Chapter 4

• “How did you know I was here?” I ask him.
• “Elliot called me.”
• “Elliot called you?” I fume.
• “Yes, said that I needed to rescue you.”
• Asshole.
• “I had a wonderful time.” She swoons.
• “Me too.” I fake a smile. It’s all I can do not to check my watch as we stand on the street saying goodbye. How long is this going to take?
• This has been the worst date in all history.
• Boring . . .
• So fucking boring.
• Carly is beautiful, smart, and sweet, with a body to die for. She’s everything I should want. And yet, as usual when I’m out with a girl one on one, I’m bored as fuck. I even considered asking the waiter to poison my food so that I’d have a legitimate reason to leave.
• Tristan’s and Jameson’s words from today run through my mind for the millionth time.
• You are thirty-one years old and never had a girlfriend. You take nice girls on token dates to try and kid yourself into believing that they stand a chance, and you only fuck women in pairs so that there is no chance you can fall for one of them.
• Carly frowns up at me. “Is everything okay?”
• I stare down at her looking up at me, all kiss-me-like. “I’m just . . . I have a headache. I’m sorry, I . . .” I cut myself off before I lie to her more.
• “That’s okay.” She smiles. “Some people just don’t click, do they?”
• Intriguing . . . I click with everyone.
• “Do you click with most people?” I ask her.
• “I do.”
• “Why do you think we didn’t click?”
• She shrugs. “Lots of reasons.”
• “Name them.”
• She laughs. “I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”
• “Trust me, I do.”
• “Well, for a start, you’re too perfect.”
• I frown. “What?”
• Her face falls. “Look . . . I didn’t mean to offend. That came out wrong.”
• “No, please . . . ,” I reassure her. “Explain it to me. How can I get better if I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”
• “You don’t need to get better. You just need to . . .” She pauses as if choosing her words wisely. “You have no substance.”
• “What?” I put my hand on my chest. “Me? No substance?” I gasp, shocked. “I am high-quality fucking substance!”
• She laughs. “That’s the problem. You will never understand what I mean, Christopher, and it’s okay—you don’t need to. It’s not relevant to your life.”
• I frown as I stare at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
• “Your life has been so perfect that you’ve never had to dig deep to find out who you really are.”
• I put my weight onto my back foot, affronted that this is the second time today I am hearing this. “I disagree. Why do people think that only hardship builds character? Why would I have to dig deep to find out who I am when I already know?”
• She goes up onto her toes and kisses my cheek. “Because diamonds are made under pressure.” She turns and begins to casually walk up the street.
• “What does that mean?” I put my hands onto my hips in disgust. “I am a fucking diamond, Carly.” I hold my arms out wide. “Do you know how many women would love to have a diamond like me?”
• She laughs out loud and turns back toward me. “The women that you spend time with just want rich coal. They don’t even know what a diamond is. It’s coal meet coal.”
• My mouth falls open in horror.
• She blows me a kiss and turns and walks off into the night. I run my hand over my stubble as I stare after her.
• That was weird.
• Hmm, and . . . I hate to admit it . . . interesting.
• I walk down the street and into a bar and take a seat at the bench by the window.
• “What will it be?” a waiter asks me.
• “Scotch,” I reply, distracted.
• It starts to rain, and I watch it fall through the window. “Here you go,” the waiter says as he places my drink down in front of me.
• “Thanks.” I sit and drink alone.
• I’ve had a shitty day, and I hate to admit it, but it seems there’s a part of my personality that others can see that I can’t.
• The women that you spend time with just want rich coal.
• I drag my hand down my face in disgust. Is that true? I tip my head back and drain my glass.
• You are broken.
• It’s been a weird day full of revelations. Are they right?
• How will I ever find my diamond if I’m only rich coal?
• I hear a voice. “It can’t be that bad.” I glance up to see a waitress wiping down the table beside me.
• “Why do you say that?”
• “Well, you’ve been sitting there for three hours looking completely miserable.”
• “What?” I glance at my watch. One thirty a.m. . . . shit. “Sorry,” I splutter as I stand and dig out my wallet.
• She rings up my tab. “Did you get dumped?” she asks.
• I frown, confused at the concept. “No, nothing like that.”
• “Did you dump someone?”
• “No.”
• Mind your business.
• “Fired?”
• I’m not in the mood for talking, and I just want her to shut up. “Yes. Fired,” I lie.
• “Well, that’s great.” She smiles. “I love crossroads.”
• This woman’s a bona fide idiot.
• “How is being fired great?”
• “Because you get to start again. You can design who you want to be.”
• I frown as I stare at her.
• Design who you want to be.
• “Like a do-over . . . ,” I whisper to myself.
• “Yeah.” She begins to wipe the counter down again.
• “What would you do?” I ask her. “How would you start again?”
• She smiles dreamily. “I’d disappear and travel the world. See it through new, untainted eyes.”