Chapter Five
“Lunch?” is the first thing Richard says when Lauren greets him in the foyer of his hotel. She doesn’t normally work Saturdays, but her work phone blows up around 10 o’clock that morning with messages from James telling her that she’s wanted in the driving seat, and she reluctantly peels herself out of bed to go and fetch him.
She’d been pleasantly surprised with Richard at the end of their meeting. Of course, she’d thought he was a prize ass when he’d first sauntered into her sights, and she’d damn well seen the recognition on his face when he’d looked her in the face. He’d been deemed bastard from that point onward, especially after he’d sat sulking in the back of her car for the whole journey. She’d been ready to call James and tell him I’ve done my job, now pass this fucker on to someone else, but then came his little speech, if it could be called as much.
He’d tripped over the silliest of words and given her the humblest of smiles, and she hadn’t been able to help herself smiling. He’d been the opposite of the arrogant, smooth-talking rich boy the billboards sell him as. It was a nice surprise, and she was so strongly reminded of the shy geek she’d met in college, that some of the coldness she felt towards him melted. He was alright, she supposed, alright enough to apologize for being a dick, which was a step in the right direction. That does not mean she was at all pleased to be dragged out of bed to see to his apparently burning need to travel at this time in the morning.
Knowing that she looks slightly less composed as she steps into the foyer, she tucks her hair behind her ears and re-buttons her jacket, spotting Richard sprawled elegantly on one of the sofas that probably cost more than her apartment. His face brightens when he sees her.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, I didn’t realize you were going to – “
“Lunch?” he blurts, standing up and immediately losing all sense of elegance. “I mean, uh, I want lunch. To go out for lunch. Could you – take me for lunch? To somewhere to eat? For something?”
She has very little idea of what he just said, but she nods all the same. “Of course. It is only 11:30, though…”
This seems to trouble him greatly, and his face falls. “Oh. Yes, of course. Well – brunch? Do you know a good place for brunch? Or would it be better just to wait for lunch? Is there any point in getting brunch if, soon after, it’ll be time for lunch?”
This guy is a mess, she thinks to herself as she watches him spew words out of his evidently uncontrollable mouth. “That’s up to you, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Oh, please, call me Richard. Or Rich. Wait, no, not Rich because I’m rich, just Rich because – well it’s short for Richard, really, that’s the only reason, I’m not trying to show – “
“That’s fine,” she says, purely to cut him off before she loses a few years of her life to this conversation. “I’ll just call you Richard.”
“Okay,” he nods, looking relieved and wringing his weirdly large hands together in front of him. “Right, yes.”
“So…brunch? Or lunch?” she asks, fighting a smile.
This is apparently a very difficult choice for Mr. Shepherd, who purses his lips and flicks his gaze towards the ceiling. Lauren can’t help but wonder how in hell he’s made it this far in the business world.
“Alright, brunch it is,” she eventually says, reasoning that this way, the whole ordeal will be over with rather more quickly.
His face breaks into a smile and he nods vigorously. “Yes, okay, good plan.”
As they leave the foyer, Lauren realizes that the way things are going, she’s probably going to have to pick the restaurant, too. “So – how many Michelin stars are you after today?” It’s part mockery, part genuine question.
“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, the teasing flying completely over his head. “Just take me wherever the food is good.”
The place that springs to Lauren’s mind as she gets into the car is not what she’d ever call fine dining, but it’s cute and fast and it’s only a couple of blocks away, anything to save gas.
“Emma not coming?” she asks as she pulls out of the drive, more than a little disappointed that Emma with her frizzy hair and even frizzier conversation isn’t here to break the tension.
“No,” he says like it’s obvious, “she’ll be asleep for a while yet. She knew we had nothing to do today so I let her get hammered.” Lauren laughs at that, and she sees Richard smile along from the backseat. For a few seconds, he seems a little more composed, but he says, “Is – is that alright? I can call her? If – if this is too – y’know – awkward,” and he’s back to his usual self.
