BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (14 page)

Well, yeah, she didn’t want to date a beautiful idiot. Everything about him so far seemed incredibly attractive. There had to be something hideous she wasn’t seeing, and she wasn’t seeing him.

“I’m not superficial. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Good. Should we ever come face to face, I would hope my appearance is pleasing to you. I certainly find you attractive. However, I wouldn’t want it to be an interfering factor in getting to know one another.”

There was no ignoring that he’d established the upper hand, but she didn’t want to get too hung up on looks alone. She decided to investigate other facets. “How old are you?
”

He didn’t sound too old or too young. His profile said he was thirty. This was more fact checking, in case there were holes in his story.

“I’m thirty.”

His response to her gentle interrogation was solid so far. “And you own your own company?”

He tsked three times slowly. “I find it exasperating how social interactions have turned into a sort of practiced interview. How much did you make at your last place of employment, Ms. Farrow? What’s your opinion on the recent amendment to the Individuals with Differences in Education Act? Let’s press beyond the credentials of our resumes.”

She chuckled. “Point taken. So…what should we talk about?”

“Let’s discuss your letter.”

She groaned. “That letter. It wasn’t meant to be read by anyone but me.”

“Yet it was published in the paper. Care to explain?”

“Too many failed blind dates and too much wine.”

“Ah, so you plead unaccountability by liquor.”

“Yes,
”
she agreed emphatically and giggled. She could appreciate his dry sarcasm.

“Some would say intoxication leads to truth. Drunken words are often sober thoughts. Alcohol lowers inhibitions, those pesky little walls we erect to protect our most vulnerable feelings—as does sex.”

Her mouth went dry at the mention of sex. She laughed off her nervousness. “I’ve had more luck with booze than the latter.”

“Interesting, and so I gathered from your letter. Let’s examine some of those thoughts, shall we?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Because you’re in a state of awareness, weighing the consequences. Too many times people alter their actions in fear of consequence, when some consequences to our actions can bring about rather pleasant results. My personal experiences have taught me to invest less in other
s
’ opinions and focus more on satisfying my own personal desires. I’ve achieved many things I’ve wanted in life, but none of that would have been possible if I let my fear of consequence stop me from traveling paths untraveled. I intend to help you push through those walls, Ms. Farrow, among other things. But you must be honest.”

“No one likes their flaws exposed,
”
she commented, searching for empathy.

“I agree, however, revealing our deepest desires and fears can liberate us from emotional bondage. Let’s begin with your standards. You stated that others have accused you of setting your standards too high.”

“I can’t help what I want.”

“True. Our emotions dictate themselves.
We
are only responsible for how we react to our feelings. What is it you want, Ms. Farrow?”

Her eyes closed as his voice lulled her into a state of intimate secrecy. They were entering some sort of metaphorical confessional and she suddenly longed to unburden herself. “What everyone wants. Love.”

“That’s quite an assumption. Some could argue other motivators in life; greed, power, or even lust.”

She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. His voice was intoxicating, lowering her inhibitions as though it carried the headiness of wine. “But it’s a love for those things that moves people.”

“Very true. And what is it you love?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever been in love?
”
His whispered question rolled over her, thick and tempting.

“No, not by any mature definition. I love my parents and my friends, but I’ve never had an impassioned need for someone else.”

“And that’s what you want.
”
He posed it as a statement, not a question, as though he were gathering facts.

“Of course.”

“And your definition of love is impassioned need?”

“Among other things. It has to be mutual.”

“You want to feel needed with a passion so bold it requires action.”

“Yes.
”
That was exactly it. No one had ever summed up her feelings so accurately.

“Tell me about the other standards.”

“I don’t think they’re unreachable. I want a partner, someone who holds my hand through the ups and pulls me from the downs. I want to be that person for someone as well.”

“That’s lovely, the way you phrased that. I can’t see many disagreeing with you, which leads me to believe those are not the standards your friends criticized. Care to expand on your answer?”

She sighed, fearing he’d see her as high maintenance. “I don’t think it’s too much to expect a guy to have a job, be independent, know how to hold a conversation, and own a car.”

“I’d have to agree with you, but I’m curious why you felt the need to qualify your expectations with an excuse. If those are your expectations, you should stand by them. Leave the justification out.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You seem to be the only one who agrees those are reasonable ideals.”

“I wouldn’t want a relationship with a woman incapable of having a sophisticated discussion. Nor would I be interested in a person dependent on others. I understand the comfort of reliability, but to be completely reliant on someone else at this age…no, I’m afraid that holds little appeal. A vehicle is somewhat necessary, especially in this area. And I think working is healthy. Even the richest man needs to serve a purpose.”

