I'm a person that tries not to judge a book by its cover, or purposely only see the best or the worst parts about someone. But I do have to admit that it's amusing, at least to me, how much my views for someone could change following a good romp in bed. And that's exactly how I felt about Karen the morning after our incredibly hot sex the night before.

It's amazing how two different people with two completely different personalities could mesh quite so completely in bed. Karen was becoming quite a challenge for me to unravel, docile one minute, a little tigress the next. During sex last night, she took and gave in equal amounts. Still, it wasn't just the recent sex that we'd shared that was prompting the wicked visions in my head, even while I tried to concentrate at work. It'd been another long day in the office, another SSDD - same shit, different day. No, my circumstances at work hadn't changed one iota, but I did have to admit that this fling with Karen was definitely proving to be a beneficial though sometimes-frustrating distraction.

Every communication between us, every bit of togetherness, even though it was all a ploy, offered me a deeper glimpse into who she was. Just when I thought I was getting a handle on her, another facet of her personality came through. As I sat at my desk, tapping my fingers idly against the stack of papers sprawled across my desk, I frowned at the reminder of what had transpired between us before the sex on the way back to her apartment after supper at her parent's house.

While she had gushed about how great I did at her house when I met her parents for the first time, I wasn't quite so excited. I felt like I'd pulled off the part fairly well, but it was an introduction, after all. What bothered me, and what seemed so surprising to me, was the way that her parents had treated her.

It was obvious to me that, in their own stilted way, they must love their daughter, but they treated her like a child, making every little decision for her, at least at the dinner table. Damn, down to how many glasses of wine she could have, and the specific amount, which happened to be no more than half a glass. Every time she said something, I saw a glance pass between her parents. A lifted eyebrow here, a tentative frown there, a watchful gaze when she wasn't looking. It was amazing, really, and to me, more than a little alarming. I couldn't imagine what prompted such behavior on their part.

Karen was a grown woman, but it appeared that they didn't see her as an adult, but rather a child or teenager who needed constant buffering against the cruelties of the world, no room to make decisions on her own. Any mistakes that she made were of course her fault and not theirs. While they certainly didn't bring up the fiasco at the church, I could tell that her parents were none too pleased to see me. Of course, they didn't say anything outright, but they didn't have to.

Nevertheless, seeing the way that her parents treated her, watching her every move, every interaction between herself and me at the dinner table and afterward, and those looks between her parents convinced me that perhaps there was a reason why Karen acted the way she did. She was stifled. If she had been repressed or muffled her entire life before moving out on her own - even though her apartment and everything else in it was likely provided by her parents - it was no wonder that she pushed the envelope in regard to her behavior.

Maybe her brusque, rude, and often arrogant behavior was her only mechanism of defense against feelings of inadequacy, at the very cloying atmosphere in which she had grown up. I won't even say raised. I don't think either of Karen's parents raised her. I think she was left to nannies or housekeepers, or whatever. Away from her parents influences, she behaved much like a spoiled brat, and while I certainly wasn't condoning such an attitude, I guess I understood it a little bit more.

She must have endured quite a screwed-up childhood, if my first meeting with her parents were any indication. I shuddered, glad that my parents were the complete opposite of Eric and Melanie Queen.

My musings were interrupted by the muted ring of my cell phone. I pulled it from my pocket, saw the it was Karen calling, and found myself grinning. I answered, wondering if she could hear that grin in my voice. "Well hello, sexy." A soft laugh at the other end.

"We did have fun last night, didn't we?" she murmured.

"What are you up to?"

"Just out shopping with Courtney."

Apparently, Courtney was her BFF, her confidant, her partner in crime. "I'll be finished here soon. Wanna grab dinner?"

"Sure," she said. "When and where?"

I thought about it. "Nothing fancy. What about Delmonico's over on third and twenty-third in midtown?"

"Never heard of it, but sounds fine to me. I'll see you there in an hour, okay?"

She hung up the phone and I smiled, staring down at the screen for a moment while I too disconnected the call. I had chosen Delmonico's for a reason. It was a mom-and-pop joint at the south end of Manhattan, but they had the best ravioli in town.

I quickly wrapped up my work for the day, then dodged out of my tiny office, which I swear used to be a broom closet, and then made a mad dash down the stairs to avoid any possible run-in with my boss. Of late, he'd been asking me to do more and more for him. What the hell did he do? He was getting the money and I was doing the bulk of the work.