“It’s not awkward,” she says lightly, and she nearly points out that he’s awkward, but catches herself when she remembers that he is actually still the client and could fire her at the drop of a hat if he wanted to. She reminds herself to stop insulting him at every turn; she’d never dream of doing that to any other client. Richard is no different. Manners are still key.
“Listen,” Richard starts, and Lauren sees him shift uncomfortably in his seat and knows it’s something other than the highest quality leather upholstery that’s making him squirm. She braces herself for whatever he’ll say next. “I really am sorry for not saying anything, I shouldn’t have acted like you were no-one, I mean, we dated, for Christ’s sake, that’s hardly nothing, and it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it “
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren interjects, but Richard just carries on rambling.
“ – so maybe we could, y’know, start again? Like, without me screwing it up?”
It’s one of his more sensible suggestions, so Lauren nods, deciding that maybe she could give the guy a break for at least a little while. “Alright then,” she says, “as long as it doesn’t get out that we dated. I doubt Kingswood would be very happy if they found out I’d screwed one of their clients.”
“Indeed,” Richard laughs, “Okay. So – so how’ve you been?”
“Good, I guess,” Lauren replies, “I like my job, my family’s good, I’m okay, so - yeah. Good.” She wishes she had something more impressive to tell him. “I’m guessing you’re doing well.”
“Yeah, if, y’know, banking is your thing. It’s – interesting. And obviously the pay is good,” he adds, then looks down at his lap like he regrets saying it. “I’m not trying to show off or anything, I’m just-”
“You’re wearing a four thousand-dollar suit and you’re being driven around by someone else, but yeah, you’re not trying to show off,” Lauren quips, grinning at him in the rear-view mirror to let him know she meant no harm.
Uncertainty flickers across his face before he grins back, nodding “True, true,” at her and adding “Don’t forget the haircut. I paid good money to look like such a handsome son-of-a-bitch.”
It’s good; it breaks the tension a little, makes this seem like less of a transaction and more of an amicable reunion, and Richard becomes less like a client and more like a friend. Lauren’s rather disappointed that this new found relaxed Richard has to leave so soon when she pulls up to the restaurant, a little shabbier than she remembers it.
“Well, here we are,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the little building with its peeling yellow paint and neon sign in the window and wondering what the hell she was thinking when she brought him to this place. “It used to be nicer.”
“Didn’t we all,” Richard sighs, but he doesn’t look too fazed; he undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the door, only stopping at the last moment. “Aren’t you coming?”
Lauren nearly scoffs in his face. “I’m your chauffeur, not your chaperon.”
“Well, yeah, technically, but – uh, aren’t I gonna look like a lonely loser in there all by myself?” he reasons.
“You’re a businessman, I’m sure you’re used to it,” she says before she thinks, then winces at her own words. That wasn’t entirely how she’d intended that sentence to come out. “I mean, people will think you’re there on business. Which you are. Take a notebook,” she encourages, patching it over with a weak smile.
“Please? I’ll buy,” he prods, as if she’d expect anything less from a multimillionaire. “What else are you gonna do? Sit in a parking lot twiddling your thumbs?”
Lauren would like to point out that she has phone calls to make and spreadsheets to edit, but she really can’t deny that the prospect of several syrup-coated waffles blows her hastily made peanut butter sandwich clean out of the water. “Fine,” she exclaims, hating that she’s been won over yet again by waffles. “I’ve gotta move the car though, so you can get out now, or you can walk. Remember walking?”
“Shut up,” he spits, but follows it with a smile and settles back down in his seat. “But yes, walking will be excellent.”
***
The waffles are worth it. They’re face-sized and doused in syrup, with a large helping of whipped cream piled on top, and she didn’t have to pay for them. Richard gets some gourmet sandwich with lots of lettuce in – God knows why when there’s waffles on offer – and manages to squeeze mayonnaise all over his hands in the process of biting into it.
Lauren would laugh at him, but she’s not much better – the whipped cream seems intent upon smearing itself as far over her face as it can, and her delicate napkin dabs just aren’t cutting it. But Richard doesn’t seem to hate her for bringing him here, so she considers it a success.
