furniture store on Melrose. I’m overwhelmed from the second that we enter the store. Scarlett can sense my fear/hatred of shopping and assures me in a very sweet, condescending, yet sexy way, of course, that she won’t be leaving my side.

  Damn her for being so fucking adorable

  I can’t help but laugh at that. Seriously, I think that this will actually be fun. How could it not? I will be spending the day with Scarlett…

  We walk down rows and rows of couche
s to start. We need to choose some for the lobby and some for the suites. Right away I am drawn to the black leather set. Scarlett quickly dismisses it. My bad, I guess. I thought that it was good, but I was wrong.

  Hanging back now, I allow her to take the reigns. She points out a cream-colored set with multi-colored pillows. She says that it’s “beachy” and will suit the hotel very well. I hate it.

  “This color reminds me of something you might see in a doctor’s office,” I laugh. I scour the room, pointing out a set in a rich chocolate brown across the room. “Compromise?”

  “Oooh, I like that.”

  I follow behind her as we walk toward the obvious choice, meaning…no cream couches in La Fuga. We sit down on the larger piece at the same time, looking at each other, nodding.

  “Sold!” I blurt out playfully. “This is good for the lobby, right?”

  “I think so. See? You have an eye for this after all, Mr. Jones,” she teases back.

  “I doubt that. I just hate the color ‘cream’. It’s not really a color,” I say, laughing. “So, what’s next?”

  “Well, we need a coffee table for the lobby and those don’t come in cream, so we’re safe,” she winks and stands up, summoning me to follow.

  “Cute, Scarlett.” I follow like the clueless shopper that I am.

  We choose a coffee table, new headboards, couches and floor lamps for the suites. Scarlett is making this painless, much to my surprise. I suggest that we break before moving on any further. I am in desperate need of a beer. Shopping is hard work. We give a sales associate our extremely large order, and after my credit card stops smoking from the hit, we leave in search of a place to take a break.

  We find a small café on Melrose just down the street from the furniture store. The place is empty, seeing that it’s late afternoon. I assume that the lunch crowd has all gone back out to shop. Here I am again, sitting across the table from a beautiful girl…that is not Rebekah. A girl that I’m not allowed to be attracted to, a girl that I’m not allowed to ask out. A girl that has the most piercing eyes that I’ve ever seen. But again, I digress.

  We order. Beer and Cobb salads. That’s the thing about these small cafes on Melrose. Food for birds with food for elephant prices. Hey I am not complaining, I can afford it. I just think that a salad should be under twenty dollars…

  So, we eat. We drink. We discuss throw rugs. And I’m about to throw this salad. Someone bring me a steak, please!

  My cell interrupts our meal. I look down. It’s a call from Rebekah, and it quickly brings me back to reality. I mouth, “Excuse me” to Scarlett and answer.

  “Hey baby…” Instantly I feel weird about calling Rebekah “baby” in front of Scarlett. But why? “No, don’t worry about it,” I reply, talking quietly into the mouthpiece. “I’ll call you later when we can talk, alright?…Perfect, talk soon.” I press “off” and take a long guzzle from my glass of beer.

  “Is everything okay?” Scarlett asks, brow raised.

  “Yes. Nothing that can’t wait,” I respond, wondering why I decided to shrug it off in the first place. I try to tell myself that it’s rude to take a call while out to lunch with a friend…business associate, rather. But I know better. I’m actually enjoying the company that is across the table from me right now, against my better judgment.

  Hello Confusion. Nice to meet you. My name is Donovan Hart. Ugh…

  We finish lunch and are back to the shopping extravaganza of the year. With most of the furniture pieces for the lobby and suites taken care of, we decide to look for new desks for Patrice and myself for the office.

  I can’t help but think about what Scarlett said regarding my “eye sore” of a desk as we walk into the next store. It may be, but that old eye sore was my mother’s desk in college and I will move it to my penthouse, but I will never part with it. I did think about explaining about the desk to her but not right now. Now, we shop.

  After looking at every desk in the showroom, we finally decide on two matching dark cherry pieces: one for the reception area, one for my office. Scarlett finds a tall file cabinet to match for the reception area that will go near Patrice’s desk to complete the look. The new pieces will be great, and I know that I need to do this. It’s just time.

  I sign the receipt for the furniture and my bank account takes another huge hit. The two executive desks and file cabinet cost almost as much as the Cobb salads we had earlier for lunch. Well alright, not almost as much, but pretty close.

