Quin stomped up the stairs in her Christian Louboutin shoes, furious that she was wasting a perfectly fabulous new outfit on Taylor Hanson.
“I told him… I told him!” she muttered angrily as she made her way up, trying to make as much noise as possible to let him know just how upset she was. She knew that she was acting childishly, but he had made such a fool out of her in the last few hours she could hardly even think straight. When she had received the very impressive looking invitation to the opening of a new restaurant, she had immediately put it in her calendar. Being a successful business owner in the city, she frequently got invited to such things and she knew that if she could, she would go. So, she’d gotten herself a new outfit and had invited Magda to go along, obviously wanting some company. But when she’d arrived at Magda’s apartment to pick her up and had been informed that there was no such restaurant, she had immediately gone to Magda’s computer to look up the address, finding it in a residential district in TriBeCa. After brainstorming for several minutes as to what could have possibly been the case, Magda had gasped and said three dreaded words: “It was Taylor!”
Quin didn’t have to give it a second thought to know that Magda was right. But it wasn’t even that he had gone about the elaborate scheme to just get her to his place, it was simply that she had asked him to leave things up to her and he hadn’t even been able to wait a week before trying to reach her. It had been her intention to call him the next day and ask him out for coffee, in public and in broad daylight to avoid giving him any sort of wrong impression. But now he had gone and blown it. Again. She didn’t have to guess what floor she’d seen him stick his head out the window of, because when she reached his floor, he was standing the doorway, dressed in some nice black dress pants and a dark grey button up. He looked very handsome, but she knew she couldn’t let it deter her from giving him one hell of a royal ass-chewing.
“Good evening, miss. Thank you for coming Upstairs,” he said, holding the door open for her. She just scowled at him and went inside. As soon as she was in, she saw the elaborate table he’d set and could smell how delicious the food seemed to be. He had gone to a lot of trouble and it was all for her. Maybe, she reasoned, she should be polite and eat the food. But only after she yelled at him. And then she was leaving right away and certainly not having any of the wine he’d set out. “I think we have a table available right this way.”
“Did you honestly think this little plan of yours was going to work?” she asked, not moving from her spot near the door.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he asked, gesturing towards the table, “Now won’t you please come sit?”
“I’ll eat the food, but your phony polite attitude isn’t working so you can just drop it,” she said, eyeing him cautiously before walking towards the table. She set her purse on the ground and sat down, watching Taylor as he dished up some pasta from the steaming pot on the stovetop and headed over to her with two plates.
“Tonight’s main course is spaghetti carbonara. I hope you like it,” he smiled, setting her plate down in front her before sitting down in the seat opposite hers. Instead of responding and telling him to drop his little fake waiter act, she just took a bite. The food was delicious and seemed to be homemade. Either that or he had gone to even further efforts to dump the ordered food into a pot.
“You couldn’t have just waited could you?” she asked him after almost a full minute of silent chewing.
“I might have been a little anxious,” he admitted.
“Spoiled little brat is more like it,” she said before taking an aggressive bite of a breadstick. She fully chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I was going to call you tomorrow. But no…”
“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely, “I was just convinced you weren’t going to call and I had to make you meet me for dinner.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because I want us to get to know each other. Really get to know each other,” he said honestly.
“Mmhmm, I’ll bet you do,” she said, relenting and taking a sip of the wine which was also delicious.
“That’s not what I meant,” he sighed and for a second, Quin almost felt bad, “I don’t know anything about you other than your name and that you own a store.”
“Well, what do you want to know?” she asked, appeasing him.
“How long have you lived in New York? What’s your favorite color? The happiest moment of your life? I don’t care. Just tell me about you,” he laughed, sipping his wine. She picked up her glass and leaned forward on her elbows.
“My whole life, red, and when the first customer came into my store,” she said, continuing when he gave her an exasperated look, “I was raised in SoHo. My parents were both artists who owned their own gallery. I love fashion and have my entire life. I used to stand outside of Bryant Park during fashion week just hoping to catch a glimpse of a designer or the models but now I actually get invited. I own an apartment on the Upper East Side and have a dog named Sylvie. Anything else?”
“You don’t have to be so formal about it. In the few times I met you, I found you intriguing and want to know more about you, that’s all,” he admitted. The look he was giving her made her feel transparent and it was all she could do not to look away nervously. Instead, she maintained his eye contact as she took another sip of the wine, feeling it burning a little more confidence into her chest.
“Well, what about you? I know what you want the mass public to know, but I’m sure that’s not all. You can’t possibly be as arrogant and shallow as you seem,” she said, knowing that her comment was a dangerous cross between a compliment and a serious insult. Thankfully, he went with it and didn’t seem phased.
“I was born in Tulsa and I have no desire to ever move back there. I play piano all the time, even when I don’t have to for work—Rachmaninoff is my favorite. I like to cook, but don’t always put quite this much effort into it, I have to admit. I have a giant stack of books sitting in my living room that I always mean to start, but usually end up watching TV instead.”
“Me too,” she laughed lightly, “The Kite Runner has become a fantastic coaster for many a glass of wine.”
“Speaking of, do you like the wine?” he asked and she nodded in approval, “Want some more?” Quin looked down at her glass and was surprised to find it empty.
“Why not,” she laughed.
“That’s my kind of woman,” he replied, tipping the bottle to fill her glass. Quin bit her bottom lip and looked at him as they continued to chat, sipping their wine and having an actual conversation. He was still a little arrogant, but not as much as he had seemed at first. Quin was now getting the impression that he wasn’t actually a bad guy, but rather just a guy who had been used to being sure of himself and his abilities for a very long time. After she had emptied her glass for a third time and had helped Taylor clear the table, she followed him into the living room which she found housed a baby grand piano in addition to a comfy looking couch and flat screen TV.
“Play me something,” she ordered gently, leaning up against the piano and tapping her fingertips against the shiny black wood until he relented and sat down on the padded bench. He didn’t ask what she wanted to hear or say “it was just a little something he’d been working on” or anything like that. Instead, he simply started to play something she’d never heard before. It was beautiful and haunting and there was no way she could let him finish. Before his fingers had the chance to leave the keys, she had sat down next to him and turned his head in her hand so her lips could reach his. If he was playing her, she didn’t care, nor did she care about their seventeen year age difference. As his mouth and tongue moved against hers, she found that she didn’t care about anything other than finding out if he was every bit as good as he had told her he was.