door, I dash out to the BMW and climb behind the wheel. I drive the familiar route from my place to Mr. Blake’s which is, thankfully, only a ten-minute drive away.
I pull into his driveway, send him a text to let him know I am here, and then get out and open the back door for him. I don’t have to wait long for the handsome man to come outside and stride toward me. I smile. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
“Good evening, Clarabelle, how are you this evening?” His slight British accent sends a tiny shiver of pleasure through me.
“I’m doing well. Where will I be driving you this evening?” I ask as I remove my cap and set it on the passenger seat.
“Club Toxic, first. I shan’t be long, about an hour, I think. Is that acceptable?”
“Of course, sir.” I pull out of the driveway. “I’ll be happy to wait for you.”
“Thank you, Clarabelle.” Mr. Blake smiles at me when I look back at him over my shoulder.
I drive through the city toward Club Toxic. I have never been inside, though I know it is a popular club. Before I got my inheritance, I was too busy working to make ends meet to spend a night out dancing at an expensive club, and now that I have the time to go, I don’t really have anyone to go with. I pull into the club’s parking lot and stop just in front of the doors. There is already a line of people waiting to go in.
I put the BMW in park, grab my hat from the passenger seat, and climb out. I stride around the front of the car to open the back door for him. “I’ll just park, and if you’ll send me a text before you come out, I’ll meet you here in front,” I tell Mr. Blake.
“That would be excellent, Clarabelle. I will text.” He straightens his jacket, runs a hand through his hair, and then steps over to the bouncer.
I close the door and return to the driver’s seat. With a sigh, I watch him bypass the line of partiers and go inside. I pull the car forward and find a spot deeper in the parking lot to park and wait. I turn the car off, pull out my phone, and play a few games of Word Stacks before switching over to Candy Crush. The whole time I play, I daydream about what it would be like to actually go into the club with Aaron. I don’t dare call him by his name to his face—I am basically his employee, after all—but in my daydreams, we are much more intimate.
Aaron has this worldly air about him, an elegance that I’m not sure I could ever match, but damn, I’d like to try. I really want to be more to him than just his driver. Granted, over the last two years we’ve had some lovely conversations, but up until recently, he’d been otherwise engaged. Namely to a short, curvy, redhead who—according to him—had a terrible temper that he was tired of dealing with. He’d never used her name, but he’d often complained about her. He’d said they’d had an on again off again relationship for several years, but he’d finally had enough and broken things off with the woman. In my daydreams, he’d told me all of that because he’d fallen madly in love with me.
I know it is silly to be crushing on the man and not do anything about it, but what else can I do? We move in different circles. He is the type of man to use a limousine service, to go to expensive restaurants and clubs, to take exotic vacations to luxurious resorts. And I, on the other hand, am the type of woman who eats two-day-old leftover pizza, works her ass off to make ends meet—at least, up until about six months ago—cringes at the expense of a mani-pedi, and stays home instead of going out to party.
It really isn’t me; I am much too shy to go to a dance club on my own. And the last time I went on a date was during my freshman year of college, and that was a good long while ago! I can’t even remember the guy’s name, not that he’d been memorable. Not like Aaron Blake.
However, it seems we are doomed to only have a romantic relationship in my dreams. I sigh and turn off my game. I’d been losing, anyway.
Finally, fifteen minutes