chapter nineteen
florence thompson
song: if i can't have you – shawn mendes

Friday night came quicker than I was expecting and for the entirety of the day I was a complete anxious mess. I had the morning shift with Ben and Rico at the diner, Ben and myself sporting our new employee of the year hoodies and putting poor Rico to shame for calling out yesterday.

By the time half an hour before I had to leave rolled around, Rico had me dressed in a black bodysuit with a lace border paired with a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a brown cardigan thrown over for warmth.

He tried to get me in a body con dress but I somehow convinced him to go more casual this time around, it is the third date after all.

An hour later I was back at Vincent's towering apartment complex and this time as I passed the front doors, a dapper looking older man called my name, successfully catching my attention.

What is it with the people around here knowing my name? Do they have special powers or something? Is it written on my forehead?

"Miss Thompson," he called out, nearing me.

He had graying hair, but was dressed to the nines in a very polished black suit. He had wrinkles written deeply in the thin skin around his eyes which were a mesmerizing shade of gray.

"Uh, hi," I hesitated, slowing my pace to a halt and glancing at him inquisitively. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" My tone remained consistently polite as I looked at the man, trying to rack my brain of where I may have met him before.

His eyes flickered with an unreadable expression before he slipped back into a more passive glance.

"My apologies, Miss Thompson. I should've approached you better. I'm Darby, Mr. De Bellis' chauffeur," he clarified, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. "He asked for me to accompany you up so there are no...complications."

I felt my brows furrow in confusion at his choice of words.

Complications?

My mind drifted back to the last time I was here and the handsome gentleman I'd met in the elevator—Sebastian Vanderbilt–who also very mysteriously knew my name.

I couldn't help but wonder if that was what Darby was referring to.

"Oh," I spoke, slightly surprised. "Well, alright then."

Darby nodded curtly before turning on the heel of his nicely polished shoe and heading inside whilst also making sure I'm still behind him. I watched the back of his head as we continued through the lobby, quickly approaching the elevator.

I couldn't help but feel wildly underdressed as I looked around at all the expensive looking people sauntering around the room. They looked as if their outfits were about as much as my tuition.

Finally Darby and I piled into the empty elevator. The silence was quick to envelop us, my cheeks heating up when I felt the pressure that I needed to break the ice but still no words came from my mouth as I stared ahead at the sliding metal doors.

Finally the elevator arrived at the top floor that was entirely Vincent's, the doors sliding open would a loud ding.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Darby." I smiled kindly before stepping out of the elevator and turning to face him.

"My pleasure, Miss Thompson. Enjoy your evening." He returned my smile with a polite nod of his head and some sort of resemblance of a tight smile on his lips.

"You too."

The doors slid closed and Darby disappeared behind them. I couldn't shake the odd feeling of our encounter, but I made a mental note to ask Vincent about it.

"I see you made it here safely, Miss Thompson," Vincent's velvety smooth voice pulled me out of my trance as I'd been staring at the closed doors. I turned on my heel to find him standing in the middle of his living room, a glass of some dark liquid in his left hand.

I was able to replicate some sort of crooked smile as I stared at his annoyingly handsome face.

"Yes, I did, indeed," I breathed, glancing around his tidy apartment, partly in attempts to slip away from his gaze.

I glanced back to him to find a strange look in his eyes.

"Is something wrong, Florence?" He asked, leaning down and slowly placing his glass onto a coaster on his coffee table before tucking his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and approaching me where I stood by the elevator.

I tried to un-furrow my brows, and shook my head quickly as I gazed up at him when he was close enough.

"Nothings wrong, why would anything be wrong?" I joked lightly. "So, whats for dinner tonight, TV Dinners?" Teasing, a small smile slipping onto my lips as he held his hand out for my bag, which I handed over.

He chuckled, turning his back to me and going to place my purse on the coffee table for me before picking his glass up once more, swishing the liquid around before taking a sip from it. I watched his Adams apple bob with the motion, my cheeks heating up when I realized he'd caught me staring.

Financial relationship, I quickly reminded myself.

"I hate to disappoint, Miss Thompson, but no TV Dinners tonight," he chuckled deeply, approaching me once more and holding his hand out for me to place my own in his open palm.

I glanced at the skin on his palm before looking back up to his amused mismatched eyes, my stomach doing somersaults at the handsome creature in front of me. With little thought, I slipped my hand into his, feeling his skin against mine for the first time.

It's something so silly that we as humans crave – a simple human touch, whether that be from a friend or lover. We love the idea of contact so much that some of us can't even keep our hands off of each other in public, much to other's dismay.

As his large hand closed over my much smaller one, I couldn't help but picture a world where Vincent De Bellis was a man I was romantically interested in and not a man trying to boost my bank account. That was when the odd question of could one have both popped into my mind, nearly making me laugh.

Of course you can't.

It's one or the other, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

When a romantic relationship intertwines financial helpings, it is simply just a recipe for a massive disaster. One is pulling more weight than the other, it will never just be an even playing field. I'll always feel below him, an annoying inconvenience of a woman who is trying to make a living from art while I'm trying to live up to a man who is a literal millionaire with so much accomplishments that I can hardly keep up.

