She Never Stops Talking
844 Words
The ride was supposed to be quiet.
Ethan had made that assumption the moment the woman settled into his passenger seat — she'd seemed flustered enough to stay silent for at least ten minutes.
He was wrong.
"Okay, so here's the thing," Willow said, turning sideways in her seat to face him more directly, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee. "My ex-boyfriend is going to be at this event tonight. Forest Gu. You've probably never heard of him, but he's kind of a big deal in certain circles."
Ethan said nothing. His eyes stayed on the road.
"We dated for two years," she continued, completely undeterred by his silence. "Two years. And then one day he just — poof. Gone. Sends me a text. A text, can you believe that? After two years."
She waited, as if expecting him to express outrage on her behalf.
He didn't.
"Anyway," Willow pressed on, "I have to show up tonight looking like I have my life completely together. Which I do, mostly. I just need someone to walk in with me so I don't look like I came alone, because I definitely told everyone I was bringing someone, and now I don't have anyone, so—"
She stopped herself. Took a breath.
"I'm getting to the point, I promise."
"I assumed you would," Ethan said.
It was the first full sentence he'd said to her, delivered in a calm, unhurried tone — not unkind, but carrying the quiet weight of someone who had absolutely nowhere to be and no patience for detours at the same time.
Willow blinked.
Was that… dry humor? Or was he being serious? She genuinely could not tell.
"Right," she said slowly. "So. The point is — I need a plus-one for tonight. Just for the entrance. You walk in with me, stand around for an hour, eat some free food, and leave. I'll pay you."
A beat of silence.
"How much?" Ethan asked.
Willow had prepared for many responses. Flat refusal. Polite confusion. Maybe even laughter.
She had not prepared for him to negotiate.
"Two hundred dollars," she said, then immediately second-guessed herself. "And lobster. There's definitely going to be lobster at this thing. Open bar, too, if you drink."
Ethan glanced at her then — just briefly, just for a second — and something in that glance made Willow sit up a little straighter without knowing why.
It wasn't suspicion. It wasn't amusement. It was the look of someone doing a very quick, very precise calculation.
"All right," he said, returning his gaze to the road.
"Wait — really?" She hadn't expected it to be that easy.
"Did you want me to say no?"
"No! No, I just—" Willow laughed, a little breathless. "Okay. Great. So we have a deal."
"We have a deal."
She settled back into her seat, feeling significantly better about the evening than she had twenty minutes ago. A plan. She had a plan. Forest Gu would see her walk through those doors with a perfectly composed, quietly handsome driver — not that she'd noticed that part, specifically — and everything would be fine.
Totally fine.
"I should probably tell you a few things about Forest, just so you're not caught off guard," she said.
"You don't need to."
"I really think I do, though, because—"
"Willow."
She stopped.
He'd said her name like it was a period at the end of a sentence. Not sharp, not rude — just final. Complete. The kind of tone that made you want to stop talking, and somehow also made you want to hear him say your name again just to figure out exactly what quality his voice had that made it sound like that.
Focus, Willow.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll shut up."
Two seconds of silence.
"The lobster better be worth it," she muttered under her breath.
The corner of Ethan's mouth moved.
It wasn't quite a smile. But it was something.
In the front pocket of his jacket, Ethan's phone buzzed.
He already knew who it was before he looked — Kevin never sent fewer than three messages in a row when something was urgent.
Sir, the guest list for tonight's Dalton Group reception has been confirmed.
Forest Gu will be in attendance. Representing Dalton as a major stakeholder.
Do you still want to skip it?
Ethan read the messages once. Then he looked up at the road, at the glittering skyline of New York City spreading out ahead of them, and then — almost imperceptibly — at the woman in the seat beside him.
She was reorganizing her purse, muttering something about not having brought the right lipstick, completely oblivious to the quiet shift that had just taken place.
He typed back a single word.
Going.
Kevin's response came immediately: …Understood. Should I prepare the usual arrangements?
Ethan set the phone face-down on the center console.
"The usual arrangements" was a question for a man who arrived at events as himself.
Tonight, he had other plans.
- Writer
