Chapter 5 Relationship

Mitchell's POV

"So how was your meal?" Dinner was over but I was just attempting to make small talk. I didn't want to bring up any embarrassing topics.

"It was exquisite. Nothing I have ever tasted, but tasty nevertheless." Of course. Charlotte was raised on lamb chops and fancy gobble and not minced meat and rice pilaf.

Back to the awkward silence.

"Well, I guess you would prefer to be on your way. Let me attend to our bill..."

"May I say something, Mr Miller?" Oh?

"You know you can call me Mitchell, right?"

"Of course, but only as soon as you call me Charlotte." Touche.

"Okay...Charlotte, you may say what is on your mind." As long as it is something I can answer.

She downed half of her glass without spilling a drop and brought her napkin to her lips to mop up the juice. As if buying herself time, she re-applied her nude lipstick and ran her lips across each other to even the distribution. I was growing impatient and contemplating on leaving when she asked out of the blue:

"Does my father pay you to take me out on dates?"

What?! That was an insult, a personal one at that but I knew how simple-minded Charlotte could be.

"Absolutely not." Short and sweet.

"So, you ask me out on dates because you...like me?"She made her voice so small at the end that I almost asked to repeat herself just to be sure.

Did I like her? I don't know. When I'm with her, the only emotion I feel is pity, not affection. Should I lie to her? I dont know.

"I like your personality and you make good company," which was better than saying, I'm only taking you out so as not to fall out of favour with your father. I don't think she was pleased with my answer either way.

"So you don't think I'm beautiful?" Holy God, where was she going with this? Was she beautiful? Charlotte Quinn was elegant and graceful. Men vied for her attention but she was often too naive to notice. On my way into this restaurant, she had stolen the attention of everyone until even after she had taken her seat. But fragile, rich kids were not my specialty. I basically saw Charlotte as my little sister who was so innocent and needed to be protected from men who wanted to take advantage of her innocence.

"You are beautiful, Charlotte, but I am sure you already know that. Why are you asking all these questions that you already know the answers to?"

She sighed in resignation and bowed her head slightly. I could see that she was struggling with a difficult decision.

"Daddy says I am not doing a good job of making you fall in love with me and I am sure you agree with him, yes?" This was a trap, not a question. My tongue suddenly felt very heavy. All of a sudden, she burst into laughter. What was so amusing?

"You should see your face, Mitchell. It's as pale as paper. I feel like taking a picture to document this moment. That aside, I am actually glad you do not like me." What? Come again?

"Surprised? Don't be. I actually have a boyfriend but our occasional 'dates' are complicating things between him and I. His name is Derrick and he does the same course as I. My father does not approve of him. Here, have a look." She slid her IPhone across the table to me and I saw a picture of a guy wearing a punk hat, wielding a guitar and with hands embellished with tattoos. He was smiling in the picture, his lips displaying a tiny gold stud. This was the boyfriend? No wonder Nicholas did not approve. The guy looked more like a mugger than a college student. The ink he was sporting was enough to type a Biology textbook.

"So what do you think?" she asked expectantly. She seriously wanted my opinion?

"Do you love him?"

"Yes," she quickly replied.

"Does he treat you well? Does he care about your feelings and does he support your decisions?" I was beginning to sound like a marriage counsellor.

"Yes, yes, yes and he is in love with me. He said so himself." That doesn't mean he is being truthful, I wanted to retort but then why bother? If she is with him, it should be a relief to me.

"Follow your heart," I said instead and sealed my lips. She nodded like a cherub and giggled in childish delight. Wow! She probably has fallen in deep with her punk dude. Good for them.

"Now that that's settled, would you please take me home? My father would be worried if I'm out too long and I am only here for the weekend as always."

"I have to go home now too. I'm going to LA this evening." Why am I telling her this?

"What is happening in LA? A business trip, perhaps?"

"Not really. I am going to spend some time with my mom. She will nag me hairless if I miss out on what she calls her 'family quality time'. She forgets we are adults now."

"I like your mother. She smells the way a mother should and she cares so much about you and your sister. I wish I had met my mother. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be this stuffy and plain. You guys are very lucky." It was true that Charlotte lost her mother at birth resulting in Nicholas' overprotectiveness.

"Yeah, just maybe."

Moments later, we were standing in front of her father's house. The automatic gates required a password which Charlotte was quick to provide. I already knew the password but I just kept mute and let her have her moment. My driver, Bethel brought the car to a stop just as the doorman presented himself to usher Charlotte in.

"Thank you for the ride, Mitchell and for being my friend." She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and alighted the car, her hand clasped by the doorman. I smiled at the ambiguity of her words and wondered if she knew what she had done. But on her way in, she turned around and gave me a cunning wink. Okay then, she said it on purpose.

"Bethel, head home."

"Yes, sir."

19:35pm, At the jetport

I sat back, sighing as my stewardess brought me a tray of food. I leaned over to retrieve a bottle of white wine from the ice bucket before digging into my meal. Yeah, yeah, I own a private jet, the luxury of the rich but I rarely use it because first, I like being around people to some extent as I am always on the look for young talent and second, these things are a lot expensive to maintain. Not that I am the thrifty type, just saying.

"We will be landing in LA in ten minutes, sir," the stewardess informed me, standing too close to me.

"Do you need.... anything else, sir?" she asked, drawing her shirt down to reveal a sneakpeak of her cleavage. Her other hand was on my shoulder, kneading it slowly. Ha! She wanted to fuck a billionaire so that she could have something to brag about to her friends. I grinned widely and misunderstanding my reaction, she tugged on her necktie until it came loose and unbuttoned her shirt. I remained silent and she pushed her skirt up to hip level and sat on my laps. Why not play along? She winked sheepishly at me and tried to unbutton my shirt but I cut her intrigue off.

"Slow down, tiger," I teased in a snotty but sly accent. She giggled in return. I tipped her chin up with a finger and she hissed provocatively. Slut.

"First, what is your name?"

"I'm Jossy."

"Full name, please."

She quirked a brow at my curiosity and nibbled on her lips as if trying to recollect her own name.

"Josephine. Josephine Myron."

"Okay, Josephine, as of today, you are fired. Once this jet lands, I don't want to see you anywhere close to my jet. If I do, I swear you will be fucking all the inmates in the Manhattan prison. Now get the hell off me, you bitchy slut!"

She gasped loudly at my last statement and ran away in her shame. What is it with women? Of course, I am not a prude; I have my own harem of them but why were they always so jumpy around rich guys? Jaysus, I need to sanitize myself from such desperation. Suddenly, the jet lurched forward, spilling a little of the wine on the couch. Shit! I guess we have landed. So much for having some time to myself