Chapter Fifteen
"Hello?" Opal said with what she hoped was an innocent and pleasantly anticipating voice. The very second she heard him speak, all thoughts of going through with this stupid plan went out the high window of her apartment and splattered on the bustling street below.
"How are you, Opal?" came Boyd's voice. "What are you thinking about my offer now?"
"Well, I'm interested. I wouldn't have called you otherwise." Crap, that was rude, she thought. "Uh, silly boy."
"What kind of food are you into? We can go out for an all-out meal, five stars and more expensive touches than you could imagine. Something tells me you're not the kind of girl who goes in for that type of junk, though, are you?" The guy was talking pretty fast, like he was actually nervous or something. That didn't seem realistic though, not for someone who'd gotten in between more sets of legs than the average person had eaten hot meals. No, there was something odd about him, but that was in itself interesting.
"I've had plenty of it since I met my fiancé. Would you mind if we did something a little more, I don't know, low key?"
"Low key? That's funny; seems all I've been doing lately is keeping it quiet. Believe me, I've gotten pretty good at keeping my nose clean, very recently at least." He did not sound too pleased as he said that. Opal wondered if it had anything to do with this interview his uncle was talking about. A pang of guilt hit her, but the idea of her poor, always unwell, mother going without the important care she needed was enough to keep her strong.
"Why's that?" she said coyly. Maybe he was actually buying her act. There wasn't any reason that he should suspect her of something to contrived and plane sneaky. Of course, the guy was probably used to people trying to dig up dirt on him for their own gains. It wasn't too late to back out, still. They hadn't even made plans yet. "What's changed suddenly? I thought you were a bad boy, Boyd."
"Opal, you wouldn't believe me even if I could tell you. And I'm afraid it's a matter of business. You know how it is, being a millionaire and everything."
"You're really that rich? Holy shit …"
"Wait, you didn't know that? Most women, that's the main reason they're interested in me to begin with. Actually, I lie; they're first lured in by my amazingly good looks and the big bulge in my pants. The money then makes it a sure thing. I mean, well, I guess I tell a lot of bad jokes." Still talking too fast, uneasy, but sounding clearer than when they'd talked at the bar. It might have just been that he wasn't drunk.
"Was that a tiny sliver of modesty there? You don't have to act around me. I like to think I can tell a lot about a guy by the way he holds himself at a strip club, when he's drunk and being a jackass."
"Well then, the only reason you could possibly be interested in me is that you like that sort of thing. Opal, are you into bad boys? Let me guess, your fiancé—"
"Ex-fiancé, if you have to know. I guess you do need to know … unless sleeping with women who are already taken isn't an issue?"
"Let's say that it is. So, newly single and damn sexy? I think we can find something fun to do. Shall I pick you up at seven?"
"It's a date. Well, wait it's not a date yet. How about we see if you're a total ass within the first five minutes, and then we can decide if it's going to be a date or not."
"Okay, we can still grab a meal if you hate me."
"Sounds good. See ya at seven, Boyd. And how about we wait until the date starts before you get drunk."
After she'd hung up, Opal felt a weird blend of numbed guilt and invigorating excitement. It was almost making her body tingly. If that's what it felt like to be on the other end of screwing someone over, she could kind of get why people might do it so regularly. There was a dirty sensation to the whole thing as well, which wasn't pleasant.
"You really do have a limousine," Opal said as she stepped inside. "Thank you," she said to the man holding the door open for her, a stocky guy wearing the full outfit of a professional driver. The door was closed and she sat down across from Boyd. He was dressed in a similar way to when he went to the strip club. But that was nice, in the usual expensive labels that he probably always wore around.
"So," he began after some silence. "How much longer did you say until you know if this is a date?"
"I believe I said five minutes." Opal settled in on the soft yet supportive chair. Boyd was looking relaxed without slouching. He had a satisfied look on his face, but didn't seem smug for once. She could see the outline of his thing, pressed up against the inside of his snug pants. They must have been custom made for him, so that would indicate he actually asked for something that would show of the snake he was packing.
"Should we just have Jimmie wait here until the five minutes are up? That would save him finding another place to park this thing outside your building."
"You're in the loading zone, aren't you?"
"And I don't expect you to want to leave anyway. Jimmie, can we please drive around and find something fun, classy fun, to do?"
"Sure, thing, sir," said the limo driver. There was a little jest to his voice, meaning they were probably in on some personal joke that Opal wasn't being told about. She kept quiet, thinking about the stupid things Boyd might be planning. If she could get a picture of him doing something illegal right away, it would take away the pain of going through this all.
"You like what you see?"
"Yes, I do. This car is amazing. You don't own this thing, do you?"
"I do own it actually. Well, technically it's in the trust's name. The trust is mine though. It's complicated."
"It doesn't seem too complicated. Someone put a whole lot of money in a trust for you, probably when you were young, and that money is being kept by a board of people in suits, who also use that money to make more money. You probably get a huge paycheck out of it. Maybe the money will be entirely yours one day too?"
"I guess it's only complicated to someone without your brains. No, I wasn't talking about the car anyway." Boyd nodded his head down and looked at his own crotch. "Don't be embarrassed that I caught you staring."
Seriously? Opal couldn't believe this guy, but she had been staring. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a smile.
"You don't have to pretend you dislike me, Opal. It's okay, we're possibly on a first date; will be in," he checked his Rolex, "what, eighty-five seconds? That is, unless you decide you'd like to roll out of the car."
"Oh, you'll let me out if I ask, or I'll …"
"You'll what?"
"I'll smash this bottle over your head," she said, grabbing a big champagne bottle from a cooler beside her seat. "Hey, this is for us? Shit, that's an expensive bottle. You are actually as rich as you say, aren't you?"
"What will it take to convince you? Would you like to pop it? Just be sure not to let the cork hit any birds or children."
"You want me to pop the cork, out of the window? That's crazy. Why don't you do it?" Trying to get him to do stupid things, however small, right away was a bad idea. Opal thought about it, and she was so very thirsty and needed something to calm her nerves. "What the hell."
So, yes, Opal popped the bottle and laughed as the cork flew at the side of an old building. She'd earned a treat after the week she'd had, and no one in their right mind passed up a hundreds-of-dollars-bottle of the good stuff.