Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
No. He’ll see right through that. I’ll have to analyze him the best I can and hope for the best. After all, he asked for it.
“All right,” I say. “But if you don’t like it, you can’t kill me after.”
Again, Blake laughs. “Come on, Anna, we’ve established this already.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. It takes me a minute, but I slowly collate everything I know about men like him, everything I know about him from reading, and everything I can gather about him from being around him so far. “But this is just going to be an educated guess from a student, okay?”
“Okay.” He nods.
My heart is racing, and I have to place my free hand flat on the table to keep it from shaking. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the other.
“I’d say you likely suffered some kind of trauma when you were young,” I say, trying to sound as clinical as possible. “Your mother was hard to please and not there for you like you wanted her to be, and your father was abusive and more than likely abandoned you at a young age, forcing you to grow up quickly with that mother who treated you more like a man than a boy.”
I can feel my heartbeat in my stomach. This is not an ideal way to begin a meal. I grab my drink and take a big sip, ignoring the waft of alcohol in my throat.
Blake still hasn’t responded yet. He’s just staring at me.
Did I screw up? Did I completely analyze him wrong? It’s not like I have thousands of clinical hours behind me that I can use as experience for this man. And it’s not like Blake is a simple man who leads a simple life either.
Then suddenly, he squeezes my hand and picks up his scotch glass from the table. With a wink that turns my heart to soft, hot caramel, he goes to take a sip.
“Nice job, Anna,” he says softly. “That was spot on.”
8
Anna
So it turns out a tasting menu is a basically where the waiter keeps coming back with a bunch of plates with small servings of big dishes for us to try, so we get to taste one of everything on the menu but without inflating our stomachs into one of those big exercise balls you see at the gym. It ends up being the best food I’ve ever tasted and also includes dessert.
When it’s over, Blake pays by simply taking several hundred-dollar bills from a roll in his pocket and leaving them on the table. Then we make our way back out to where the car is waiting.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asks as he holds the door open for me.
“Do ducks have watertight butts?” I reply before I even know what I’m saying. Blake looks at me suspiciously for a moment, then we both burst out laughing. I slide into the car, and he joins me as we pull away from the restaurant.
“Yes, that was a very nice night, Mr. Lockwood.”
“Oh, calling me mister now?” he asks.
“Well, you were such a gentleman,” I say with a smile. “How could I not?”
“Stick to Blake, sweetie,” he replies. Feeling all fuzzy in my belly, I nod and glance out the window.
“My apartment’s on Thirty-Seventh-street–” I start to call out to the driver, but when I see where we are, I realize we’re not only nowhere near my place, but we’re headed in the complete opposite direction. I turn and look at Blake. “We’re not going to my place, are we?”
He shakes his head. “No, we’re not.”
So many thoughts run through my head in an instant. By now, I’m fairly certain Blake won’t hurt me, but being let in on his inner circle like this is like being let in on a secret that I shouldn’t know. And the consequences of knowing that secret could be dire in the future.
I want to tell him to turn around and take me home, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’m still buzzing from how much fun I had at the restaurant.
A tasting menu! No one I know is going to believe me when I tell them. I doubt anyone I know is even going to know what a testing menu is! Just like I didn’t up until tonight.
The car slows, and I look out the window to see an enormous iron gate open to a dark drive leading up to a monstrous mansion looming down on us.
“You l-live here?” I ask. I notice four men holding machine guns standing watch as we pass.
Blake nods. “Home sweet home.”
His home, if that’s what you can even call it, looks like a chateau where a man born of royalty would live. But anyone who has ever read anything knows Blake was not born of wealth. Every brick, every piece of wood that built this lavish manor was bought with the wealth forged from this man’s cruel life.