The Power of Weakness

Chapter 7

"I don't believe she's interested." The man's voice was strong and stern.

Ari's eyes followed up from the hand, to the cuff of the black shirt, up the soft grey twill of the jacket sleeve, to the strong clenched jaw.

It was Sebastian Meyer.

She looked away again quickly, before her eyes made it all the way to his. He was watching her instead of the man he had clamped in his vise grip.

"No one asked you," the drunk sneered. "I didn't hear her tell me to leave, so I'm still in the game."

"When a woman is cowering in front of you and trying to pry your greasy fingers off her, does that make you feel like a king or like scum?" Meyer's voice remained even, still stern, but he didn't return the obvious contempt the drunk lobbed his way. "Because if you ask anyone in this place they'll tell you the answer is scum." He yanked the man down and passed him to the security guard who had finally shown up. "I'm a bit disappointed in your efforts to monitor the safety and comfort of you patrons," he said to the hotel employee.

When the man was out of sight, Meyer turned to Ari and, with a gentle voice, asked, "Are you hurt, did he have a tight hold on you?"

Ari shook her head, but she was still cowering and patting the place he'd been holding her. Meyer could see that hand was shaking slightly. She was also quietly hyperventilating.

"Your arm might not be hurt, but I can tell you're not okay. You need to get some decent food in you."

He helped her off the stool and guided her over to his table, flagging the waiter on the way. She sipped the water that was poured for her.

Meyer poured her a glass of wine, noting that her hand continued trembling slightly. "Take a sip of this, it will help calm your nerves."

Holding the glass awkwardly, and still avoiding Meyer's gaze, she turned to the side before taking a quick sip of the garnet colored liquid. She moved to put the glass back down, but then shrugged her shoulders and took a longer drink.

"Looks like you're going to have dinner with me after all," Meyer commented matter-of-factly. "What are you doing here?" He tried to change the mood by using a casual tone.

She quietly cleared her throat before speaking, matching Meyer's attitude, "I was supposed to meet someone, but I guess they aren't coming."

Is she dejected or relieved?

"Who were you meeting?" He took in the outfit she was wearing. Pastel, of course. A lavender blouse with a high neck and long sleeves. At first glance it seemed to be a conservative option, but when the light was just right, the bright fuschia of the bra she wore was visible. Her pants were a matching shade with wide legs.

Are they the same see-through material as her shirt or something thicker? Does she have on hot pink panties to match that bra?

She silently looked at her hands in her lap.

"Who are you meeting?" Thinking of the showy underwear, he added, "A date?"

"Sort of," she finally said.

"Sort of?"

Interesting. The Carringtons seem pretty convinced she never accepts dates.

The waiter returned before she answered, setting a plate in front of each of them.

"Before we sat down, I ordered you the same as mine, I hope you don't mind. Steak, rare, roasted root vegetables, and spring peas."

"I've never had steak done rare." She poked the meat with her fork and lifted the edge of it to look underneath before she cut in. Her eyes widened a tiny bit as she watched the red juices flow out when she made the first few cuts.