The Hooker and the Hermit
Page 16
She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Okay then, I’m coming to the source now. Tell me about how you grew up.”
“First of all, my family wasn’t privileged. My ma worked her arse off to send me to school.”
“But your father’s family, aren’t they the well-to-do type?”
I could tell she was fishing, looking for something in particular. I had no desire to talk about my father’s family because they were all fucking bastards, the lot of them. And when I spoke about them, about how they’d left my ma and sister and me to starve, I typically lost my shit.
I scratched the back of my neck, a nervous gesture, and shook my head. “I don’t talk about the Fitzpatricks,” I said, knowing my voice was cold and steely.
Her eyebrows lifted a notch, and her gaze searched mine. I could see her curiosity, her interest, but was relieved when she let the topic drop. “Then, if you don’t mind, tell me more about your childhood.”
And so I did. We sat there for next half an hour, and I told her about my strange background of contrasts, attending a school for posh boys and then going home to a shithole council estate every evening. How I used to wish Ma wouldn’t push me to emulate Dad’s education because walking through the estate wearing that uniform every evening meant I quickly had to learn how to fight. Annie was rapt by my story, hanging on every word.
“The local kids would accuse me of thinking I was better than them, and then at school most of the students thought they were better than me. It was a joke.” I shook my head at the memory.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her expression had gone soft, concerned.
“Nah. Fighting is good practice on and off the field. In a match, you can’t hesitate to get rough.”
“It sounds violent.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, trying to see my childhood and the sport of rugby from her point of view. “But it’s real, you know? When you fight with your fists, it’s real; it’s not mind games and manipulation. I don’t mind the violence so much. It’s insincerity, lack of honesty I have a problem with.”
She nodded fervently. “Yes. Yes, precisely. Trusting people is impossible because you never know, you can never know, what their intentions truly are. Sometimes they don’t even know.”
“That’s not what I said, Annie. Trusting people isn’t impossible. I trust my ma and my sister, my family. Sometimes I didn’t even know where Ma was getting the money to pay the tuition fees, but she managed it somehow. I guess now that I can give her a good life, all the struggle was worth it.”
When I finished talking, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re lucky to have such a supportive mother. I’m sure she’s very proud,” she said and then went quiet for a long time as though lost in thought.
Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “Well, in the end, I had a good deal to do with my own success. It wasn’t all Ma’s doing. Careful, you’ll wound my delicate male ego.”
Her eyes flickered to mine, and she laughed softly. It was a gorgeous sound.
“See, I can make you laugh. I’m not so abhorrent, am I?” I murmured.
“No,” she whispered. “Not abhorrent at all.”
“Even with all my gruesome scars?”
Her eyes flickered over my features as though cherishing each of the rough lines, and when she spoke, she sounded distracted. “I like your scars. Your face would be too perfect without them.”
“Perfect? You mean like your face?” I loved how much she was talking.
Her nose wrinkled automatically, a completely natural and genuine response to my compliment—such a refreshing display of casually honest modesty. God, she was so different from the birds I usually got with. She was fresh air. She was perfect.
She’s what you need…. The thought came from nowhere, and it was sobering. This wasn’t a girl I would be able to fuck and forget.
“There is nothing perfect about my face.”
I cleared my throat, trying to force the teasing back into my tone. “Your lips are perfect.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” She rolled them between her teeth.
“You forget—I’ve kissed those lips, so now I’m an expert.”
I startled her. The look on her face betrayed that she was remembering our kiss. She seemed abruptly embarrassed again. I was enjoying talking to her and her company more than I’d enjoyed being with anyone for a very long time. I didn’t want her to leave yet, so I quickly changed the subject.
“But enough about your gorgeous face. I feel like I’ve given you a muddled view of my childhood. Growing up wasn’t all about fights. There were some really good times, like the Christmas when I was fifteen. It had been a tight year for us because Ma lost one of her jobs at a café in town. She always put paying for my schooling first, so we ended up eating beans on toast most nights. I felt bad because my sister, Lucy, went without just so that I could go to a fancy school. A couple of months previously, I’d started working a paper route, and I’d saved up almost all the money I earned. Then, the day before Christmas Eve, I went shopping. I bought Ma a bottle of her favorite perfume, and I got Lucy a jewelry-making set she’d been wanting all year. Then I went to the supermarket and spent every last cent I had on the fanciest food I could find.”
Annie was again absorbed in my story, her eyes large and interested. “What did you get?”
“All kinds of things. I swear to God, I felt like Willy fucking Wonka when I got home, loaded down with bags full of treats. And the look on Lucy’s face when she saw all the chocolate—I’ll never forget it. Although, the problem was, when you’re used to so little, your stomach doesn’t really know how to deal with indulgence. We both ended up lying on the living room floor with stomachaches, and we hadn’t even eaten that much.” I chuckled.
Annie was nodding like she agreed, a smile on her face. “That’s so true! I remember this one time a family brought me to dinner at this really fancy restaurant and told me I could order whatever I wanted on the menu. I planned on eating every last crumb of all four courses, but by the time I’d gotten halfway through the second, I was way too full for anything else. I went home all disappointed in myself.”
