We Were Not Meant to Be

Chapter 5

A/N: The image above does not belong to me. It belongs to the person who uploaded it on the internet.

Gun's POV

I got out of the tub and got into my baby pink bathrobe, tying the sash more tightly than usual because I had been upset at having to throw my soaking wet paperback into the trash bin.

My phone sounded with a voice mail notification. I picked it up from the bathroom counter. It was Off. I had not assigned a ring tone for him but I had placed his name on my contacts list.

I listened to his voice mail message.

Hey, it's me Off. We met at the pub last week. I was the one who asked to share your table and who tried to drop some barbiturate powder into your wine glass but you were too smart for me to be able to do so. You're probably asleep by now so forgive me if this call disturbed you. I'm hoping though that we could meet again whenever you're free. Bye.

I wondered if it would be wise of me to meet up with him again. My instinct was telling me that he was not forthcoming about some grey area in his life. I mean how weird was that, that the people running your company would not allow you to keep some personal money. How was he expected to survive, unless the company paid all his personal expenses, but what kind of company would do that to their employees? And if he could not keep any personal money, how was he able to pay for our dinner and drinks that night?

I decided to go to sleep. Perhaps I would be able to make a decision when I woke up the following morning.

I was plugging my electric kettle in my kitchen outlet when my phone started ringing. It was a generic ring but something told me it might be Off. I told myself that I should already assign him a ringtone.

It was Off. I glanced at my kitchen clock. It was half past six in the morning. Hmmm... it seemed like he was an early morning riser like me.

I swiped the screen of my phone.

"It's a Saturday. Why are you up so early?" I tried not to sound grumpy. I was still feeling upset that he had made me drop my paperback into the tub.

"Good morning to you," was his reply. "I've been up since four this morning. I've been thinking about you."

"Don't lie. Why are you up this early," I didn't bother to take off the grumpiness from my voice this time.

"I have been getting up at four in the morning for the past eight years. That has been my routine and I don't think I'm going to break it," he explained. "That's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but."

"And why is that?" in spite of myself I started to get curious.

I could sense the hesitation. Was I really willing to get involved with someone who seemed like a dodgy character at best?

"I will tell you why over a cup of coffee and breakfast," I heard him say. "Let me pick you up from your place and we could go to that patisserie next to the university. They offer the best New Orleans style beignets."

I knew that place. I was tempted to accept his offer but my instinct was telling me to turn it down.

Follow your instincts. They're always on your side.  Who was it who said that.

"I could show you the place where I work after breakfast. It's just a stone's throw from the patisserie," his voice broke into my thoughts.

"I've had breakfast already," I lied. The truth was I had just placed a blueberry bagel in my toaster oven and was planning to have it with a liberal spread of cream cheese and washing it down with a cup of serenity tea between bites.

"Oh I'm too late," he did not hide the disappointment in his voice. "Have lunch with me then?"

Suddenly an idea hit me. If he was really keen on meeting me again he just might agree to my terms and condition.

"I will have lunch with you as long as you tell me the truth about your real work, your real business and why your bosses won't allow you to keep personal money with you. How can you even treat me to a meal if you got nothing to pay for it," I said, feeling some guilt at pushing someone to give me information that he was not comfortable giving.

There was a long pause at the other end.

"I gotta go," I said when I heard my toaster oven beeping.

"No, wait, wait," he said, "yes, I will tell you everything. Give me your address. I will pick you up at eleven."

No way was I giving him my address. In fact I shouldn't have given him my real name. And then again I had not given him my last name anyway so at least he'd have a hard time searching my name if he wanted to. I had the most common first name in all the land. It would be like searching for Jane Smith among the gazillion Jane Smiths out there.

"How about I meet you wherever we're having lunch," I offered.

"Where would you like to have lunch?" he asked.

I mentioned an Italian restaurant which was located near the university area. If his work place was indeed a stone's throw from the patisserie which was also close to the university, then he could show me where he worked after lunch.

"Okay," he said, "I'll meet you there at eleven. I will call them to make a reservation."

I was starting to regret that I had agreed to meet up with him. I hoped that the restaurant would tell him that they were fully booked. After all it was a weekend.

No such luck. I didn't hear from him until ten before eleven when he called to say that he was on his way to the restaurant. That meant he lived not too far from his place of work. Or did he live inside his work premises. I told myself to stop overthinking.

Lunch was lovely. The pasta dish that I asked for was absolutely delicious.

I did not push him to tell me about himself during our meal. If he was not comfortable about it, it would spoil his lunch. We just both focused on enjoying the great food.

After lunch, he suggested that I leave my car in the parking lot and ride in his so that he could bring me to his place of work. I still had his business card in my wallet and I still remembered the name of the establishment.

"We could just have walked it and saved on gas," I laughed when after less than a minute he parked his car in front of the building with a large navy blue G-clef on either side of the double glass doors.

He unlocked the doors and waited for me to walk in after he opened one door.

"My father owns this business," he said. "I work for him."

"Why won't he let you keep personal money?" I asked. I was like a bulldog who would not let go of a juicy bone. I really just needed to know because I could not find any logic to it.

His face suddenly took on a very sad look and it made me feel sorry for him but at the same time it scared me because what if he and his father were both suffering from some kind of mental disorder which at this time didn't show but what if I was alone with him and his psychosis suddenly flared up.

When he noticed my frightened look, the sadness in his face suddenly left him and he started to laugh.

"I promise you it's not what you're thinking," he said, as if he had read my mind.