“Yes, I know very well how charming you can be, Tristan,” she said, “but the question is whether that makes you husband material or not.”
“I thought we were looking for women that were wife material, not the other way around,” I said.
“It’s whether they actually do you the favor of even considering you for marriage that should be your concern,” Gwen said, frowning at me, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not exactly what most women are looking for in a husband.”
Something was off about her, and I definitely got the feeling that she wasn’t normally this neurotic when it came to matching up her clients. Just before I could ask her what she meant by that, the door to the office opened and the unmistakable bombshell that was Patricia stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floors.
She was certainly a beautiful woman who had no fear of flaunting the parts of her that she was proudest of—namely, her chest. Her blonde hair stretched down all the way passed her backside where it hung in a wavy sheet.
“Hello!” she called as she entered, looking me right in the eyes as she took a seat across from me in the waiting area. She crossed her legs, as she smiled at me, laying her purse on the seat beside her own. “This must be my arm candy for the evening.”
The way Patricia looked at me, you might assume that I was some kind of candy. In fact, the entire time we sat there I was quite certain she was going to take a bite out of me. She was certainly young enough, though I could tell that if she was left in the dating game long enough, Patricia would have become a ravenous cougar with all the shameless lust that came along with it.
“Tristan, this is Patricia Atmore. Ms. Atmore is the daughter of a software magnate, and she shares your love of the classics.”
“A pleasure,” I said, smiling at her stiffly, even I wouldn’t have bought its genuineness. It was forced, and I had little interest in hiding it. Maybe it was nerves, some irrational fear or misgiving about my whole elaborate plot. Either way, something felt off the moment that woman sat down, and I wasn’t entirely sure it was her.
“I’ve heard about you,” she said, biting on her lip ever so slightly. Already I could tell there were less than savory thoughts brewing behind those eyes of hers. Patricia was definitely the usual type of woman I would have been with, though part of me wasn’t sure if that was why I was so shaky on this date.
“Yes, I’ve heard that my reputation proceeds me,” I said, trying my best to sound charming.
“And it’s definitely quite a reputation,” Ms. Atmore giggled, her eyes dropping below my waist. I instinctively crossed my legs, frowning ever so slightly as I cast a glance over at Gwendolyn for some kind of help. Was this what it was like to go on a date with myself?
“Your car should be waiting out front,” Gwen said in a less than graceful save. Her voice was nearly breaking from the tension. “Your reservations are already made and everything is ready for you at the restaurant.”
I almost felt like my stepsister was rushing us out the door, desperate to see me out of her office and perhaps even out of her life. I wasn’t sure why, but that thought brought a lump to my throat. Why did she want to see me go so badly?
We stood and before I could react, Patricia had slipped her arm under mine as Tina and my sister escorted us to the elevator. I tried to get a look at Gwen’s face, perhaps see if I could divine some reason for her odd behavior, but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get her to look me in the eye. I wasn’t sure why, but her behavior had me on edge.
We were both escorted down to the lobby, Tina and Gwen both seeing us off from the front doors as the limo driver stood at the ready, the door already open for Patricia and I to step inside. I should have appreciated all of the things that Gwen was doing, how facilitating she was being to my plan for revenge against my father, but now that it was all underway I was almost a little annoyed with her effort. Why was she trying so hard on this? I couldn’t imagine she put this much effort into her other clients, or that she cared this much about me even receiving my inheritance. So what was it that was making her go the extra mile, all while pretending she didn’t even give a damn enough to look me in the eye.
“Your sister told me that you were in the military,” Patricia said as the limo merged into traffic, quickly on our way to the restaurant that Gwen had picked out for our dinner reservations. “That must have been terribly exciting.”
“Not as much as you’d imagine,” I said, shrugging half-heartedly. “They don’t permit the aristocracy to engage in much excitement when they’re serving in the Royal Army. You’re usually there to look nice and stay out of harm’s way. They liked to handle men like me with kid gloves.”