Page 35 of The Deal
I think about it, shake my head. “No. I like what I do. I like being needed.”
She laughs. “That’s weirdly noble.”
I shrug. “It’s also lucrative. You’d be amazed how much rich dudes care about their dicks.”
She’s silent for a moment, then: “I bet you’re a really good physician.”
For some reason, this hits me harder than any of the sex, any of the filthy things I’ve done to her. I don’t know how to answer, so I don’t. I just pour her another cup of joe, careful not to spill, and slide it toward her.
She sips, then looks at me cheekily over the rim of her mug. “You know, for a guy who spends all day around old men’s junk, you’re pretty hot.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks. I think.”
The beautiful blonde smiles, a real one, and for the first time since I’ve sat down, she looks relaxed. Her legs uncurl, and she leans back, stretching a bit. I decide to use the opportunity to turn the tables.
“So what about you, sweetheart?” I say. “Aren’t you working part time at a plant store? What’s that about?”
Mary Kate smiles sweetly. “It’s peaceful. I like being around things that grow, and that don’t talk back. Plus, they let me bring home stuff that’s half-dead, so I get to revive it. Kind of like you when it comes to saving living organisms, but with less testosterone.”
“That’s very noble as well,” I growl. “But is that what you want to do, long-term? Work in a plant store or maybe run a greenhouse?”
She glances up, like she can hear me thinking. “No, the plant shop isn’t my dream. It’s just something to do. A way to make money that doesn’t make me hate myself like most jobs. Ugh, I would not be able to handle a job at a customer service call center.”
I chuckle.
“Well, I think you’re a long ways from that because most companies have outsourced that shit to the Philippines or India. So tell me, what is your dream, sweetheart?” I ask. “I want to know.”
Mary Kate pauses and bites her lip, almost shy. “Italy. I want to stand in the middle of a piazza, order a coffee in Italian, and not have the barista switch to English out of pity. I want to go to museums, not as a tourist, but as someone who belongs there. I want to be fluent. I want to feel at home somewhere.”
I let the silence linger. “Why not go?”
She shrugs. “Money. Timing. Fear of being kidnapped by the mafia and sold to a billionaire as his private sex slave.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I think you’d like that.”
She giggles, then blushes. “Maybe. If the billionaire was hot.”
I don’t laugh. Instead, I say, “Maybe I’ll take you to Italy someday, Mary Kate.”
Her face goes blank. Then, slowly, color rises from her throat, up to her ears. “Would you?”
“If you want,” I say, casual as I can. “You’d have to earn it.”
She bites her lip, staring at the plate. “How?”
I let my eyes wander over her body, make it clear what I mean. She shivers, but doesn’t look away. If anything, her pupils dilate and she leans in, big breasts heaving.
We eat in silence for a minute, the crunch of chips the only sound. Outside, a crow barks at nothing. The sun is all the way up now, flooding the kitchen with yellow-white light, and in the harsh glare I see that she’s even prettier than I thought. The hair, the cheekbones, the line of her throat.
“You ever think about what you’ll do after graduation?” I ask.
She sighs. “Not really. The future is like a fog. I’ll finish my degree, maybe go to grad school, maybe not. Maybe get married and pop out a kid.” She glances at me, quick, like she’s baiting me. “Who knows?”
The conversation is so normal, so mundane, I almost forget what we did last night. Almost. But the memory returns every time she smiles, every time her dress gapes a bit and I see the bare skin underneath.
I refill her mug without asking, the way you do for someone who’s lived in your house forever.
She watches me, her eyes warm. “Can I ask you something else, Kent?”
