"Okay, Caroline, you're very observant. You're very rich. You've had your fun analyzing the poor guy in the booth. Can I go now? Caroline leaned forward.
The ambient noise of the restaurant seemed to fade, pushed back by the sheer force of her focus. I didn't sit down to mock you, she said, her voice dropping to a low, quiet hum. I sat down because I have spent the last 3 hours across the room listening to a private equity firm try to romance me out of 30% of my company. They smiled. They flattered.
They bored me to tears. She tilted her head, studying his calloused hands resting on the white tablecloth. "You are clearly available," Caroline said. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. "Would you date me?"
Caleb let out a short, hollow laugh. He looked around the restaurant, half expecting to see a hidden camera. "Is this a joke?" Because if it is, the punchline is lost on me. "I don't make jokes," Caroline said.
She took a sip of her Macallan. They're inefficient. You don't even know my name. I know you don't wear a wedding ring. I know you work with your hands.
There are dried wood glue flakes near your cuticles and a healing bruised nail on your left thumb. I know you possess a sense of duty because you waited exactly 45 minutes before giving up. Most men leave at 30 to save their ego. You stayed to honor the commitment. She set her glass down.
I'm Caroline Reed. I am the CEO of Reed Logistics. I am 52 years old. I work 90 hours a week and I live in a world where everyone wants something from me. I want a dinner companion who doesn't give a damn about my stock portfolio.
"Caleb," he said, the name slipping out before he could stop it. Caleb Miller. She tested the name. Tell me about your child. He blinked.
The abrupt shift in conversation caught him off guard. Maya, she's seven. She likes dinosaurs and hates the crust on her toast. Who's watching her? Mrs. Gable.
She's a retired nurse who lives down the hall from us. Caleb stopped himself. Why was he telling this stranger about his life? The scotch was loosening his tongue. Or maybe it was just the bizarre gravity of the woman sitting across from him.
Look, Caroline, I appreciate the drink. Really? But you and I, we're not playing the same sport. We're not even in the same stadium. Explain.
She challenged. You run a logistics empire. You probably flew here in a helicopter. a private jet. Helicopters are too noisy. I build custom cabinets.
I drive a 2012 Ford F-150 with a failing alternator. My idea of a vacation is getting Maya to sleep by 8 so I can drink a beer on my fire escape without anyone asking me for a snack. You don't want to date me. You want a gritty blue-collar pet project to entertain you for a week before you go back to your penthouses and boardrooms. Caroline didn't flinch.