  Scarlett is really enjoying spending my money, but I have to call it a day. Shopping takes a lot out of me…because it’s extremely boring. Scarlett goes over a very long, detailed list of all of the things we still need for the hotel, explaining that we have to choose paint and carpet ASAP and that the painters need to get in there, as well as the carpet guys. And in an interesting twist, it is she who digresses this time instead of me, “Dinner?” she suggests. But I know that this is just her evil plot to keep me out shopping awhile longer…and for paint, no less.

  “Scarlett, you don’t play fair at all,” I say with a laugh. “But it has been almost three hours since we ate those salads that were suited for people who dislike the feeling of being full, so sure.” Smirking, I shove my wallet into the back pocket of the last pair of 300 dollar True Religion jeans that I will ever be able to afford and escort her out of the store.

  “True,” she laughs. “I don’t really even like salad. I’m more of a steak-and-baked-potato girl.” She gives me a playful wink as she continues to laugh.

  Hold the fucking phone here just a minute… Did she actually just wink at me? Scarlett is flirting with me? Oh fuck. Talk about being caught off guard…

  “Steaks sound good to me,” I choke the words out, still stunned by the wink from the hot girl that I’m doing business with and am not allowed to flirt with…Ugh.

  I should have titled this chapter “Ugh”.

  “Are you okay?” she asks quizzically as we walk down the sidewalk towards our cars.

  “Yes,” I respond with intentional directness. And stop flirting with me, please. I attempt to send a Jedi mind trick her way. “Any place in particular that you’d like to eat?”

  “Have you ever been to Duke’s?” Duke’s? Louisa? Bad memories, great food.

  “It’s one of my favorite restaurants,” I respond, ignoring the images of that hot fucking mess, Louisa.

  “Good. Should we take one car?”

  “We could do that. I’m parked just up ahead,” I nod as I lead her to my Hummer, catching a whiff of her perfume as a strong breeze blows past us. Beautiful ladies that smell good have always been my weakness…

  “This is yours?” she asks as I unlock the passenger side door and open it for her.

  “Well, it better be. I do have the key,” I tease as I close the door, walking around to get in.

  “It suits you, Donovan.” She smiles as she settles in and fastens her seatbelt. Fuck, now my Hummer is filled with her perfume. Just drive, Donovan. Just drive.

  We arrive at Duke’s and the smell of food now overpowers the smell of her perfume, so for that, I am grateful. We are seated near the window, and the ocean view, accompanied by the setting sun, is the perfect setting for a romantic dinner. Which I have to continually remind myself that this is not.

  My cell goes off, so I look to see who it is. Fuck, it’s Rebekah. Yes, I forgot to call her back. I let it go to voice-mail, not wanting to be rude twice in one day. I set my phone aside and look over the menu.

  “What are you having?” Scarlett’s sweet voice interrupts my thoughts of Rebekah’s call.

  “Steak, of course,” I set my menu aside as the waitress comes over to the table asking what we would like to drink.

  “A bottle of Veuve Cliquot, please,” I nod, before looking back at Scarlett with a grin. “I’m sorry, is that alright?”

  “It’s actually my favorite,” she grins back at me, her beautiful brown eyes wide. The server disappears to get our order and I ask Scarlet
t if she is ready to order.

  “Definitely. I’m starving,” she adds. Good. A girl that willingly admits she has an appetite. No more salad here. The server comes back and pours the champagne then takes our orders. We both pick up our glasses, clink them together. “Cheers,” we say and take a drink. What the fuck was that? Why is this feeling like a date all of a sudden? Abort! Abort!

  But I can’t abort. I don’t even want to. Again I remind myself that this is not a date. It is just two incredibly good-looking people enjoying a simple meal together. In a dark romantic restaurant. With expensive champagne…and candles on the table. We should have gone to McDonald’s.

  Through dinner the conversation moves beyond valances, swag curtains and carpet. We talk about where we grew up, sharing humorous tales from our childhoods. We move onto dessert, not to mention a second bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

  As we dig into the pineapple upside-down cake drizzled with rum and caramel sauce, the conversation becomes even more intimate. Now we are even discussing past relationships. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the rum sauce. Maybe it’s the company, but Rebekah feels miles away at the moment. Aside from the fact that she actually lives miles away, I’m fighting to hold onto any memories of our weekend together.

  After dinner, I need to call her back…Ugh.

  After dropping Scarlett back at her car, I decide to take a drive up the coast before going home and calling Rebekah back. I have some thinking to do, and for some reason, driving with extremely loud music blaring always seems to do the trick.

  I place a disk in the CD tray, hit “close”, relax back and drive. This is “Donovan Hart 101 for Head Clearing”. Great music and a drive up highway 101...