So, we’re not going to address how long it took me to do my hair? Okay, just making sure that’s the case. Insert eye roll here.
“It might be helpful, because I’m sure it’s going to be asked. Are we just going with the whole ‘ran into him on the sidewalk’ story? Because, although lacking in luster, it’s an easy one to tell, but in my version, you’re a dick. Let me guess, I’m a shrew in yours?”
“Close,” he mutters and then says, “We met in Georgia.”
“Georgia?” I ask in a shrill voice. “Why the hell did we meet in Georgia? I’ve never even been there.”
“You haven’t?” he asks, as if he can’t comprehend such a preposterous idea.
“It’s not as though I’m a Californian who’s never been to Disneyland. I just haven’t happened to fly across the United States to randomly visit Georgia, when Nevada is the furthest east I’ve been.”
“How is that possible?”
“Not all of us can drop everything and fly somewhere on a whim, Huxley. Also . . . you’re old. You’ve had more time to explore.”
His lips twist to the side. “Research me?”
I glance down at my nails, examining the wonderful job I did while painting them earlier. Matte white, in case you were wondering. Totally hopping on the trend, and I’m loving it. “Thought it would be helpful. Didn’t expect to see you were a cradle robber. Seven years difference really is quite up there.”
“I have associates who are married to women twenty-five years their junior. Seven years is nothing.”
“Twenty-five years? Jesus, they could be their father.”
“Why do you assume it’s a man?” he asks.
“Well . . . I don’t know,” I say, thinking that he’s right. “Men, I just assume, like perky things.”
“And older women like stamina in the bedroom.”
Yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t turn down stamina either. “So, they’re women? A bunch of cougars.”
“They’re actually men.”
I toss my hands in the air. “Jesus Christ. What was the point of all of that?”
“To educate you to never make assumptions, especially in business. It could bite you in the ass.”
I exhale sharply. “Dear Jesus, please help me through this nightmare predicament I put myself in.” After a few moments of collecting myself, I sit back up and smile at him. “So, sweetie, please tell me how we met in Georgia.”
“Don’t call me sweetie, I don’t like that. If you must have an endearing name for me, you may call me Hux.”
“Inventive.” I give him a thumbs up.
“I told Dave my grandma lives in Georgia. Peachtree City, to be exact. You grew up just north of there.”
“Grew up?” I ask in shock. “How in the hell am I supposed to talk about growing up in a state I’ve never been to before? Can’t we just go with the sidewalk story? Why involve a different state? I don’t even have a southern accent.”
“Because I already told them my grandma introduced us while we were visiting in Georgia.”
I fold my arms. “Well, that was idiotic.”
“The interaction was unhinged from the beginning. We can make up for it, though, and say that you were visiting Georgia, family and whatnot. You moved to California when you were ten. It’ll help with the no-accent thing, and then you can also be more familiar with California. But we were both visiting family when my grandma introduced us. She’s best friends with your grandma Charlotte, and they thought it would be ideal since we both live in Los Angeles and were both visiting them at the same time.”
I nod. “Okay, that could work. What happened when we met? Were you taken aback by my beauty?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes not straying from mine. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how captivating your eyes were.”
Hmm . . . that’s the second time he’s mentioned my eyes. I’m beginning to think the demanding asshole might actually think they’re pretty.
Not that I care.
But, you know, never hurts to know you have a pretty set of peepers.
“Just my eyes, nothing else?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.
“If you’re reaching for compliments, you’re not going to find them here.”
“Jeez,” I say. “What happened to the pleasant guy I had Chipotle with? Or the fella who came over to my house and wooed my mother?”