“So,” he starts, after she’s watched him struggle with a particularly big mouthful of sandwich. “How’s, y’know, stuff outside of work?”
“Yeah, alright,” she hums, but she knows what he’s really asking. “I’m not married and I don’t have kids, either, by the way. You?”
“Oh, no, me neither,” he says, and she sees the way his face brightens. She’s not entirely put off by it – it’s a little worrying. She also doesn’t like the way she feels somehow better now she knows he’s not married. Crushes play havoc with careers. “I’ve got too much stuff on, y’know? I never stay in one place long enough for anyone to look at me twice.”
She tuts at him. “Shut up, Mr. Millionaire, quit complaining.” If there’s anything she hates, it’s the pity card, but the way he frowns slightly makes her want to take it back. He’s still her client, after all. “So where do you call home, then?”
“My mom’s house,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I’ve got a house in LA and another in Miami, but it’s not the same, y’know?”
Vowing never ever to let him see her tiny little apartment, she tries to look vaguely sympathetic. She remembers his mom, though – she only met her once, when she visited the college, but she was kind and stubborn and didn’t take any crap. Lauren’s kind of person.
“How’s she doing?”
“Oh, she’s doing well. She’s making sure I don’t wreck her business,” Richard laughs, taking a sip of his weird green smoothie. Lauren rather wishes she had someone to make sure she wasn’t wrecking her business. Someone other than James-the-ass. “Did the waffles hit the spot?”
“Definitely,” Lauren smiles, giving her belly a pat. “If only every client took me out for lunch like this.”
“Brunch,” he corrects with a smirk, “and I think you’ll find it was you who took me out.”
“True,” she says, “do you make a habit of paying people to take you on dates?”
“Hey, Kingswood is the one paying people to take me on dates,” Richard points out. “Speaking of which, I was just wondering if – if you’d maybe like to come to dinner with me? I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date, or, y’know, it could be a date if you wanted it to be, but I don’t wanna put any, like, pressure on you or anything, so, so…yeah,” he tails off, fixing his green-brown eyes on her and chewing on his lips.
It’s about as haphazard as it was when he asked her out all those years ago, in a bar in front of all their drunk friends – although this time, there’s no-one shouting about Richard’s status as the biggest virgin ever to walk the earth, and no incapacitated housemates drooling on Lauren’s shoulder. She gets the same little flutter in her stomach when she looks up into those stupid cute puppy-dog eyes, though.
“Alright,” she says after a few rather tense seconds. “I don’t really know if I want a relationship right now, ‘cause of, like, work and stuff,” she reasons, “but a date – even if it’s not a date - would be alright. Good, even,” she says, realizing she’s rambling just as much as Richard.
He relaxes instantly. “Great! Okay, yeah. No, I mean, I’m not really in a position to have a relationship – but that doesn’t mean I’m just, like, using you, I just – wanted to, y’know, check.”
“It’s cool,” she breezes with a wave of her napkin. “It’ll be fun. Just a fun – thing.”
“Yeah,” he nods. The atmosphere quickly descends into awkward, and they’re both left sitting in silence, sipping at their drinks and avoiding eye contact.
“So, uh,” Lauren offers, when the tension reaches critical, “when were you thinking?”
They agree that tonight would be too soon, but they’re both busy for the rest of the weekend and Monday is always hell at the office, so Tuesday it is. She hopes she doesn’t regret telling Richard to choose the restaurant – she doesn’t want to be picking caviar out of her teeth for the next week.
The awkwardness dissipates on the drive back to Richard’s hotel; she figures if they steer clear of relationship talk, he doesn’t clam up on her. He’s easy to talk to once he gets going and gets over the compulsive sentence-wrestling he seems to participate in when he’s nervous, and, dare she say it, she quite likes him. He was always rather cute, and that hasn’t changed. The fact that he’s now looking cute in an expensive suit doesn’t hurt the situation one little bit.
I could do a lot worse, she thinks as he disappears into the depths of his hotel with a smile and a wave. It’s only one date, after all – what’s the worst that could happen?