Turning back to the bed I grabbed the ratty old second hand suitcase that was nothing like my usual set of luxury luggage, but again suited my purpose, before leaving the room and heading down the stairs.
My heart raced with last minute jitters which I squelched mercilessly. There was no room for panic or second guessing, this is something I had to do. A debt owed I guess you can say.
I sat on the little porch of the cute Victorian boarding house that had seen much better days as I waited for him to pull up. I wasn’t going to miss anyone I’d met here, because I never took the time to get to know them. That’s not my style and never was.
Entanglements and associations just tend to get in the way of my goal, so I’ve learned to live without them. Maybe after this is all done and I put it behind me, that would change.
My heart did another one of those rolling things in my chest when I saw his town car turn onto the street. That was an unexpected blip that I still have to work on.
With my inexperience I’m finding it hard, but I’ve never let myself be defeated by anything before and I won’t start now. Though I have yet to find a way to quiet the butterflies in my stomach.
I never once expected to feel anything, why would I? It’s been years since I’ve felt anything close to an emotion. And the fact that it was he making me feel, I see as some sort of Freudian complex.
I got to my feet just as the car came to a stop on the curb. Without a backward glance at the old broken down boarding house that I will never see again, I made my way down the front steps to the waiting car.
The driver held the door open for me before taking my luggage and helping me in. I appreciated the fact that he ignored me, wrote me off as nothing special.
It meant that my efforts had paid off. Usually the opposite sex tends to follow me with their eyes like Pavlov’s dog in heat.
I sat straight as a board on my side of the backseat, giving a good impression of being nervous as maybe I should be. It was part of my act yes, but there was an underlying tension not usually felt.
“Good evening Mr. Fisher.”
“Sydney.” He didn’t pick his head up from the paper he was reading, which is just as I wanted it to be. For now.
I ignored the unwanted feminine need to be found attractive. That’s not what this was about, and I’ve never cared one fig before whether a man wanted me or not.
His reaction also told me that I’d done a good job with my dressing down bit. Usually when I get this close to a man they can’t seem to keep their eyes in their head. Especially not while trapped alone in the backseat of a car.