I lucked out and snag a cab within thirty seconds of reaching the sidewalk, and in another twenty, with more blaring of horns, the taxi shot away from the curb and merged with the burgeoning late afternoon traffic. After I gave the driver the address, I settled in, my thoughts quietly roaming, oddly anticipating and excited for the upcoming date. Date? Was it really a date? Karen probably didn't think so, but I did. Actually, the agreement was that I pretend to be her boyfriend for her parents' sake, which I did at dinner the previous evening. But our impromptu dinner date was just that. Impromptu, personal, and private. If that didn't constitute a date, I'm not sure what it did.

By the time I neared the restaurant, I was hungry, anticipating a nice dinner, some good conversation – maybe - depending on what kind of mood Karen was in, and, if I was lucky, another romp in her bed. After all, that was supposed to be one of the perks of this arrangement of hers, wasn't it?

By the time I got down to Delmonico's, traffic was a bitch, but the taxi was able to let me out a couple of blocks away. I didn't mind walking the rest of the way, as it was a pleasant although humid evening, a slight breeze coming in off the Hudson River and cooling things down just a bit.

I had discovered Delmonico's the week after I'd arrived in the city, hunting for a decent Italian restaurant. When I mean decent, I don't mean items on the menu or prices, but good old-fashioned good Italian, traditional cooking. I didn't come down to Delmonico's too often, as it was a bit far from my apartment. Still, I wanted Karen to experience something a little more low-key. For all I knew, she'd never dined at a neighborhood dive, and while Delmonico's certainly wasn't what I would classify as a dive, she might.

I had gone to her parent's house for dinner, so she could go someplace that was more my style. A place I didn't have to dress up to get in. I was greeted at the door with a friendly wave by Abigail, the proprietress, who as usual, gestured me toward my favorite booth in a semi-dark corner of the restaurant. The moment I stepped inside, I was enveloped in the pleasant aromas of lasagna, warm cheese, and fresh garlic bread.

"I'm expecting someone." I told Abigail as I headed for what I referred to as my table. "Her name's Karen Queen and she should be here any minute."

Abigail nodded. I sat down and smiled at the new waitress who filled my water glass, glanced past her, and saw Karen entering. I gestured for the waitress to fill the other water glass as well, and then waved her over when she looked in my direction through big round sunglasses. She wore what I would describe as an athletic outfit. You know, one of those matching velour pants and jacket, halfway open over a white T-shirt. A diaphanous white scarf wrapped around her neck, its ends dangling down her back. I carefully watched her expression as she headed for my table. She removed her glasses and tucked them into the overlarge handbag she always seemed to have and strode toward my table, not once glancing at any diners. Her expression remained bland and I couldn't tell whether she was pleased or annoyed by my choice of restaurant.

She slid into the booth across from me, looked around as she settled her purse on the seat next to her. She then unraveled the scarf from around her neck and placed it on top of the purse between her and the wall.

"It smells wonderful in here," she commented.

"It's one of my favorite places to eat," I said, and then lowered my voice. "It's not the fanciest place in New York City, but the food is to die for, and reasonably priced."

A waitress approached our table and gestured to several menus tucked between a tray of condiments - an assortment of red pepper flakes, shredded Parmesan, and Italian seasonings - and the wall.

"Take your time looking over the menus." She invited. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes to answer any questions."

I nodded and she hurried to another table on the other side of the restaurant. I glanced at Karen as she plucked one of the menus and opened it. "You look nice," I said.

She seemed surprised and then she offered a half smile and a shrug. "Oh? This silly old outfit? I just finished at the spa."

"No explanation was needed, Karen," I said softly. "It was a compliment." She gazed back at me, eyebrows raised quizzically.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"I said you looked nice. You don't need to play down your outfit, as if it was a negative comment, or explain where you just came from." She said nothing for a moment, appearing genuinely confused. "I suppose it's habit for you, isn't it?" Again, she frowned. She had no idea what I was talking about. I decided to explain. "Do you realize, that last night at dinner with your parents, every time you answered a question, you apparently felt you needed to back it up with an explanation?"

She frowned, lowering the menu and placing it open on the table. "I did not," she said softly. "I mean, I do not."

