Free After Her by Amber Kay Page A

to put you on the spot…not yet anyway.”
    I need something to drink. I guzzle my cider until the glass is empty, still unable to find any relief. I sit in a puddle of my own sweat, fidgeting on pins and needles prickling beneath my skin like rampant ants.
    “When will I be allowed to know why you’re asking me these questions?”
    She shakes her head.
    “Not yet.”
    “Then can I ask you one?”
    “You just did,” she chuckles, but I don’t acknowledge her joke. I’m much too wound to indulge her inapt humor.
    “How old are you?” I ask, deadpan.
    “Forty-seven.”
    “Wow, I didn’t expect you to tell me the truth,” I say.
    “Why would I lie? I'm not ashamed of my age, Cassandra. Aging isn’t a curse. It’s a part of life just as birth and death is. If ever given the chance, I wouldn’t dare relive my thirties and certainly not my twenties.”
    “You wouldn’t?”
    She shakes her head with no hesitation. “Of course not.”
    “Why not?”
    “I remember feeling so…lost during those years,” she says. “I made horrible decisions in my youth.”
    “What kind of decisions?” I ask.
    A furrow creases her brow, allowing her to emote something that resembles regret.
    “I dropped out of college to marry at nineteen,” she says. “Before long, I was divorced twice, heartbroken and extremely disillusioned by the entire idea of matrimony. As of now, I enjoy my forty-seven year old wisdom. I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”
    That was more sensible than I expected and it’s not like I expected much. It seems that Vivian is more than just a pretty face in expensive shoes. I don’t know whether to admire or fear that aspect of her personality.
    The waitress returns and asks what our appetizers will be. Like before, Vivian orders for us both—Tuna Tataki for us to share. For the main course, she orders me a California Roll and orders herself a Wasabi Salmon Roll along with a pitcher of water and refills of our cider. She must know that I’ll need water if I'm to survive the rest of this lunch date.
    After receiving our food, Vivian allows me a ten-minute reprieve from her interrogation while we both eat in silence. She finishes her meal first and continues skimming her paperwork as I gobble the last of the appetizers and listen as the men on stage transition to a livelier piano and saxophone rendition of It Had to Be You.
    “Would you like dessert?” Vivian asks me.
    I wipe my mouth with a napkin.
    “I’d like to know why you really brought me here,” I say. “You have been dancing around that topic for far too long.”
    “I thought we were just two new friends having lunch,” she says, knowing damn well that isn’t the case.
    “You don’t even know me,” I say. “We’re not friends.”
    “I’d like us to be,” she says. “These questions are to get to know you. I want everything I can get out of you. Your likes and dislikes. Your hopes and dreams. All of it will serve the greater good. I won’t be able to close this deal unless you stop being so damn stubborn.”
    “You talk about me like I'm some sort of an investment or a business endeavor.”
    “I hate to make you feel like property, Cassandra, but it must be done this way. So many other young women have disappointed me in the past,” she says. “I will not experience that kind of betrayal again. Although your background check returned with positive results, I’d like to be as thorough as possible.”
    “Wait a second,” I say with a fork clenched in my fist. “You hired someone to perform a background check on me?”
    She continues coolly perusing her paperwork. 
    “Let’s not make a scene,” she replies without glancing away from her papers. “You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in a crowded restaurant, would you?”
    I glance around and note my surroundings. We are within earshot of an elderly couple and a Hispanic businessman arguing with someone on his cell phone in a foreign tongue. She’s right. I