I looked at her curiously. “A family? You mean, your family?”
It took her a moment to answer, and she wouldn’t make eye contact when she did. “Oh, uh…it was just a, uh, a friend’s family.” For some reason, I had a hard time believing that answer, and I couldn’t pinpoint why. She turned to the side and pulled a credit card out of her pocket, avoiding my gaze.
First, there was definitely something off with her explanation; I would have to press her on this issue later. And second, she had her shit in bucketfuls if she thought I was letting her pay.
“The meal’s on the house. Tom lets me eat here for free,” I lied.
Her brows shot right up into her forehead. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow, I’m actually jealous.” She put her card away, and then it seemed our little heart-to-heart was over because she was all business again. “Okay, well, I need to be getting back to the office now. Please check your email when you get home, and Gerta will be in touch with more information over the next few days.”
She stood, and so did I, blocking her path out of the restaurant. “Why Gerta?” I asked, voice low. “Why not you?”
“I’m…it’s just that I don’t usually work directly with clients, Mr. Fitzp—”
I put my finger on her lips before she could finish the sentence, and she went utterly still. “What will it take to get you to call me Ronan all the time, huh?”
She inhaled deeply and then took a step back so that I was no longer touching her. She leaned forward as I retreated but then caught herself.
“I can’t call you Ronan all the time. It would be unprofessional.”
“But you want to. You’d like very much to call me Ronan all the time.”
Her large eyes settled on my lips and then dropped to my neck. “We have a business relationship. What I want is immaterial.”
“Not to me. I’d like to give you everything you want.”
Annie’s gaze jumped to mine, and she blurted her next question like she hadn’t really meant to ask it. “Why?”
“You’re very real, Annie. I like that you’re without pretense. I like that you’re both smart and sexy as hell without a lot of fuss. I like who you are.”
“You don’t know that. I could be terribly fussy. You don’t know me.”
I felt my mouth hook to the side. “Then tell me.”
There seemed to be a conflict in her eyes, and I knew she was struggling to remain reserved. I could have killed to know what she was thinking.
At last, she glanced away. “As I said, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Gerta will be in touch.” Her voice was low, soft, and trembled a little. With that, she quickly sidestepped past me and shot out of the restaurant.
I stood there, indecisive, considering whether or not I should go after her. I didn’t want to be pushy, though, so I slumped back down into my seat. I decided that I should wait for her to make the next move. I had kissed her. She knew I wanted her now, so the ball was well and truly in her court. The problem with this plan was that Annie was so skittish, I could be waiting a hundred years for her to make a move.
“First of all, my family wasn’t privileged. My ma worked her arse off to send me to school.”
“But your father’s family, aren’t they the well-to-do type?”
I could tell she was fishing, looking for something in particular. I had no desire to talk about my father’s family because they were all fucking bastards, the lot of them. And when I spoke about them, about how they’d left my ma and sister and me to starve, I typically lost my shit.
I scratched the back of my neck, a nervous gesture, and shook my head. “I don’t talk about the Fitzpatricks,” I said, knowing my voice was cold and steely.
Her eyebrows lifted a notch, and her gaze searched mine. I could see her curiosity, her interest, but was relieved when she let the topic drop. “Then, if you don’t mind, tell me more about your childhood.”
And so I did. We sat there for next half an hour, and I told her about my strange background of contrasts, attending a school for posh boys and then going home to a shithole council estate every evening. How I used to wish Ma wouldn’t push me to emulate Dad’s education because walking through the estate wearing that uniform every evening meant I quickly had to learn how to fight. Annie was rapt by my story, hanging on every word.
“The local kids would accuse me of thinking I was better than them, and then at school most of the students thought they were better than me. It was a joke.” I shook my head at the memory.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her expression had gone soft, concerned.
“Nah. Fighting is good practice on and off the field. In a match, you can’t hesitate to get rough.”
“It sounds violent.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, trying to see my childhood and the sport of rugby from her point of view. “But it’s real, you know? When you fight with your fists, it’s real; it’s not mind games and manipulation. I don’t mind the violence so much. It’s insincerity, lack of honesty I have a problem with.”
She nodded fervently. “Yes. Yes, precisely. Trusting people is impossible because you never know, you can never know, what their intentions truly are. Sometimes they don’t even know.”
“That’s not what I said, Annie. Trusting people isn’t impossible. I trust my ma and my sister, my family. Sometimes I didn’t even know where Ma was getting the money to pay the tuition fees, but she managed it somehow. I guess now that I can give her a good life, all the struggle was worth it.”
When I finished talking, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re lucky to have such a supportive mother. I’m sure she’s very proud,” she said and then went quiet for a long time as though lost in thought.
Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “Well, in the end, I had a good deal to do with my own success. It wasn’t all Ma’s doing. Careful, you’ll wound my delicate male ego.”
Her eyes flickered to mine, and she laughed softly. It was a gorgeous sound.
“See, I can make you laugh. I’m not so abhorrent, am I?” I murmured.
“No,” she whispered. “Not abhorrent at all.”
