“You’re a full partner. Did it in seven years. And with a non-top-ten law degree,” he said, adding a sniff that was meant to express praise.
Bzzz.
His phone. He pulled it out, glanced at her, then laughed. With an open and friendly manner, he moved his chair closer to hers and reached out, grazing his fingers against her shoulder. “Check this out.”
As she studied the pictures on his phone, she watched him flip through picture after picture of local celebrities, high-ranking business people, and an array of high-status women in twos and threes. This was his Twitter stream.
“Right.” He smirked, took the phone back, and looked at her. “You know who Jessica Coffin is, right?”
What a strange non sequitur. “Sure. Who lives in Boston and doesn’t know who she is?”
“We’re good friends.” He announced this with a studied casual tone.
“You have many good friends in Boston society, it seems.” She nodded toward his phone, which he was currently using. “Looks like you’re well connected.”
He puffed up. Inadvertently, she’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. “It’s just how my life is. You know.” He flipped from one app to another and flashed a picture of James McCormick, Steve, and two attractive young women at a charity ball from three months ago.
“Partying with the McCormicks?”
“And those two models. One of them was made swimsuit model of the year.” His eyes jumped from the screen to her, as if keeping track of something.
“Nice.”
God, this was boring.
The waiter appeared with a bottle of red wine, which he uncorked. Pouring a mouthful for Steve, the waiter handed the glass to her date, who made a dog and pony show over a $20 bottle of wine that Suzanne regularly drank for $10 a bottle, on sale at her local liquor store.
When he was done winning the wine Olympics, Steve nodded for the waiter to pour a full glass.
Suzanne covered hers, looked at the waiter with a dazzling smile, and said, “I would prefer a nice glass of Riesling.” She only had so many carbs she could eat per day, and all of them would be wine at the rate this date was going.
The outraged look on his face seemed so out of proportion to her request.
This guy was blowing hot and cold. Perplexed, Suzanne tried to figure him out. Part of her liked him—the compliments certainly were nice.
“But this is an Argentine steakhouse. We’ll have beef.”
“What’s wrong with white wine and beef?”
His eyes flew open, the gleam of triumph abundantly clear. He was about to school her.
The creeping sensation that this whole interaction was rolling out with an unspoken subtext rolled over her like a gust of wind that starts as a breeze and turns into a gale-force blast. He was playing a game she didn’t even know existed, operating by social rules she didn’t know.
She’d never, ever had a date like this.
The waiter delivered her wine. Steve crinkled his nose in disgust as she took a sip.
“That blouse would flatter you more if it were paired with something that emphasized your waist and helped to hide your hips,” he said in a sudden, stiff tone.
“Excuse me?” Where was this coming from?
“It looks nice, of course.” He sipped his water. “But it could look so much better if you put some effort into it.”
And that was it. The words didn’t matter. The attitude did. In those two sentences, Steve Raleigh conveyed contempt in ways she’d felt and experienced before.
And would not tolerate.
She wanted to rip his nose off and shove it up his ass.
Instead, she leaned forward seductively, the top of her blouse opening up, exposing the tips of her black lace bra. He looked down. She’d have been surprised if he hadn’t. Circling the top of her wine glass with a manicured middle finger, she opened her mouth, licked her lips, and said:
“We’re wasting our time here, aren’t we?” she said.
One corner of his mouth quirked up, his own sultry smile matching hers. He didn’t get the double meaning, hearing only what he wanted to hear.
The server, a woman, was in the middle of pouring more red wine for Steve when the neck of the bottle clattered against the rim of his glass, making a teeth-rattling sound, spilling a few drops of wine on the tablecloth.
“Do you mind? We’re dining here,” he snapped. “You need to be better about how you pour,” he chided. “No wonder it’s so hard to find good help these days. People are sloppy.”
The server said nothing, jaw clenching. Her eyes met Suzanne’s and she held her gaze. “Sorry.”
Yeah. Me too, lady. Me, too.
“Hmph,” Steve replied.
“What do you do for a living, Steve?” Suzanne asked. If she was stuck with him for another half hour, might as well make small talk.
Behind his glasses, wary, calculating eyes narrowed. “You didn’t Google me?”
“No.”
He laughed, a genuine sound that made her soften slightly. “Googling a date is so commonplace now, I assumed you’d done it. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You know who I am. I’m an investment banker.” He named the top firm in the city. “And I know what you do, obviously. You’ve done well at Phelps, Miller. Then again, plenty of lawyers can do well in small ponds like that firm.”
It hit her.
She suddenly knew exactly what he was doing. He glanced at his phone again and she realized:
He’d been negging her.
“Excuse me,” she said, standing. Steve was clearly well mannered, for he stood respectfully as she walked away to the ladies’ room, struggling to keep her shoulders relaxed, her purse clutched in her fist. As she turned the corner she saw his head bent over the blue glow of his phone screen.