Page 13 of Bid For Me
Ugh. Fine. Where and when? And you better keep your word!
Seb
My word is my bond.
Nice, paraphrasing Shakespeare now are we? Who are you trying to impress?
Seb
I think you’ll find it’s a direct quote from Hook, actually. Love that film.
As nice as this little pop culture chat is, I need you to delete that photo, so you best tell me where and when I’m meeting you. I need to get ready.
Seb
Come as you are. Not going anywhere swanky. I’ll send a car in twenty minutes.
That’s not long enough.
Seb? That’s not enough time! I need to get ready.
Damn you, Sebastian!
Once I know that the shithead isn’t going to reply or acquiesce my request for more time, I race from the kitchen to my bathroom to get ready, cursing him under my breath the entire time.
I brush my teeth and have the world’s fastest wash because I definitely don’t have time for a shower and a blow out, and then set to begin my skincare routine in double-quick time. I hate having to rush. Hate getting flustered.
But I loathe being late.
I race to my walk-in closet and snatch up my off-white Chanel tweed shift dress and matching blazer with black piping, a nude La Perla lingerie set, and my Chanel quilted pumps and matching handbag. My closet is full of designer gear, but Chanel has always been my battle armour. And brunch with Sebastian, especially after last night, requires more armour than ever.
With minutes to spare before the car arrives, I have just enough time to run a brush through my hair and don my jewellery, stuffing my makeup bag and mirror into my bag to do on the way to whatever restaurant Seb’s booked.
I get a notification on my phone that the car is waiting outside – because beeping a horn would be considered so gauche– and I’m out the door in an instant. I can’t stand making people wait for me, drivers included.
“Good morning, Miss Elle,” Dave, the driver, says with a polite tilt of his head as he opens the rear door for me.
He’s not my usual driver, but it looks like Seb uses the same car company as I do, so I’m familiar with this guy.
“Good morning,” I reply, sliding elegantly into the backseat and crossing my ankles delicately before doing my seatbelt.
Once we’re moving, I set to putting my face on. I’m more than experienced at doing my makeup in the back of cars, and unlike a regular sedan, this ride is so smooth it’s like we’re barely moving and so the end result is flawless.
“We’re here, Miss,” Dave tells me as we pull into a gravel parking lot.
Frowning, I look out of the window at the unfamiliar building in front of me. It’s long, one storey, and gleaming with chrome accents. A bright neon sign in bubblegum pink declaresThe Ok Diner.
Ok? Okay doesn’t sound like a very convincing accolade.Come eat with us – we’re okay.Hardly fills one with confidence.
And adiner?What the hell was Seb thinking?
Too embarrassed to wait for the driver to open my door, I exit the vehicle and stride across the parking lot, as gracefully as I can in heels on loose gravel. I’m gritting my teeth to keep the curse words from slipping out every step of the way.
Pushing open the glass door, a little bell tinkles overhead to announce my arrival. The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee hits me as I step into the diner. It’s a quaint place, decked out in retro Americana décor with pink vinyl booths, chequered floors, and a mishmash of retro neon lights. There’s a jukebox in the corner playing classic rock music which fills the air, mingling with the chatter of the few diners scattered around.
I scan the room, my eyes landing on a familiar figure sitting at a booth near the back. Sebastian. He’s dressed surprisingly casually in a white T-shirt and ripped designer jeans, looking irritatingly handsome as always. Possibly more so, out of his usual designer suits, especially with the bad boy black leather jacket slung around his shoulders.
That shouldn’t make me shiver with desire, but for some reason, it does.