When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 15

We ignored the inquisitive looks we were getting. We both knew what we were signing up for when we decided to grab a bite at a nearby diner, me in my very expensive dinner gown and him in a full-on tux. People were going to stare.

“Never do that to me again.” I hissed, leaning forward to steal his fries.

I would’ve ordered my own but recently, my mom has been against eating late at the night. She picked it up from an article I wrote for the magazine on healthy eating habits. Of course she would. Unfortunately, despite being the one to write the article, I was not a fan and neither was Olly but our mom wasn’t to be trifled with -her word was law- so while Masked Idiot got a milkshake and fries, I settled for iced soda and food theft.

“Need anything else?” the waitress inquired as she passed by.

We both shook our heads, returning to our conversation as soon as she nodded.

“I got caught up... working on something. The organizing team needed me,” he explained, shrugging unapologetically.

I rolled my eyes, unamused.

“I still made it in time at least,” he offered. “Miss Most-expensive-dance-of-the-night,” he added with a cheeky smile.

I tried to not be amused. In the heat of the moment, I had been properly furious at him but now, over an hour later, my anger had abated substantially. At the end of the day, I was just glad he showed up in the nick of time. That was what counted.

° ° ° Flashback ° ° °

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your final chance to win a dance. Go-innnng.” The auctioneer was clearly having the time of his life whereas I was quickly beginning to regret my decision to go along with this charade alongside every other decision I had made since meeting Masked Idiot.

“Go-innnng,” the auctioneer teased, drawing the word out theatrically.

My gaze, unbidden, landed on Man-child. He was now leering at me and laughing with his friend in a way that made my skin crawl. Masked Idiot, where in heaven’s name are you?

Never, in as long as I had known of his existence, had I prayed more fervently for him to show up. None of the other men in the audience seemed interested in rescuing me from the clutches of Man-child and considering what it would cost,, I couldn’t blame them. It was just one dance and if I were in their shoes, chances were I would also keep my chequebook firmly shut. Masked Idiot really was my only hope of rescue.

“And that’s a wrap, ladies and gentlemen.”

The voice of the auctioneer rang with unmasked glee. He even went so far as to wink at me. Can you imagine the audacity? The man was really testing the limits of my patience and in case I gave in to the urge to kill him, the record should kindly show I was provoked to it, that it was a crime of passion. Passion for his death.

He flashed me a winsome grin, raising his hands dramatically before proclaiming, “Gon--”

“Two hundred.”

The voice carried easily across the room to the stage. It was calm, unhurried, genuinely unperturbed. My head snapped, turning so sharply to the direction it had come from. I was almost sold to a proper asshole and there Masked Idiot was, casually strolling toward the stage like he had all the time in the world. Ass-bloody-fucking-hat.

It didn’t register in my mind then that with his bid, my dance was now almost twice as expensive as the previously most expensive dance. Nor did it register that the audience didn’t seem particularly surprised by his outrageous bid. They took one look at him and smiled like it was to be expected of him. Specifically.

The one thing that did register in my mind as the auctioneer announced that my dance was going to the ‘charming young man with pockets deeper than an oil well’ -the audience, of course, laughed- was the scowl on Estella’s face as I took my place behind her, waiting for our cue to find our various partners for the  first dance.

Envy was an emotion I was familiar with. I was Avyanna Johnson, daughter of Steve and Jessica Johnson, straight ‘A’ student, perfect employee and all-round perfect everything. Pretty much everyone I knew envied at least one thing about my life. It looked too good on the outside. I did too good a job of looking like I had it all together for them not be jealous. The voice was back in my head again, telling me to own it, to hold my head higher and smile. It was mix of my mom’s voice and the one I was forced to cultivate thanks to the harsh reality of how perfect little harmless smart kids are treated.

I wouldn’t exchange anything -not even Masked Idiot’s complete and total erasure from my life- to go back to the days when I was a quiet, harmless pushover. When you get good grades, are quiet and not disruptive, nobody pays attention. Teachers expect you to keep being a quiet perfect little student. Parents expect perfect grades and for you to smile and be polite to their friends. Even classmates expect you to be a teacher’s pet and an easy target. You become invisible until you need to fulfil someone’s expectations regardless of whether you agreed with it or not. Growing my claws and finding my voice hadn’t been easy. Becoming this version of myself, one capable of having her own back, wasn't the least bit simple. There was nothing in the world worth giving it up for.

So I listened to it and flashed Estella a haughty smile, turning away just as the first few notes from the orchestra filled the air. It was our cue to go meet our partners.

° ° °

“Why did you over bid on me?” I inquired, popping a fry into my mouth. “You practically ran while others were walking.”

