The Ceo Son

2

As she swept into the restaurant, past its sleek brushed stainless steel bar and along the sandblasted floor out onto the waterfront terrace. There, in the flicker of candlelight, sat Kevin. He sat at a table at the back of the terrace, not near the water. There was no wine. He was playing with his phone. Shrugging, she approached the table. He didn’t stand, pull out her chair or even compliment her unusually glamorous and sexy dress. When she spoke, he looked up, gave her a nod, and returned his attention to his phone.

Britt perused the menu and settled on the shrimp. The night air was warm and fresh, and the scene was beautiful. She tried to ignore her irritation at his attitude. She pulled the folder of property printouts from her bag and set it on the table. They placed their orders and she piped up, requesting a bottle of chilled wine.

“Did you have a good day at the office?” she asked cheerfully.

“It was fine. Busy.”

“I can’t wait for Freeman to retire. He can go to the nursing home for lecherous antiques,” she giggled. He didn’t laugh.

“Would you like to—” She started to open the folder but his phone beeped, and he returned to it, tapping away.

He laid it aside again, and she continued patiently.

“Since we’ve been together six months as of last week, we’re right on schedule to look at an apartment together. Isn’t that...the timetable you mentioned?” She heard her voice rise uncertainly at the end of the sentence when he gave her no nod of encouragement, no indication of interest. His shuttered expression remained, and they sat in silence, awkwardly. The wine arrived, and she sipped it without tasting it.

“Now, Brittney,” he began rather sternly.

Kevin’s phone beeped and he reached for it. She covered his hand with hers, trying to seem like it was affection and not almighty aggravation.

“Could you leave that thing alone long enough to finish a sentence?” she asked tensely.

He tugged his hand and phone back and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“Corinne just wanted to know if it was over.”

“Wha

t’s over?”

“This dinner.”

“Who is Corinne?”

“That’s what we need to discuss. I’ve been seeing her for a few weeks now and we’re pretty hot and heavy. I never meant for any of it to happen, obviously. She just showed up with the dry cleaning one day at the office and I couldn’t help myself.”

Britt clutched at her stomach, feeling that sip of wine roiling with panic.

Oh my gosh! I can’t believe this is happening.

“Corinne wants to know if it was over...” she said woodenly. “She’s in a hurry for you to break up with me so you can—what?”

“Now, Brittney. Let’s be civil. We had a nice time together but it didn’t work out.”

“You cheated on me.” Her voice was hollow, dull with disbelief.

The folder in her hand felt impossibly foolish, conspicuous. She felt her face redden, certain everyone on the terrace knew that she was being dumped. She had gone there with a sheaf of apartment listings, prepared to merge their finances and futures and start a life with Kevin. She was going to have to walk out of here single, not on the road to happily engaged and cohabiting couplehood. What would she do with the file folder? The thought of it seemed terribly important. If she left it on the table, unwanted, wouldn’t the server or bus person look at it and think, pityingly, oh that woman had no idea? If she took it with her, should she leave it in her car as a hideous reminder, carry it into her apartment to glare at her from a counter top until she tormented herself by reviewing that perfect rooftop garden just once more?

Livid, humiliated, she felt her hands start to shake. She gripped the folder until she saw her own knuckles go white.

“It just happened, Brittney. She’s a terrific girl, lots of fun, very carefree, gorgeous. Here, I have a picture on my phone if you’d like to—”

Whack! Britt smacked him on the head with the manila folder. Startled, he gaped at her.

“There’s no call to resort to violence. I thought you were a reasonable person. I see that I’ve overestimated you.”

“f**k you, Kevin. Although since she already has, I can’t imagine what you think Corinne wants from you besides money. It’s certainly not your incredible prowess in the sack.”

She snorted, threw the folder across the table, the pages leafing out and fluttering to the table and the deck at their feet. Appalled, he knocked over his chair and stalked out. Britt was even more embarrassed now. She had no idea where she got the temerity to whack her cheating ex with a folder and tell him off. She was the sort who suffered in silence, not the kind who stood up and threw things. She was both shocked and perversely proud of her behavior. She put a hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. It wasn’t like her at all. Not one bit. She looked around to see and, yes, everyone was looking at her. Flushing, she took a sip of her water and decided to brazen it out.

When the server came and trod on the real estate printouts, Britt shrugged. Instead of the bottle of wine she expected, the server brought a large margarita in a frosted, salty glass. Britt’s eyes widened. She wondered fleetingly if this was standard restaurant protocol...someone has a birthday, the waiters sing; someone has a public breakup, bring out the margaritas. She took a long, grateful drink, savoring the sharp lime and the burn of the tequila.

“Compliments of a gentleman at the bar,” the server said.

Britt looked to her right and saw that her entire tableau had been visible to the denizens of the bar through a window onto the terrace. She shook her head slightly and drank deeply.