By the time my consciousness snapped back to the present, we were standing out on his balcony where a small table was sitting, a chair on each side of the table. On the table were two plates with steak and mashed potatoes on each, another simple meal that made me smile.

The sky was a bright mix of pink and orange, the sun beginning to slip behind the horizon for the night but not quite having left yet. It was ridiculously breathtaking and the fact that we got to watch it while we ate our dinner made me feel like a giddy child for some reason. I've always had this fascination and love for sunsets, the colors and patterns amaze me at times.

"This is beautiful," I whispered as he pulled out my chair for me, a small grin playing on his lips as he watched my amazement.

"It's the best part of living on the top floor, if you ask me," he admitted as I sat down and he made his way over to his seat, pulling it out before sitting down like I had.

I found myself speechless, my gaze still glued to the mesmerizing sight in front of us.

"Did you have to work today?" His distant voice pulled my attention back to him where he was cutting his steak, burning gaze flickering up to me momentarily before moving back to his plate in front of him.

I nodded, picking up my fork, ready to dive into the mashed potatoes.

"I did, but I had the morning shift so it wasn't all too bad." I shrugged, placing a spoonful of potatoes into my mouth.

Silence lingered between the two of us for a few fleeting moments while we both enjoyed our meals.

"What about you, did you work today?" I asked, pushing around my steak with my fork and refusing to meet his burning gaze across the table.

He hummed lowly, finishing chewing before dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I did. I work everyday. Like I said, work is what I enjoy," he informed me, finally my gaze flickered back up to him where I found my earlier assumptions about his already being trained on me to be correct.

I nodded, trying to wrap my mind around this concept. Don't get me wrong, I love working at Glenn's and going to work but I also equally enjoy the days I get to spend in my PJ's just watching TV.

Two different words, my inner dialogue reminded me.

"So are you...like your own boss?" I asked, placing my fork down and taking a sip of the glass of water to my right, eyes still trained on his expression across from me.

He nodded, running his tongue along his teeth behind his lips before speaking.

"Yes," he chuckled softly, taking a sip from his cup, his blazing blue and brown eyes looking at me over the fogging rim.

"That must be both exhilarating and exhausting," I mumbled, my brows raising slightly as I glanced down to my plate in front of me.

For some reason I just can't imagine being both my own boss and then also the boss of bunches of other people around me. I can't imagine being someone else's boss in general. It just isn't my type of thing, I'm not the kind of person who craves control in every aspect of life. That is way too much weight on Little Ole Florence's shoulders, honestly.

"It depends on the day, but it's mostly a rewarding job," he admitted, shrugging slightly. "I enjoy having the control in not only my life but also in my work. I don't enjoy the whole working for someone else thing, so I decided to start my own business and solve that issue."

I nodded slowly, soaking in the tidbits of information he was feeding me about himself. It was an interesting thing to note, that he doesn't fancy the whole being an employee thing.

"You know," he began after taking another sip of his drink, "if you're ever looking for a higher paying job that doesn't include outdated uniforms – not that I don't fancy them – and rollerskates, you should consider applying to my company."

My heart lodged itself carefully into my throat and I quickly found myself unable to form enough words to string along a coherent response that didn't sound like mumbling. My palms began sweating, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears as I looked at his sincere expression.

What an offer.

I feel like maybe there should be a rule against this proposal in my Rules For My Sugar Daddy Relationship handbook that I must've missed. After all, wouldn't that be against some sort of employee-employer relationship code. Your employer paying you for your work on top of your rent and tuition for just your platonic time outside of the work place?

"It was just an offer, Florence. You don't have to say yes, I just wanted to put it on the table. You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat but keeping his blazing gaze trained on me across the table.

I knew he was probably right from the clamminess in my palms.

"Sorry," I whispered, allowing my gaze to fall to the table as I took in a steady breath. "Thank you for the offer, really. I do appreciate it, I just don't think it'd be appropriate."

I glanced up to find him nodding understandingly, clasping his hands together in front of him as he rested his pointer fingers against his bottom lip.

"Would you be interested in the offer if we weren't doing this whole...ordeal?" He asked honestly, awaiting my answer.

I thought about it for a moment, mulling over his words. Would I?

I shrugged, undecided.

"I don't know, maybe."

He nodded thoughtfully, twisting his lips to the left as he went over my words.

"Well, how about this, I know a gentleman who owns his own company. He's a good man, he's got a good company – a magazine company – and he's looking for a personal assistant right now. I could put in a good word for you, perhaps?" He asked, leaning forward onto the table, propped up by his elbows.

I shrugged again.

"Maybe. I'd have to think about it," I said honestly, glancing up at him, hands clasped in my lap as the beautiful sunset finally began to die out and the darkness started to creep in.

"I could always talk to him about you, put in a good word and if he's interested he'll reach out and you can make your decision by then?" He proposed, his burning gaze dancing over my face in the darkening night scene.

"Sure, why not," I breathed, throwing all caution to the wind.

I definitely wouldn't give up the diner but a little extra cash never hurt anybody, I guess.

A small smile tugged at his lips and he leaned back into his chair once more, his gaze closely trained on me still.

Tonight was going to be a long night, I could tell.

• • •

q: favorite artist right now??