He Said I Wasn’t His Type – But I’m Beautiful

I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John’s from university who’d recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I’d never needed their help. They knew I’d end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking.
He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn’t get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place. That tall built body was still encased in dress-up clothes from work and he barely drank. 28 years of age and already an old man. Why was everyone working in finance so damned correct and uptight?
He seemed almost disinterested in the scene around us, content with focusing on John and Ryan as they played catch up. He appeared equally disinterested in me, not gawking or trying to impress. I got the feeling he was amused by all the attention I was receiving and wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
It was a little unsettling too, to talk to someone whose eyes focused so completely on my own without any of the familiar shifting across my face or down my body.
“What do you do?” he asked me shortly after we’d been introduced.
“Modeling,” I said briefly.
Anyone else would have said ‘oh, you’re a model, how exciting’. Not him. Mr.Finance just nodded. I already knew he was a business analyst.
“Paid to lie around and look pretty while the rest of us work hard for a decent living,” John smirked.
“Fuck off,” I said idly. It was an old...