Something Tangible

So Much for Treading Carefully

Relieved he had extended their time together, Steven ushered Katarina outside to the nearest café, where their easygoing banter veered from the bridges over the Seine to the catacombs under Notre Dame. Steven learned that she waitressed to put herself through college, mixed with the occasional DJ gig, and she hated cheap tippers and Chinese food. Katarina learned that he loved Indian food, jazz and was a loner in college who came from money but wouldn't accept a dime from his lawyer father when he started his own business.

"Why not?" she prompted him.

"Because he was a dick and we never got along," he answered, the flatness of his reply catching her by surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She was going to make a smart-ass remark that the apple didn't fall far from the tree but refrained.

"Go ahead and say it," he nudged her, accurately gauging her thoughts. Her cheeks beet red, she gave him a coy smile and drank her third coffee — rejuvenated not by the caffeine but the company.

"What about your parents? Are they still alive?"

"Yes, of course! I'm not that old," she exclaimed in mock outrage. "Classic immigrant story: They arrived in this country with $20 in their pockets, worked menial jobs by day and took English classes at night, all to give me a better life. No pressure there! Hope I wasn't too big a disappointment for the sacrifices they made," she said, only half joking.

"I'm sure you're not," he said quietly, his eyes glued to hers.

Embarrassed, she tried to deflect his compliment. "And I'm sure your parents - err, mom - is proud of you. You're clearly a very successful businessman."

"My mother died when I was 16," he confessed, his voice and emotions monotone. "Unfortunately I was old enough to know her so it hit me hard. That's why I didn't have much of a social life in college."

She cringed at his blasé description of her death. He was taken aback by his revelation. It had taken three sessions with his therapist just to broach the subject of his mother.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up," Katarina stammered, feeling like a moron for being surprised when he'd asked whether her parents were still alive. She always fumbled her words in these situations, despising the generic platitudes of sympathy people give to the grieving.

"Thank you, it's fine. It was a long time ago. That's why I learned to speak French. My father used to drag me here on his business trips after her death," he said nonchalantly. "So tell me more about your first trip here when you were 16. You said that was your first exposure to traveling abroad."

"Yes my parents arranged for me to stay with some old friends," she began, grateful for the change of topic. "It was amazing. I was young, on my own for the first time, in love with Paris and love-struck with French men! I even flew for the first time and loved that!"

Katarina wasn't sure if it was the fact that they were only going to see each other for one day, or the romanticism of their surroundings or just their unconventional start, but she felt completely at ease with the enigma across from her.

For his part, Steven wasn't sure why he was magnetically drawn to her. Even though he was 37, he was accustomed to dating women at least 10 years his junior — physically attractive, emotionally unattached girls who served a singular purpose.

The woman in front of him — droning on and on about how America needed more mom-and-pop cafés and fewer conglomerate coffee shops — was a train wreck. Her hair flying in every direction, face drenched in sweat, shirt wrinkled and eyes puffy with fatigue, she wasn't exactly the type he'd look at twice. But he couldn't stop watching her, or listening to her or wanting to know every detail about her life.

So when they came to that familiar spot in front of her hotel where it was time to part ways, again, Steven finally admitted to himself that he wasn't going to let her go.

"So you'll be with the press group for the rest of the day?" he hinted, innocently enough.

"Yep. I'm sure after the meet-and-greet everyone will hang out in the evening. I'll join them, assuming there aren't too many kooks in the group," she responded, clueless as to his ulterior motive.

He mentally thanked her for giving him the perfect opening. But how do you ask out someone you're intrigued by but not interested in? Tread carefully Steven.

"Well, how about I meet you later, in case you're either by yourself or with a bunch of 'kooks?'" So much for treading carefully.

Katarina gaped at him in wide-eyed confusion, too dumbfounded to formulate a response. Is he asking me out? Shit maybe he really is a serial killer.

"I mean, listen, my intention is not to lead you on and I don't want you to misconstrue my invitation," he tried to clarify. "I simply have enjoyed our conversations and thought that since you're here alone, you might like some company. Not a date or anything like that," he stressed.

Relax, I get it. You couldn't be interested in me. No problem — I can do the friend thing. I've only got one of those anyway.

"No no, don't worry, I completely understand," she said, without a trace of malice, giving him a playful brow arch to reassure him that she wasn't offended. "Sure, why not? You listen more to my stories than my best friend does! If you want I can email you once I know what everyone else's plans are for tonight and you're welcome to tag along."

"Great. In that case I look forward to hearing from you Katarina," he said, giving her his business card and a brief smile before walking out the door.

Steven was satisfied she had accepted his offer but something was eating away at him. He had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't asking her on a date and yet she wasn't the least bit upset by his slight. Why not? Isn't she interested in me?

Katarina would had to have been blind to not be attracted to a man like Steven, but her practical nature wouldn't allow her imagination to run away with her. After all, she wasn't blind to her own looks either. Their physical mismatch was patently obvious.

So she consoled herself with the fact that she'd found a temporary travel companion who liked to listen to her rant and rave about politics and Paris.

Still, Katarina couldn't resist searching Steven's name online when she got to her room, which was much bigger than she'd expected. Sitting on the plush purple sofa, the color drained from her face when the results on her laptop showed not only Steven's handsome visage, but his equally handsome net worth. Last year, Forbes tallied his company's assets at just under $2.3 billion.

"Holy crap! Can't he just buy his own plane for that kind of money?Wait, do assets mean revenues or profits? What's the difference? Oh who cares.He's definitely buying drinks tonight," she said, patting herself on the backfor finding a filthy rich travel companion.

In his suite, Steven was busy ignoring his emails so he could search Katarina's name. Only a few entries popped up, but he poured over every article that carried her byline, impressed with how she used layman's terms to distill complex foreign policy issues. He eagerly studied up on Greece and Syria so he could quiz her later.