“Well… I sometimes hang out at the place I work,” I said, which was true, when my friends weren’t all busy. “It’s actually a really fun club.”
“Well then, let’s go there. Unless you’re tired?”
I grinned, liquid courage coursing through my veins. “That depends,” I said coyly. Do I have the job?”
He stared into my eyes with that intense gaze. “Yep.” He said sombrely.
“Not even going to take any of the other candidates out for dinner?” I teased.
“No.”
He wrote a check, and offered his arm to me as we left. I snickered at his proper, gentlemanly manner which seemed so incongruous with his appearance. Hell, he wasn’t even dressed up enough for the club. I laughed louder, thinking about how funny it would be if they refused him due to dress code.
“Neither of us should drive,” I realised aloud, clutching his forearm more for balance than anything. Though I couldn’t help but notice the firmness of said arm.
“Its taken care of,” he answered easily.
It was - he had a driver waiting outside, in his black car.
We sat in the back and I stared out the window as we drove, entranced by the city lights. For some reason, I felt lighter and more carefree than I had in a long while.
The club was full as it always was on Friday nights. I normally tried to avoid working then. But I didn’t mind walking in with a handsome billionaire on my arm, I had to admit. He somehow found us one of the small tables and we sat for a minute. But I refused another drink. I was in danger of losing my composure as it was.
“Do you dance?” Rick asked, shouting to be heard above the din of dance music.
“I love to dance!” I answered back loudly. It was true - I did love to dance, but normally only with a group of girlfriends around me. But the music was catchy and I was in a good mood, and I was already moving with the beat a little.
“You should go up there,” He yelled, as we leaned closer together in order to be heard. He jerked his head toward the dance floor where young people gyrated and grinded against each other.
I screwed up my face. “Really?”
“Sure! I’d like to see you dance.”
“Are you coming with me?” I grinned impishly.
He laughed. “No. I want to watch you.”
A little thrill of excitement went through me. Did he really find me attractive? I examined his face closely, squinting a little. His expression was serene and earnest. So I left my handbag on the table in front of him and ran off to the dance floor.
I danced alone amongst the crowd of people, knowing I was being watched, and I’m not ashamed to say I put a little seduction into my moves. I gave into the music and let it flow over me, lost among the milling, grinding bodies.
It was a long while before I stopped, exhausted, and realising how thirsty I was. So I went to the bar to order water, waving off the questions of Cindy, one of my fellow bartenders, pretending I couldn’t hear her.
I took my icy water back to the table and eased up onto a stool, with some effort.
“Nice moves.”
“Ha.” I sipped deeply through my straw.
Rick laughed easily. “I mean it. You looked like you were having fun.”
“You don’t dance?”
“I do. Not normally among a crowd, though.”
“At home by yourself?” I grinned. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I do it.”
“I enjoy dancing with a partner, in a more intimate setting. But I did like watching you.”
I crossed one leg over the other, letting my foot swing carelessly.
We talked/yelled conversationally for a while, and after a time I noticed he was checking his watch more frequently.
“You have to go?” I asked, gesturing at the watch.
He sighed. “I’m really sorry Jess, yeah. I have a few things I absolutely need to get done early in the morning.”
I giggled. “Don’t apologize - you’re the one conducting this interview.”
So we left, and I took his arm easily this time. I was tired, and still a little fuzzy from the alcohol. I told the driver where I lived and we started the drive home. I nodded a little in the back, and fought the urge to rest my head on Rick’s shoulder.
He opened the door for me, gentlemanly again, and I stepped out, trying to preserve my modesty as my skirt rode up my thighs.
He looked up at my building. “Do you need to go up stairs? Are you going to make it?”
I giggled. “Not many stairs. I’ll be fine. I have done this drunk many times.”
“Oh really?” He asked, a teasing note in his voice.
I chastised myself. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t say that, okay?”