Public Relations

Chapter 20: Brett

* * *

Holy shit, this woman is uninteresting.

It's not her fault - she'd been raised as an only child and had worked as an executive assistant to influencers since she was a teenager. 

Camila is her name, something beautiful just like her. She'd been all giggles when I called and invited her to dinner, swinging a reservation at some swanky steak house in the heart of the city. I'd send her an Uber, I told her, and meet her there in just a few hours. She was charmed.

When she got out of the car, an unusual emotion flooded me. Camila was undeniably gorgeous; she'd worn a tight red number that hugged her curves and ruched in all the right places. Her jet black hair laid flat down her back, shiny and perfectly placed. She kissed my cheek, and I felt the remnants of her lip gloss as she pulled away.

But for the love of all things good, she was boring as hell.

We discussed the weather, and she laughed at almost everything I said, like she didn't know what was supposed to be funny and what wasn't, like she wouldn't understand a joke even if I'd made one. She ordered a salad and pushed it around. I fed her a few pieces of my steak but could tell she wasn't enjoying it.

Whenever I stopped asking her questions, the conversation would cease there. It was truly brutal.

But her being boring wasn't really the issue, was it? If I'm being honest with myself, I'm not into Camila because she isn't Mia. Because Mia would've spent this dinner ripping me to pieces before putting back as much food as she could manage in thirty minutes until her next work emergency popped up. Because Mia would've arrived with a plan of what she was ordering, what I should order, and exactly what dessert we'd share together. Because Mia was Mia, and Camila was not.

I'm about ready to leave when she stops me in my tracks.

"Could I come see your hotel room?"

We blink at each other, her eyes a staggering blue color that I deduced comes from contact lenses, not her actual eyes. This question is as subtle as a train wreck. 

But fuck, what else do I have going on? Inviting her to my hotel room doesn't really mean anything, does it?

"Will you let me buy you dessert first?" I ask, trying to be flirty, or even just desirable at all.

The server swings by and asks if we're good, so I request a dessert menu to be brought out. He disappears into the dark corners of this dimly lit restaurant, and I return my attention to the woman before me.

She flashes me her veneers. "I'd rather you be my dessert."

I feel my brows furrow unintentionally. "That, but maybe with lava cake first? I can't pass up a good lava cake."

This makes her laugh, which turns my stomach to solid rock, but I order the forty dollar lava cake anyway, and eat it by myself while she hums at me.

"You never answered my question," she says finally, after I've fed her her fourth bite of chocolate cake. "Can I go back with you?"

I sigh. "Could I level with you, then?" My elbows reach the table, my hands clasped together just in front of my face as I lean in. Camila leans in as well, her cleavage bursting as she does so, and I pretend this doesn't make me uneasy. "I'm in some hot water with, well, just about everyone. Particularly at my job. I'm also on the tail end of a really bad breakup," I add, exhausted from the mental gymnastics of making that true. Kissing Mia once and then being shut out by her is a break up of sorts, no? "I don't want you to have unrealistic expectations for the night. We could get room service or rent a movie, but that's about as far as I'm willing to go."