The Transaction

BRADLEY

I invited Amelia to join me for lunch.

“I should probably get going,” she said, her voice wavering. Her gaze was locked on mine, and I wondered if she could see the decision I’d just made in my eyes. She swallowed hard, breaking our eye contact.

“But I’d love to share more about my plans,” she added.

I wanted to share my plans with her too.

I took her to my favorite spot just around the corner. It was cozy and quiet.

“This place is pricey,” she commented, glancing at the menu.

“Get whatever you want,” I assured her.

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. Maybe she was wondering what this meal would cost her in the end. When the waiter arrived, she pointed at a dish, seemingly unsure of how to say its name.

“The salad,” the waiter clarified, starting to walk away.

“I’m not done!” Amelia called out, her voice a mix of haste and apology. She pointed again. “This soup, and…”

She glanced at me, her eyes silently asking for approval. I took a moment before nodding, savoring her pleading look, imagining what else she might beg for.

Once the waiter was gone, she turned to me. “Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t order anything.”

“They know what I like,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said. I considered revealing my desires to her then and there, but she seemed to sense it and quickly looked away. When she looked back at me, her eyes held a spark of realization. She smiled.

“I’m not the kind of woman you usually bring here. The waiter assumed I’d only order a salad. I’m really out of my depth here.”

“You’d fit in anywhere,” I told her. She looked at me like she didn’t believe a word.

We chatted about this and that, but I steered the conversation to learn more about her thoughts and feelings. She had progressive ideas. Not just free concert tickets for everyone, but free healthcare, and legalizing drugs and prostitution.

I didn’t agree with any of it; it sounded like a recipe for a crime-infested welfare state. But I thought her views could work to my advantage.

When dessert arrived, a decadent chocolate cake, she looked at me with wide eyes. “I just realized, I don’t even know your name. I mean, I heard it at the board meeting, but I was so upset, I can’t remember,” she confessed as the waiter left.

“That guy” was Byron Gregson, one of the city’s wealthiest men and a member of the advisory board.

He’d invited me to join the board for the concert hall, and I wanted to stay on his good side because I had some projects coming up before the commission.

He was a pompous jerk, and it thrilled me that she didn’t recognize him as anything more than “that guy.”

“I’m Bradley Knight,” I introduced myself.

She paused, her spoon hovering just before her lips. “THE Bradley Knight?”

“So, you’ve heard of me.”

She set her spoon down, her appetite seemingly gone. “I don’t believe the rumors,” she said, her gaze fixed on the white tablecloth.

“What rumors?”

“That you’re a…”

She started again. “That you’re planning to buy an entire block of apartments on 14th Street, evict everyone, and build a luxury hotel.”

I shrugged. “That’s not entirely accurate,” I said. I’m also planning to buy up 15th Street.

She exhaled in relief. “Oh, that’s good to hear. It’s a poor area, but it has a sense of community.”

I quickly changed the subject. I didn’t care about community, I cared about myself.

She finished the last bite of the cake and sighed. “It actually tasted even better than it looked. How often does that happen?”

I wondered if the same could be said about her. I wanted to find out if she was as innocent and kind as she seemed, or if she was too good to be true. And I realized it didn’t matter. I wasn’t naïve and I knew how to protect myself.

She noticed my intense gaze. Her smile faltered and she looked confused.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asked, touching her cheek. I shook my head, and she wiped at the other side. “Is it gone?”

I reached out and brushed the corner of her mouth with my thumb, just because she let me.

“Is something wrong?” she asked when I continued to stare at her mouth.

“Something’s right.”

Her smile flickered, unsure.

I raised my hand and the waiter appeared. I paid the bill, and I noticed her eyes widen at the total.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know how to repay you,” she said.

That phrase again. I moved my empty coffee cup aside and folded my hands in front of me. “I’ve made my fortune by taking risks while also minimizing them. And I trust my instincts,” I said.

She nodded. I hesitated, for the first time doubting my instincts and my chances. But it was a fleeting doubt and I pressed on.

“I’d like to propose an arrangement.”

“Oh my gosh! Yes! I would do anything,” she exclaimed.

As much as I wanted to hear that, I realized then she had no idea what I truly wanted from her.