"The top-tier single & The plus one"
Two weeks later…
Ivory is a pest— that's a fact that should never be rivalled.
"You should give him a try. He's the kind of guy you'd like." She's on hot trail behind me, the sound of her flip flops clashing over mine, she's chaos; I've always known that. But this time feels different. I never should have gotten myself tangled up in this ludicrous deal in the first place, I definitely shouldn't have underestimated her either.
I halt in the kitchen, turning to face her—she crashes into me subtly, distracted.
I drag a deep breath, raising my hands up for emphasis because what I say next is probably the most honest I've been in a while: "I quit."
Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a gasp, "You cheat! You can't do that! we have it in written."
"Right, the written agreement, you do remember that, don't you? It's kind of funny because I don't recall seeing anywhere in the long list of rules where it states that you are allowed to stick your nose up my ass every step of the way." My breaths are dragon-like. Pure rage, bursts of fire.
Her nose wrinkles, "When you put it that way, it does sound disgusting." She drapes her hands over my biceps, which are sticking out of my armless tank top. what I need right now is a cold drink, not my best friend's hands all over my sweaty arms. "But— but… you know I'm right about this one— I've never been more certain, and that's probably the most satisfying thing I've ever experienced."
I scoff and roll my eyes. I'm about to retort with something probably more certain, but I decide against it because, quite simply put, it would be useless.
"Okay, okay… fine. If you go on just one date with him, I'll double your stipend for this one."
"And risk never hearing the end of becoming your charity case for this one time? No, thank you." I shrug myself off her hold and practically sprint to the fridge to quench my raging post work-out thirst.
"I'll double it for this one, and your next." I pause. That's one hell and of an offer— I'm not poor, but I don't play around with my interests either, especially when they come with bonuses.
I turn to grab a pan, acting unfazed.
"What's even the deal with guy that makes you flaunt your billionaire heritage all of a sudden? That's so unlike you."
She shrugs, matching me with calm steps, a carton of eggs in hands."He is—"
"Don't start with 'he's all that,' because I've seen his Instagram, and he's not."
She laughs, "Fine. I'll let you meet him yourself… no spoilers. But you have to be honest with yourself; that's the only way you can win this deal… I don't flaunt it very much, but I'm actually rooting for you."
"Oh, you flaunt it more than a cock up my ass." We both laugh at the dry humor. She rolls up behind me, wrapping her arms around my midsection and snuggling her chin into my shoulder.
"You know I'd be your plus-one if it wasn't my wedding, right? Or Will. He loves playing your fake gay boyfriend."
I shrug, offering silence in return.
There are many things I find uncomfortable: New York, this ridiculous deal, and the heater doing no good against the chill weather.
But Ivory is the one thing I'd put up with hell for, and that involves agreeing to this date with the so-called 'not all that' even though I know it's only going to end the same way as all the others.
I give myself a once-over on the rearview mirror before stepping out into the scorching afternoon sun and bustling streets of New York. I hiss, cursing with every heated step I take toward the cheap café across the street.
I can't believe this… He couldn't even be bothered to make a proper reservation— my eyes squint as i take in the sign perched atop the small, standalone building. "Café le pari"
I shake my head in disappointment, even the sign is old and faded, making it nearly impossible to make out what comes after "Café le." The awning is also frayed at the corners.
I push the sinking feeling further down the depths of my stomach… the one that screams for me to turn back while I still can.
I let out a hefty exhale, my breath condensing in the air… "This is for the interests." I mutter under my breath, feeling my nerves calm at the silent mantra.
The truth is, many things about me are short lived— my past, my present, hell, even my future— and so is the moment before I lean my weight against the blurred glass doors and push them wide open. Well, because until now, everything about this standalone café was physically unappealing, like the kind of place you'd pass without even a second glance to spare. Until now, my only thoughts had lingered on getting this date over with, bracing myself for the moment of our departure when we would never speak to each other ever again. But— I don't believe in the universe or all that spiritual stuff— she looks to have some really good tricks up her sleeves, because stepping through this threshold is like walking into a different world entirely.