"You did." I nodded. She seemed to give it some thought, then offered another slight shrug. "Can I ask you a few questions or is that out of bounds under the terms of our agreement?"

She stared at me a moment, then purposely gazed back down at the menu. "I guess it all depends on what kind of questions you ask."

I leaned back in the banquette, my arms crossed over my chest. "Okay, here goes. Did you pick out your apartment or did your parents?"

Her frown deepened. "What difference does that—"

"Yes or no. Did you pick it out?"

"No."

"You told me that you always wanted to work in a museum. Why don't you?" She said nothing, merely looked at me. "It's not because you just like to shop, hang out with your friends, and go to the spa, is it?" Again, no answer. "Yes or no?"

"No," she said, then pointed to an item on the menu. "I'll try the Veal Parmesan and steamed broccoli."

"Good choice," I said, then asked my next question. "You don't work at a museum because your parents didn't want you to."

She sighed in exasperation. "Ben, what are you getting at?"

I shrugged. "It just seems to me that you've not been given much freedom of choice. From your apartment to your potential husband." She opened her mouth to respond but the waitress appeared. I gave her our orders, and then asked Karen if she would like some wine. She nodded and asked for Chianti. I ordered us both a glass.

I was right. I wasn't sure why Karen had never stood up to her parents, and I suppose it was none of my business, but I couldn't help but feel that if given some true choices in life, things might have turned out a lot differently for Karen Queen. Maybe her bad attitude, that arrogant streak, and her spoiled, pampered behavior was nothing more than subconscious lashing out at her parents. Trying to exert at least some control over her life. Then again, maybe she just was a self-centered, snobby bitch. But I doubted it. People didn't typically act that way because they were born like that. She'd grown up with a chip on her shoulder and her attitude showed it.

"And what about you?"

She asked the question softly after the waitress brought our food. She began slicing her veal, not looking at me.

"I suppose you go to work every morning and start telling your boss what you're going to do, regardless of the repercussions, right?"

I grinned. "Touché. But that's different." She took a bite of her veal, nodded with approval, and then looked at me again while I stabbed a plump square of zucchini and cheese-stuffed ravioli and chewed.

"Why's that?"

I thought about that. "Well, I've been working at the company long enough to advance, but I haven't," I said, savoring the flavors that the single square of ravioli evoked on my tongue. I took another bit before I answered. "You want to know why I haven't rocked the boat? Haven't demanded that my boss give me a raise, a break, a step up the proverbial ladder?"

She nodded as she tasted another delicate bite of veal.

"Because I need the job for the experience, if not for the money." I chewed thoughtfully for several moments, took a sip of wine, and then tried to explain. "My parents sacrificed a lot to put me through college. After moving to New York, it took me a bit longer than I had anticipated to find the kind of job I was looking for." I chuckled without amusement. "I figured, the city being such a big place and all, that there would be a ton of jobs out there for someone like me, looking to enter into the field of commodities." I shook my head. "Guess what? There's not."

"So why don't you do something else?" she asked. "Something that makes more money?"

Again, I thought carefully before I answered. To make sure my words came out right. "Because everybody has to pay their dues, Karen," I said. "Even though I might bitch and moan about having to pay mine, I know it's necessary. I try to keep my nose clean, not rock the boat, and keep earning a paycheck. Someday, I want to pay my parents back for helping me through school. I can't do that if I'm out of work, can I?"

For the first time I got the impression that Karen was listening, not merely indulging me, but really listening. I didn't bring up her parents again, nor anything more serious than what we might enjoy for dessert. We enjoyed a nice dinner, engaged in some small talk, almost like we were actually out on a first date. By the time we finished eating, I felt as if I had succeeded in tethering a tentative emotional connection with her.

Quite a connection. I was even more convinced that I was right. There was much more beneath the surface of the crazy woman I had seen for the first time in the church at the wedding of Daniel whatever-his-name-was. She wasn't just a pampered, spoiled brat, a socialite who didn't care about anything or anybody. She was a woman who had built a brick wall around herself, pretended to be an Ice Queen – no pun intended – but one who appeared to be way more vulnerable and lacking in self-esteem than she knew.

At that moment, I realized I wanted more from Karen Queen than a simple lay or money for playing my part. I truly did want to get to know her better. Problem was, I wasn't sure that the desire was reciprocated on her part.