He need not have gone so high with his bid. Unlike Estella, I wasn’t close to a hundred thousand. I wasn’t complaining or anything, I quite enjoyed the feeling. I was just curious.

“I didn’t know how much you were going for. I didn’t hear the last bid but the dances rarely go for over one-fifty.” He gave a noncommittal shrug.

“There’s a relatively wide gap between 150 and 200,” I responded.

“To let you in on a little secret, the only reason the dances ever went that high was because one year, the committee decided to have wives do it instead of daughters and girlfriends. Husbands had no choice.” He grinned boyishly, flashing his pearly whites. “It turned into a pissing contest.”

I didn’t need an expert to tell me he was recalling some fond memory. Cue one of my infamous eye rolls.

“I repeat,” I intoned, absently tracing patterns on the table top. “There’s a pretty significant distance between 150 and 200.”

He shrugged.

“You looked good on stage. Really... pretty. Definitely worth a hundred and fifty grand.”

I blinked and looked away for some reason. Who says things like that? And with such a straight face?

“So I went for two hundred. I figured it’d be safer,” he finished.

He wasn’t smiling or sporting an embarrassed blush. He said it like he was reading the news; flat, dismissive and factual. I think it was precisely because of that I found myself feeling awkward.

I swallowed.

“Oh,” I muttered as flatly as I could manage, still unable to meet his gaze. “‘Kay.”

“So,” he drawled conversationally before taking a swig of his milkshake. “How was it? Did you have fun?”

The way he phrased the question, sat back, then gave me his full attention had me frowning.  It threw me off. It was unconscious and seamless, like we were close friends vegging out or something. It was just odd.

“It was interesting,” I warily answered.

“Interesting?” he echoed. “Interesting how?”

Subconsciously, my lower lip slid between my teeth as I debated whether or not to tell him what I truly thought of the escapade. He wasn’t anyone important which meant I didn’t have to give only the socially and politically correct answer. The recycled platitudes people always give. The ones my parents expected me to reply with whenever I was asked such a question. My parents weren’t here. No one was going to fault me for giving it a bad review. No one important anyways.

He must have correctly interpreted the indecision on my face because his following statement was, “Just say it. When have you ever bothered sugar-coating things when it comes to me?”

Fair point.

“Okay,” I concurred.

I had pretty much called him a brainless idiot to his face before. There was no point being courteous now.

“It was over the top, you know?” I began. “A little too much of everything. Don’t get me wrong, the event was nice and elegant. The decor was amazing and whatnot. It just... It’s just not my scene I guess.”

I shrugged. He nodded in understanding.

“Being paraded for someone’s viewing pleasure. All the money being thrown around and the strong misogynistic undertones.” I shook my head in disapproval even though I was, to an extent, lying through my teeth. I was used to being paraded. My own mom hardly bothered with me -I wasn’t complaining for the record, I preferred being left alone- unless she needed me to put in some hours at her firm and show the other senior partners what a perfect little daughter she raised or at a fundraiser to impress clients. My dad was rarely home and whenever he was I was expected to be on my best behaviour, predicting his every want like a shaman.

I got enough of being paraded from my parents. There was just no room for it from anyone else. But I definitely wasn’t going to tell Masked Idiot that so I changed the topic.

“By the way, Ellie thinks I’m a boyfriend thief.”

A beat of silence passed before he slowly nodded, raising his cup to his lips a second too late to hide the smile forming. Boys and their stupid ego.

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not that cute and you’re a criminal. A bike riding miscreant. No, thank you. I’ll pass.”

Admittedly, he looked a lot more than cute in his tux but everyone knows some outfits have the ability to make people exponentially more attractive. Like my burgundy dress. I always looked five times hotter in it.

“I’m plenty cute.” He scowled.

I scoffed.

“Is that what your rich boy mirror tells you?” Never had a sentence sounded more patronizingly condescending.

“Your friends must have really thick skin,” he gritted through a very fake smile. It had too much teeth.

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. He was such a child.

“That aside, she has great taste.” I gestured to the work of art I still had on. “I’ll have the dress dry cleaned as soon as I can so you can return it to her.”

“Oh, keep it,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

My head reared back, surprise coloring my features. “What?”

“Keep it. She doesn’t want it. It became yours the moment you put it on,” he replied, popping some fries into his mouth.

“Okay, friendo, you might not know this but this dress is worth three, maybe four figures. She’ll want it back. Trust me.”

“Four at least,” he corrected, leisurely tossing fry after fry into his mouth. “But she won’t. What will she do with it? It’s nowhere near her size. She had them brought up for you. It’s already paid for.”

I blinked once. A second time. Then a third.