His words stirred something inside of her. Not only had he listened and agreed with her, he took the time to clarify his comprehension and verify that he understood her reasoning.

Having such an open conversation curbed fear of judgment. Mr. Stone appeared to be a very impartial man.

“Tell me about your worst date,
”
he said.

The way he didn’t ask, but confidently directed her to continue was arousing on a psychological level. It showed a desire to learn more about her, but at the same time gave him authority over the flow of conversation. Surprisingly, she found that attractive. She became a passenger in the journey of getting acquainted, which was easier than driving the conversation on her own.

“There’ve been so many. I’m not sure I could pick the worst. Too many bad experiences vying for the title.
”
She laughed.

“Your most recent then.”

“Hmm
…
The last date I went on the guy did nothing but talk about himself.”

“Did he have a car?”

“Yes.”

“A job?”

“Yes.”

“Was he dependent on someone other than himself?”

“No.”

“Yet he didn’t meet your standards.”

“Well, yeah. A conversation requires two people. He wanted me to just sit there and listen to all his wonderful qualities.”

“I see. So perhaps you should amend your standards and add that the man must take a personal interest in you.”

“Well, that’s a given.”

“Not necessarily. Had you clarified this, perhaps your friends could understand your aversion to this man.”

He was right. Funny, with all of her standards, none of them had to do with her personally.

“What are you thinking?”

The sudden revelation made her sit forward. “I’m wondering when I took myself out of the equation.”

“And have you found an answer?”

She blinked, unable to pinpoint when exactly that happened. “I don’t know. Over time, the likelihood of finding a decent partner became so implausible, I guess I sort of lowered the bar.”

“We should never lower our standards, Ms. Farrow. The world is full of people who accept what
is
and don’t expect anything different. Those that truly believe life can be better and dedicate their energy to proving the naysayers wrong are the people who improve life—for more than themselves. Never negotiate your personal ideals.
Fight
for them.”

“Are you like a life coach or something?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly. “No. I’m just a person who had to fight for his happiness. It took a lot for me to find contentment, and I’m conceited enough to pride myself on not giving up. Let’s discuss envy. In your letter you mention feeling like an outsider looking in. Have you always felt that way?”

“Pretty much.”

“Even as a child?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, no, not when I was really young. I was an only child, so for a while I was the center of my parents
’
universe. I guess I started feeling like that when I became a teenager.”

“Give me one word to describe your adolescent years.”

“Fun.”

He was quiet. She wished she had a more familiar name for him. “Mr. Stone?”

“Yes, I’m here. I was recalling my own teenage years. My apologies—”

“How would you describe yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Tiresome. I started my business right out of high school, and found the entire public education experience to be an obstacle I was forced to endure. I had to walk through an experience I would have preferred to climb over. Tell me a fun memory from your teen years.”

He didn’t seem to recall high school as a favorable time, so she tucked his comment away for later. “My friend, Nicole, she and I were on the cheer squad together. One time, after a game, we ended up at a party for the rivaling team. We were there for almost an hour before we realized the house didn’t belong to one of our classmates. Once we realized, we couldn’t get out of there fast enough. On the way out I tripped and knocked over an entire table, and drinks went flying everywhere. That was likely the moment the other school realized they had rivals on their territory. We couldn’t stop laughing, even though we needed to escape. When we made it to the car, Nicole was hysterical. She’d stolen the head of their mascot costume.”

“Sounds like quite an adventure.”

“The jocks from our school were in our debt for a long time. The head’s probably still mounted on the wall of my high school locker room.”

****

Asher’s stomach tightened as he visualized the mascot head, recalling exactly where it had been mounted, unseeing eyes to every brutal attack he’d suffered in that locker room. Discussing high school with Scarlet and detecting the fondness in her voice was difficult. It reminded him how different they were.

This was not someone new, but someone he’d known in a previous life, someone who’d hurt him. The more she intrigued him the easier it became to overlook their painful past interactions, but he was
n’
t sure if that was a good thing.

His sole focus remained to rise above the boy he was to the sort of man a woman like Scarlet Farrow could appreciate. If he could accomplish that, those painful memories might not sting as much as they once did, because if she saw something strong and noble in him, he might actually be able to recognize such qualities in himself.

He forced his voice to deepen, speaking in a tone lower than his usual octave. “What did you feel the moment you were spotted at that party? Do you remember?”