Page 1 of Pride
PROLOGUE
Icould be a gentleman when I wanted to be. I knew how to turn on the charm better than anyone. You see, I was a master at blending in with real life. Acting from day to day like I was the same as everyone else. Running errands, making small talk, helping old ladies to cross the street. I knew the kind of things that were expected of me to paint the picture of a normal, everyday guy.
But I was anything but normal.
The feelings and emotions that other people had didn’t exist for me. My mind was a warped maze of nightmares and terror that I revelled in. And in the darkness, along with all the other creatures of the night, I came out to play. Hell, sometimes I played in the light of day, too.
I wasn’t fussy.
When she arrived for our date in the skimpiest dress and flimsiest jacket I’d ever seen in the middle of winter, I offered her my coat. She was clearly frozen, but she still said no. I could tell by the way her cheeks flushed that she appreciated the gesture, though.
I walked on the kerbside as we meandered down the street towards the restaurant. After all, it was only polite to protectyour partner in that way and be the buffer between her and the passing traffic. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. See, I knew the tricks.
As we walked, I made small talk, asking her how her day had been. I listened intently when she told me about her ogre of a boss who’d made her work an hour of overtime without being paid, and how much she hated her job. It was important to take note of the little things. You never knew when they might come in handy later down the line. The devil was in the details, after all.
When we approached the entrance to the restaurant, I held the door open for her. She blushed again as she walked past me, saying a quiet thank you as she bowed her head. She seemed grateful to be receiving the bare minimum. I couldn’t deny, that surprised me. This girl must’ve been on some hideous dates in the past.
When the waitress showed us to our table in the dark corner that I’d picked out earlier in the day, I pulled her chair out, and she put her hand on her chest as she smiled gratefully at me and sat down.
We ordered food, I let her order first.
The waitress brought the wine over, and I let her taste it before taking a sip myself.
I was so fucking good at playing the part that was needed of me. The part I needed to play to get the job done. And tonight, she was the job.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man with such impeccable manners before,” she remarked halfway through the meal as she sliced into her steak.
I threaded my fingers together and put my hands under my chin, watching closely as she sliced back and forth over the succulent meat with the kind of precision that I found mesmerising.
“My parents taught me well,” I replied, injecting an innocent twinkle into my gaze as I smiled back at her.
My parents taught me fuck all about manners, but they did teach me what I needed to do to survive in this jungle. They taught me that no one was going to save you, and that you could only rely on yourself.
“I feel terrible,” she said. “You’ve heard me ramble on all night, telling you about my life and my asshole boss.”
“I’ve enjoyed hearing your stories,” I replied. “And I hope I get to meet this boss of yours one day.”
The way she grinned back at me, she actually believed that I meant it, and that her boss might live to regret being a prick to her once he’d met me.
Fuck, I was good at this.
“Sometimes,” she went on, staring wistfully into the distance. “I sit in that office, and I just want to scream, I do have a brain, you know. And I bet I can do your jobs just as well, if not better than all you men. Just because my parents didn’t have money, and I didn’t go to the best university, doesn’t mean I can’t work to a high standard given half a chance. I graduated with first-class honours. I know my stuff. I just wish they’d see that, and not treat me like a walking vagina.”
She swallowed and blushed harder, realising what she’d said.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Don’t apologise,” I told her. “You have passion. That’s something you should be proud of.”
“Yeah, but saying the word vagina at the dinner table isn’t the best etiquette, is it.” She winced. “And I’ve said it again. I’m such an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, cursing herself. “I think I need to meet your parents so they can give me tips on how to have manners like you.”
I huffed a smile and dipped my eyes, feigning a humility I didn’t feel.
“I wish you could meet them too, but they’re dead,” I stated in a sombre tone.
She dropped her knife and fork and put her hand over her mouth.
“Oh my God. I am so, so sorry.”
