The Living Statue

5.

In less than a minute Mr Torres had returned to his seat on the sofa and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Studying me cautiously, he said: "So first you were my cousin, then you were a journalist and now you're Richard Griffin's daughter. What's next?"

If Mr Arshole Torres was capable of any kind of expression I'm sure he would've snorted to complete his sardonic statement. Of course, such thing didn't happen.

"I might've lied in order to get to you, but I'm not lying about this," I said seriously.

The blonde, young waitress finally approached us with a grin so big I thought her face would break in two. Expectedly, her attention was mainly focused on the rich asshole sitting across from me. I had to be blind not to notice her lascivious gaze on his perfectly developed body. Her eyes roamed his whole figure before halting upon his face.

"Have you decided Mr Torres," she enquired in a high-pitched voice that somehow resembled tire squealing. I restrained myself from blocking my ears with index fingers. It was even harder not to roll my eyes.

"Yes Petty. I'll have a double shot of Jameson, and the lady will have..." he pointed towards me, waiting for my answer.

Petty? Hmm, someone's a regular, isn't he?

"I'll have the same," I replied curtly. My reply slightly shocked both Mr Torres and the blonde strumpet. Obviously, my choice of a drink wasn't feminine enough.

Typical chauvinist. He probably preferes women that sit still, looking pretty and whining over their broken nail. Idiot.

Petty nodded her head. After giving one more significant, lustful glance to the despicable excuse for a man sitting opposite me, she wend her way towards the bar, swaying her hips in a way she probably believed was incredibly sexy. As far as I'm concerned, she looked like a drunkard desperately trying not to collide with the marble floor beneath. But hey, what do I know, right? I'm just a directionally challenged tomboy after all.

"Why would I believe you," Mr Arsehole finally said after Petty was out of the picture.

"Huh?"

Okay, I know my manners aren't really lady-like. I should've probably said something like 'I beg your pardon' or at least 'Sorry', but the truth is I'm too lazy for that. 'Huh' sounds just fine.

"Why would I believe you're telling the truth." He seemed as if the fact that he had to repeat himself bothered him a lot, but I didn't really care.

I looked into his deep, unfathomable eyes. It was only then that I noticed his eyes weren't actually brown - they were dark blue, the colour of the sea before the storm. For a moment I had a filling I was hypnotized, arrested by those alluring, endless pools. Quickly shaking my head, I snapped out of my trance.

"Here," I said, taking out the wallet out of my purse. After taking out a small, faded picture, slightly ragged on the edges, I handed it to him over the table.

Our fingers touched in the process, causing me to quickly yank away my hand and curle it into a fist. He was cold, just as I had expected, but his skin was soft and pleasant to the touch.

I looked away as he started studying the picture. After a few moments he looked up. "That's Richard. How shocking," he stated sarcastically. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had found the picture on the internet and printed it."

I scoffed. "Look closer."

Halting his gaze back on the picture, he narrowed his eyes. In the meantime the blonde was back with two immensely elegant whiskey glasses.