Fred lights up at this woman’s affection. Fred and Helen have been divorced for a few years now, but I wasn’t aware that Fred had a new woman in his life. She’s young, closer to my age, at least twenty years younger than Fred. In her high heels, she towers over his hairless head, her long blonde hair straight and shiny, nearly draping over his shoulder. She moves to Fred’s side to reveal a curvy body encased in a dark blue satin gown, her large breasts barely held in by thin spaghetti straps.

“Hi there.” The woman turns her attention on me. “I’m Frankie.”

She smiles and extends a hand out to me.

“Barrett St. Clair.”

I shake her hand, a surprisingly awkward task with her long nails. I turn her hand to examine said nails.

“Those are quite the nails.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment but Frankie takes it as such.

“Oh my God, thank you. They’re part of the nail line I’m launching.” She wiggles her fingers with excitement. I take a step back to avoid an eyebrow gash. “Frankie’s Faux Nails. That’s what we’ve come up with so far, right, baby?”

We both turn toward Fred, while Frankie seems oblivious, I can see that Fred’s eyes are narrowed. And directed at me.

Uh oh. I know what that look is and it’s not ‘hey, man, can I buy you a beer and discuss your takeover of my company?’

It’s territorial. My mind goes back to Fred’s displeasure of me not having a date. Now having met Frankie, I can see why Fred would want to keep her away from any age appropriate, successful, single men. That being me.

While I have no interest in Frankie, Fred doesn’t know that.

“That’s wonderful. I bet my girlfriend would love them.” The words tumble out before I can fully realize the consequences of what I’m about to say.

“Girlfriend?” Fred asks, surprised. “You said you didn’t have a date.”

“She’s out of town. Visiting her family,” I lie.

Fred’s frown lines smooth as his mouth ticks up a quarter of an inch.

“So, there is a heart beneath that tuxedo jacket.”

“You bet.” I smile, knowing I’ve made some kind of crack in Fred’s impenetrable exterior. And because I’m on a roll, and want to assure him I have no interest in his girlfriend, I continue, “She’s the love of my life.”

“Ahh.” Frankie sighs, clutching a hand to her chest. Her nails press into her breasts, indenting the skin there.

“Good,” Fred affirms, his animosity gone. “I’m glad you’re not just tolling away in your ivory tower. That you’ve found something, someone that is more important than business.”