“Thought you might need some assistance going down the stairs.”
She glances down at her feet that are wrapped in delicate braids of gold and diamonds. Her towering heels are probably something she’s not used to walking in.
“Yeah.” She giggles as she gingerly takes my arm, her fingers ever so softly gripping my bicep.
We descend the steps and walk to the front door that is already opened, Phil waiting for us with the car running.
I place my hand at the small of her back as I help her into the back seat of the sedan before sliding in next to her.
“I’m nervous,” she says as the car pulls away from the house and down the long driveway.
“You’ll be fine. Trust me, in that dress, with your knowledge, you’ll have them all eating out of the palm of your hand.” I give her a wink and I see her shoulders drop a little in relief.
She turns to stare out the window on our drive into the city and I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t even care if she catches me. She’s absolutely stunning.
“You’re staring,” she says just above a whisper without looking at me.
“Does it bother you?”
“No,” she replies, then turns to look at me. “Why are you staring?”
I’m surprised at her confidence; I think she is too.
I smirk and turn my attention to fidget with my cuff link, something I do when I’m nervous.
“It’s our first date, Miss Silver, and I’d like to remain a gentleman this evening so if you don’t mind, I’ll keep that answer to myself.”
11
MARGOT
I feel like I’m about ten seconds away from melting into a puddle of complete gooey feels in the back of this car.
For as much as I love the banter and tension that seems to have built between us over the last few weeks, I can’t quite put my finger on his intentions. One minute he seems like he’s seconds away from losing control and ripping my clothes off, the next he’s stoic and wants to remain professional.
I’ll admit, I’m completely out of my league here. Images of those beautiful women who usually adorn his arms come flooding back and suddenly I feel too warm. I crack the window, hoping some fresh air will blow the thoughts right out of my head.
I want Mr. Hayes to want me. God knows I crave him, but I also kind of feel like I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with him if I got him. A man like him knows not only what he’s doing in the bedroom, but I’m sure he expects his partners to know what they're doing too.
I’m not a virgin. I’ve been with three guys, only two I went all the way with, but I’m not experienced by any stretch of the imagination. Just having Mr. Hayes place his hand around my neck was more exciting than all of my sexual experiences combined—and then some.
I can feel his eyes still burning into me as I watch the city lights dance around us while Phil navigates traffic.
“Something on your mind?” His melodic voice interrupts my thoughts.
Yeah, your hands around my neck, touching my waist, my lower back.
I smile. “No, I’m just excited for the evening. Thanks again for inviting me. I feel a bit—” I look down at the dress that cost more than my rent and lightly touch the gold and diamond rope necklace on my neck. I made the associate hide the tag so I wouldn’t know how much it cost when she put it on me. “Out of my element is all.”
“I understand. These people can be… intimidating. Most of them are just full of shit like the rest of us, pretending they have it together when they’re full of anxiety and have issues just like us.”
“Just like us. Right.” I nod, reminding myself that I’m not like Mr. Hayes or any of them. I’m the hired help.
“Well, they might not have financial issues, but I can tell you they’re not as together as they’d like to seem.” He leans forward as the car slows to a stop in front of the Chicago Art Institute. I glance out the window. A red carpet leads up the stairs, right between the two giant lions that adorn the entrance.
“Listen,” he says, reaching out and taking my hand. I glance down to where we’re joined and his skin feels like it’s burning through my own. “Don’t be scared of these people. You’re more genuine and real than most of them. It’s good for them to hear about where their money is going, and I say this not to be derogatory so please don’t take it that way, but from a normal person. Not someone who’s so far removed from reality because their world is money.”
“I thought they were just like us,” I say, his fingers still holding mine.
He drops his gaze to our hands as he runs his thumb softly over the skin on the back of my hand.
“They’re like us in the sense that they’re scared too. Money can buy a lot of things, including power, but it can’t buy goodness or genuineness. It can bring you all sorts of opportunity, but it can also leave you very… lonely.”
A look of sadness darts across his face and it feels strange for us to be having this intimate moment in the hustle of downtown Chicago where people are piling out of cars and horns are blaring.
“Sir?” Phil says as he opens the back door, snapping Mr. Hayes’ attention back to where we are.
“Time to go.” He plasters on a big smile and steps out of the car, extending his arm to assist me.
I feel like a baby deer on wobbly legs or perhaps cattle being led to the slaughter. I’m so out of my element here. I have a moment of panic when we step through the entrance and into the great hall. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this. There are dozens and dozens of people milling about. A band plays in the corner as white coat waiters pass out hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne.
“Graham! Pleasure to see you.” A short balding man approaches Mr. Hayes with an outstretched hand.
“Walt, pleasure’s mine,” Mr. Hayes says curtly before turning to me. “And this is Miss Silver. She is a music educator. Dedicated her life to bringing music and the arts to children.”
“Good evening, sir. Pleasure,” I say, extending my hand before second-guessing if I should curtsy. I’ve never been to anything this fancy in my life, and I realize there’s probably a standard of etiquette here that I am completely unaware of. That scene from Pretty Woman flashes through my brain where she’s trying to count the tongs on the forks to determine which one to use.
“Relax,” Mr. Hayes whispers in my ear as he attempts to release his hand from my iron grip. I let go, not even realizing I was still clinging to him.
After a few more introductions, I’m feeling a little more confident in myself when I see people perk up at the mention of my background and education. Not to mention, the glass of champagne I downed in the coat closet a few moments ago. I nurse a second glass, talking joyously with three others about the need for funding and importance of teaching music and the arts to young people. It feels wonderful to be surrounded by people with such means that could make a huge impact on something so important to me.
“So, Margot, tell us. Is a beautiful young woman like yourself single? Some of us have eligible sons.” Miss Weatherby, a woman probably around my mother’s age, nudges me gently as the others around us laugh.