scent made me aware of it. Dark, strong and primal, it was more of a mountain forest essence than any of my study of this software billionaire prepared me for.
Turning to face him, I gave him my best good-girl smile and said, “I think maybe we haven’t got off to the best start. Let me introduce myself, you can do the same and we can start over, what do you say?” I reached my hand towards him. He jumped back so fast it was like a blur in a martial arts movie effect.
I didn’t know whether I was more shocked by the rudeness, the extraordinary force or just the sheer baffling how-the-fuck-did-he-do-that of his reaction. He glowered at me and snarled, hulking in an angry crouch, “Don’t try to touch me.”
Okay, mister , I thought, You’re so very special that you can’t risk contamination from ordinary mortals . It occurred to me that perhaps this applied especially to plain girls who were frumpy and slightly round. I know, I’ve seen it all before.
Guys who loooove ’em some soft curves, but only alone in the in dark. They can’t risk being seen with you in daylight, or any kind of light, come to that. Then there are the mothers who think their precious toddler might catch the fat bug if they get too near. Potential employers who fear you might breach their building regulations and bring the mezzanine crashing into the foyer.
I’ve seen dread of the womanly curve drive folks to do some very strange things, but this instant backward leaping was a new one, even for me. Perhaps he has a dreadful allergy to cellulite, can’t come within three or four inches or he bounces away.
And, like with the paranoid moms and the guys who pretend to live in the dark, I’m used to letting the implied personal affront bounce off me.
“Please, don’t be upset,” it was the closest to a kind thing he’d said since we met. He did effortlessly rescue me from a bear, I reminded myself, but I doubted that was an act of particular kindness. Most likely his insurers laid out a scale of costs for having guests mauled, maimed or devoured.
“It’s… ” he seemed to be hunting for an explanation. It didn’t look like he got a lot of practice in doing that. His brows furrowed in waves while he thought. “It’s a skin condition,” he said.
I wasn’t ready for that. It was so ridiculous that a wide eyed explosive ‘ pah! ’ got out of me before I could stop it. I thought about trying to pretend it was a sneeze. Well, it wouldn’t be any more absurd than his ‘skin condition,’ but I didn’t go there.
Saying ‘ pah! ’ to a billionaire is probably a high-risk strategy, but it was done and there it was.
He at least had the grace to scowl like a sulky teenager caught with his hand in a place where it shouldn’t oughta be.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s start over. It’s a great idea of yours. No touching, though.”
“Alright. You first.”
“I’m – well you know who I am,” he watched as I drew a long breath in, my lips tightened and my head shook slowly. He said, “Oh, you really want to play the game? Alright.” His voice and his eyes hardened, “I’m Bernhard Grarr, owner, CEO and chief engineer of Grarr Tech, and president of the Grarr Group of equity funds.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Grarr. I’m Maxi Cuddles, graduate student and president of no corporations, institutions or funds, here to interview you on behalf of Trudi Bumpshutz’s blog, Hot Property .”
Trying to be polite and making nice with him made me even more wound me up than I was before. There was a pause. Not the kind of a pause that old friends, close family or a familiar, supportive group might fall into. An awkward pause with a hum of tension.
Rather than risk more rough handling from Mr Grarr’s manners, I decided to try and take the initiative.
“This is a beautiful building, Mr Grarr. Is this your home?”
“Yes.”
“Which I’m guessing you commissioned and built.”
“That’s
Turning to face him, I gave him my best good-girl smile and said, “I think maybe we haven’t got off to the best start. Let me introduce myself, you can do the same and we can start over, what do you say?” I reached my hand towards him. He jumped back so fast it was like a blur in a martial arts movie effect.
I didn’t know whether I was more shocked by the rudeness, the extraordinary force or just the sheer baffling how-the-fuck-did-he-do-that of his reaction. He glowered at me and snarled, hulking in an angry crouch, “Don’t try to touch me.”
Okay, mister , I thought, You’re so very special that you can’t risk contamination from ordinary mortals . It occurred to me that perhaps this applied especially to plain girls who were frumpy and slightly round. I know, I’ve seen it all before.
Guys who loooove ’em some soft curves, but only alone in the in dark. They can’t risk being seen with you in daylight, or any kind of light, come to that. Then there are the mothers who think their precious toddler might catch the fat bug if they get too near. Potential employers who fear you might breach their building regulations and bring the mezzanine crashing into the foyer.
I’ve seen dread of the womanly curve drive folks to do some very strange things, but this instant backward leaping was a new one, even for me. Perhaps he has a dreadful allergy to cellulite, can’t come within three or four inches or he bounces away.
And, like with the paranoid moms and the guys who pretend to live in the dark, I’m used to letting the implied personal affront bounce off me.
“Please, don’t be upset,” it was the closest to a kind thing he’d said since we met. He did effortlessly rescue me from a bear, I reminded myself, but I doubted that was an act of particular kindness. Most likely his insurers laid out a scale of costs for having guests mauled, maimed or devoured.
“It’s… ” he seemed to be hunting for an explanation. It didn’t look like he got a lot of practice in doing that. His brows furrowed in waves while he thought. “It’s a skin condition,” he said.
I wasn’t ready for that. It was so ridiculous that a wide eyed explosive ‘ pah! ’ got out of me before I could stop it. I thought about trying to pretend it was a sneeze. Well, it wouldn’t be any more absurd than his ‘skin condition,’ but I didn’t go there.
Saying ‘ pah! ’ to a billionaire is probably a high-risk strategy, but it was done and there it was.
He at least had the grace to scowl like a sulky teenager caught with his hand in a place where it shouldn’t oughta be.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s start over. It’s a great idea of yours. No touching, though.”
“Alright. You first.”
“I’m – well you know who I am,” he watched as I drew a long breath in, my lips tightened and my head shook slowly. He said, “Oh, you really want to play the game? Alright.” His voice and his eyes hardened, “I’m Bernhard Grarr, owner, CEO and chief engineer of Grarr Tech, and president of the Grarr Group of equity funds.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Grarr. I’m Maxi Cuddles, graduate student and president of no corporations, institutions or funds, here to interview you on behalf of Trudi Bumpshutz’s blog, Hot Property .”
Trying to be polite and making nice with him made me even more wound me up than I was before. There was a pause. Not the kind of a pause that old friends, close family or a familiar, supportive group might fall into. An awkward pause with a hum of tension.
Rather than risk more rough handling from Mr Grarr’s manners, I decided to try and take the initiative.
“This is a beautiful building, Mr Grarr. Is this your home?”
“Yes.”
“Which I’m guessing you commissioned and built.”
“That’s
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