Unfortunately for me, Poppy is out with her friends and can't help me get ready for the night, so I'm on my own. I still have the rest of the afternoon, but if I'm doing it on my own, I don't have any time to spare. I begin to raid my wardrobe, looking for the perfect thing to wear or something close enough to it. After much deliberation, I settle on a mid-length black tulle skirt and a white top. It's perhaps not dressy enough, so I decide to be brave and wear a pair of high-heeled boots to accompany it.
Now that that's out of the way, I spend an hour on my makeup after having to redo it twice when it doesn't turn out the way I want it. My hands are shaking as I apply my mascara; I'm so terrified. I don't know anything about this guy, and I'm agreeing to go on a date with him. It would be less scary if it were just a blind date set up by a friend, but this feels like a job interview and a date all rolled into one. If this date goes well, this guy will basically end up renting me to be his girlfriend for goodness knows how long. This is by far the strangest and most uncomfortable situation I will be involved with in my whole life, and if it doesn't go well, I'd have to do it again with a completely different man. If I didn't need the money so badly, I'd cancel and hide under my bed for three days until the shame of even considering doing this wears off.
I slide my boots on and jump out of my skin as I hear a heavy pounding at my door. I check my phone, 6:45 p.m. on the dot. I pace nervously over to the door and open it, and my stomach drops. Who the hell is this?
"Good evening, Miss, my name is Ambrose, Mr. Whitlock's personal driver. I'll be bringing you to meet him, are you ready to go?" I breathe a sigh of relief; I thought I had been seriously catfished for a moment. This man is much older than the photo I was shown; he's balding, and his nose takes up around half of his face. I smile and nod, take my bag from the table, and walk out the door, locking my apartment after me and following him down the stairs. We walk in silence as he leads me to a large black car and opens the door to the back seat for me.
I slide in and place my seat belt on, taking in the interior of the car. It's impeccable, not one speck of dirt or crumbs in the entire back seat; he takes exceptional care of this car.
"Any music, ma'am?" Ambrose asks as he reverses the car out of the parking lot. I shake my head.
"No, thank you, and you can call me Amelia," I tell him gently, hearing him call me 'miss' or 'ma'am' just feels straight-up wrong.
"I'm not allowed to be so casual with you, ma'am, it's in my contract," he replies, but I feel that I can see the ghost of a smile on his thin serious lips. I wonder if it's in my contract too.