“Even with all my gruesome scars?”
Her eyes flickered over my features as though cherishing each of the rough lines, and when she spoke, she sounded distracted. “I like your scars. Your face would be too perfect without them.”
“Perfect? You mean like your face?” I loved how much she was talking.
Her nose wrinkled automatically, a completely natural and genuine response to my compliment—such a refreshing display of casually honest modesty. God, she was so different from the birds I usually got with. She was fresh air. She was perfect.
She’s what you need…. The thought came from nowhere, and it was sobering. This wasn’t a girl I would be able to fuck and forget.
“There is nothing perfect about my face.”
I cleared my throat, trying to force the teasing back into my tone. “Your lips are perfect.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” She rolled them between her teeth.
“You forget—I’ve kissed those lips, so now I’m an expert.”
I startled her. The look on her face betrayed that she was remembering our kiss. She seemed abruptly embarrassed again. I was enjoying talking to her and her company more than I’d enjoyed being with anyone for a very long time. I didn’t want her to leave yet, so I quickly changed the subject.
“But enough about your gorgeous face. I feel like I’ve given you a muddled view of my childhood. Growing up wasn’t all about fights. There were some really good times, like the Christmas when I was fifteen. It had been a tight year for us because Ma lost one of her jobs at a café in town. She always put paying for my schooling first, so we ended up eating beans on toast most nights. I felt bad because my sister, Lucy, went without just so that I could go to a fancy school. A couple of months previously, I’d started working a paper route, and I’d saved up almost all the money I earned. Then, the day before Christmas Eve, I went shopping. I bought Ma a bottle of her favorite perfume, and I got Lucy a jewelry-making set she’d been wanting all year. Then I went to the supermarket and spent every last cent I had on the fanciest food I could find.”
Annie was again absorbed in my story, her eyes large and interested. “What did you get?”
“All kinds of things. I swear to God, I felt like Willy fucking Wonka when I got home, loaded down with bags full of treats. And the look on Lucy’s face when she saw all the chocolate—I’ll never forget it. Although, the problem was, when you’re used to so little, your stomach doesn’t really know how to deal with indulgence. We both ended up lying on the living room floor with stomachaches, and we hadn’t even eaten that much.” I chuckled.
Annie was nodding like she agreed, a smile on her face. “That’s so true! I remember this one time a family brought me to dinner at this really fancy restaurant and told me I could order whatever I wanted on the menu. I planned on eating every last crumb of all four courses, but by the time I’d gotten halfway through the second, I was way too full for anything else. I went home all disappointed in myself.”
I looked at her curiously. “A family? You mean, your family?”
It took her a moment to answer, and she wouldn’t make eye contact when she did. “Oh, uh…it was just a, uh, a friend’s family.” For some reason, I had a hard time believing that answer, and I couldn’t pinpoint why. She turned to the side and pulled a credit card out of her pocket, avoiding my gaze.
First, there was definitely something off with her explanation; I would have to press her on this issue later. And second, she had her shit in bucketfuls if she thought I was letting her pay.
“The meal’s on the house. Tom lets me eat here for free,” I lied.
Her brows shot right up into her forehead. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow, I’m actually jealous.” She put her card away, and then it seemed our little heart-to-heart was over because she was all business again. “Okay, well, I need to be getting back to the office now. Please check your email when you get home, and Gerta will be in touch with more information over the next few days.”
She stood, and so did I, blocking her path out of the restaurant. “Why Gerta?” I asked, voice low. “Why not you?”
“I’m…it’s just that I don’t usually work directly with clients, Mr. Fitzp—”
I put my finger on her lips before she could finish the sentence, and she went utterly still. “What will it take to get you to call me Ronan all the time, huh?”
She inhaled deeply and then took a step back so that I was no longer touching her. She leaned forward as I retreated but then caught herself.
“I can’t call you Ronan all the time. It would be unprofessional.”
“But you want to. You’d like very much to call me Ronan all the time.”
Her large eyes settled on my lips and then dropped to my neck. “We have a business relationship. What I want is immaterial.”
“Not to me. I’d like to give you everything you want.”
Annie’s gaze jumped to mine, and she blurted her next question like she hadn’t really meant to ask it. “Why?”
“You’re very real, Annie. I like that you’re without pretense. I like that you’re both smart and sexy as hell without a lot of fuss. I like who you are.”
“You don’t know that. I could be terribly fussy. You don’t know me.”
I felt my mouth hook to the side. “Then tell me.”
There seemed to be a conflict in her eyes, and I knew she was struggling to remain reserved. I could have killed to know what she was thinking.
At last, she glanced away. “As I said, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Gerta will be in touch.” Her voice was low, soft, and trembled a little. With that, she quickly sidestepped past me and shot out of the restaurant.
I stood there, indecisive, considering whether or not I should go after her. I didn’t want to be pushy, though, so I slumped back down into my seat. I decided that I should wait for her to make the next move. I had kissed her. She knew I wanted her now, so the ball was well and truly in her court. The problem with this plan was that Annie was so skittish, I could be waiting a hundred years for her to make a move.
