Her Billionaire Toy Boy

“Boring,” Mira said dismissively.

“I know, right?” said Sam. “What a terrible construct! First, a nerves-laden, often-expensive, too-formal, almost no matter what, dinner where you’re sitting across from someone you barely know.”

“Anything with a tablecloth is abhorrent.”

“Yeah, right? I mean, I love fine dining—“

“Sure,” said Mira. “And which television dinner are you cooking tonight?”

“Lasagna,” said Sam. “Stouffers’ is unambiguously fine dining. But, anyway—you’re completely right. For those early dates, you need an atmosphere that feels half-casual, that you can mess up in, that doesn’t feel so incredibly high-stakes; because the date itself has high enough stakes embedded within it. You need the atmosphere to be inherently distracting or relaxing.”
“Hence the movie, though, right?”

“Sure, sure—but what actually happens is that after an unsatisfying, usually picked-over dinner, the two first-daters will traipse over to a movie which—although the flick has been mutually agreed upon—isn’t something either of them wanted to see; because likely, the first date has not been scheduled to coincide with some blockbuster. Likely, whoever arranged the details was just, like, hey, let’s go to a movie; and, that decided, went to Google shows and times.”

“You don’t think that going to the movies just for the pure joy of going to the movies is a worthwhile expenditure of time?”

“Not before you know your viewing partner well enough. Later on in the relationship, it’s perfectly fine. If the movie is awful, you know that you’ll still have a good time; whether it’s because you’re comfortable enough with each other to own that the decision was a bad one and it’s time to bail, or because you are confident enough with each other’s senses of humor that it’s easy to sit in the back row and bash the movie to its face, which is one of the greatest pleasures this side of heaven.”
“Ah, a religious man, are you?”

“Not particularly,” Sam said, a glint in his eye—or so Mira imagined. Her eyes were closed, and she was imagining this conversation as if it were merely a continuation of the very enjoyable dinner they had shared the other night. Remembering this gave her pause. She had to ask a question.

“Sam—are you quite sure that this is going to be our first date?”

“Relatively. The amount of nerves I’m experiencing would lead to that conclusion.”

Mira smiled. It was rather sweet to think of this billionaire as having nerves about asking her out.

“Well—you see—we did have dinner last night. That could be considered, by some theorists, to have been our first date.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Then, very emphatically, Sam said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“And why? Show your work.”

She could hear Sam chuckle. “Well—I think that both parties involved have to be aware of the date as it’s happening and consent to the date in order for it to be properly considered a date.”

“How very exacting of you.”

“I don’t make up the rules.”

“Oh, but I think you just did,” said Mira, beginning to laugh.

“Sure, sure,” said Sam. “Well—then—a cooking class on Saturday evening, then? What say you?”

“That sounds great,” said Mira.

“If it ends up being a complete and total waste of our time—“

“Then you’ll have to owe me a second date of equal or commensurate value.”

Sam groaned. “Is this what dating a lawyer is going to be like?”

“A good one? An obnoxious one? Yes.” Mira crossed her legs and grinned at her ceiling.

“Fine, good to know—glad I know now,” Sam grumbled; but Mira could hear the smile behind his words. “So—Saturday. I’ll pick you up around six? It’s a little earlier than usual—but you know, you have to cook the food before you can eat it.”

“I’m familiar enough with cooking that I’ve heard of that one,” said Mira, laughing again. She had laughed more in the past twenty minutes than she could remember laughing in the last twenty days. She supposed, on the whole of it, that that bode well for herself and Sam, going forward.

“Great, then, just—great,” said Sam. “I’ll text you on the day of, with more details and stuff.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Mira, and after another few exchanged words, she ended the call. She flung her arms above her onto her headrest and smiled.

This week was turning out to be a better week after all.

*****

Sam threw down his phone and stumped into the room next door to speak with his friend, Damien. Damien was sitting in front of a computer console playing a first-person shooter game. Sam threw himself down into the easy chair next to the computer and threw Damien a significant look. Once Damien noticed, he maneuvered himself to a stopping point, paused the game, took off his headphones, and pursed his lips at Sam. “What?”
“Did it. Done. We’re going out on Saturday night,” said Sam. He grinned, though it was somewhat of an empty grin. He tried his best to manufacture the sort of excitement and hubris that usually accompanied a play within the game—a well-completed play, one in which he had gained points and advanced some.

“Well done, my dude,” said Damien. “Cooking class?”

“Yep.”

“Solid move. One of your best.”

“Yep.” Sam cringed inwardly as he remembered the legions of women he had taken to the very same cooking class to which he was treating Mira that weekend. He was always able to play it as a novel move, but his lines were rehearsed to the point of being sickening.

Today’s invite, though, had taken on a slightly different and unusual hue. The ease with which he conversed with Mira, the myriad of times she had surprised him and made him laugh…he almost found himself wishing that he was genuinely taking her on a date for fun and not to fulfill a quota so that Damien wouldn’t laugh at him. He had a slinking sort of sinking suspicion that if Mira ever found out, she would be somewhat less than pleased. Especially as the bracket to which she had been assigned was due to her age: a quality over which she had precisely zero control.

Sam got the impression that Mira enjoyed being in control of things.