"Captivated" remains an understatement.
I'm somehow absorbing all of it at once, while still managing to pace myself by the details— the first thing that catches my eyes is the golden light… warm, and cautious, illuminating from ornate sconces shaped like daffodil blooms. Then the pieces of furniture; they feel deliberately chosen: high-backed leather chairs that peacefully exhales when you sit, tables carved from burnt mahogany, and a polished bar lined with brass detailing that gleams beneath hanging chandeliers.
The air smells clean, faintly of roasted coffee beans and aged wood, with a final touch of vanilla and smoke drifting from candles perched on marble-topped tables. A contemporary classic hum softly in the background— one moment a piano, the next a violin— the symphony weaving through gentle conversations of the surprisingly packed audience like silk.
Paintings… real ones, not prints, hang across the walls, breathing more life into the ambiance: Portraits, landscapes, the kind that make you choke on your drink while wondering how artists so talented could exist in the same world as your mediocre self. There are antique clocks that whisper in ticks, the glass faces slightly obscured with time, and a large grandfather clock by the door, just beside me, stands in awe of the world with its ancient presence, keeping its own tempo, slower than the rest, as if ticking to a time one couldn't quite get around with.
In one corner, a massive bookshelf carved with ghouls and gargoyles climbs toward the ceiling, filled neatly with well-worn novels, aged records, and framed black and white photographs that gives the café a sense of memory, as though it had seen decades of lives pass through it. One photograph, in particular, stands out to me, sitting all alone in the middle shelf, unperturbed by anything. No grandiose decorations around it to lend any story or meaning of sort, it revels in the simplicity of being, and whispers secrets— loud enough for the right kind of lost soul to be drawn to it.
I don't resist— more like I can't, so I walk up to it. It's… nothing, a big fat nothing framed in an outstanding photograph.
"You would be the first to look at this photograph that way." A rumbly voice speaks beside me, soft and deliberate, one is easily compelled to find its source. I probably shouldn't have, but I do, I look, and— I'm tripping over my own feet.
"Ooh, careful there," His strong hands fall behind my waist, steadying me, all the while I'm taken aback by the contrast in his eye colours. Is that even a real thing?
I quickly gather myself, pushing off him. he's wearing an undersized logo apron over a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, so he works here. He's smiling too, it's sickening, because nothing can be that appealing.
"What way?" I say, redirecting my focus back to the photograph.
"What?"
"You said I'm the first to look at this photograph in a certain kind of way, I'm wondering what that means."
He steps closer, glancing at the photograph as well. "It means there's a flash of understanding in your eyes, like you don't need it explained, like it fills itself just as it is." My gaze lingers on him, but he simply smiles.
"I'm quite curious." I say.
"No, you're not." He replies casually.
I frown, "How would you possibly know that?"
He turns to face me, tilting his head slightly. His smile, small as it is, is infuriating. "Your brows are lined, not pinched or arched, suggesting your composure is very much intact; your lips are just the right shade of pale, your cheeks are flushe, but only because there's something far more interesting on your mind," I suddenly feel exposed, like i'm transparent. It's unsettling. "Your eyes are—"
"Okay, fine, you're right. I'm not curious." I say with more urgency than I need to defend myself.
He doesn't say anything. The silence feels uncomfortable, he's a source of discomfort, so I walk away to find myself a seat. I get one with a single opposite chair by the window. when I look back, he's disappeared.
I pull out my phone to text Ivory. I'm midway through it when something painfully unsettling flashes through my mind.
Hold on.
I switch to Instagram to check the profile of the person I'm supposed to meet here on a date.
Hell no!
"You sure have a way with looks; now you look disappointed," He's taking the seat across from me. This time, the undersized apron is gone, leaving his pumped chest visible through his white t-shirt.
Show off much?