I'm gaping at him. I feel myself stand to leave, almost tipping over my latte and the sandwich. I grab for my purse, and my bag full of books, but before I can leave, he's speaking again.

"If you'll give me 10 more minutes, and you hate the idea of what I'm saying, I'll let you go and you'll never hear from me again. But I promise you hearing what I have to say will be worth it."

I'm angry. Who does he think he is? Why does he think it's ok for him to say any of what he's just said? It's pure curiosity and the rumbling in my stomach that makes me sit. I can't meet his eye. I'm embarrassed to look at him.

I sit down again and take a large gulp of my latte. It doesn't matter that it's lukewarm to me, but for some reason it bothers me. The barista he tipped earlier seems to be hovering, hoping to make a little more from the obviously generous man in front of me. I see him wave her down.

"Isabella would like a fresh latte. And bring me another panini and some soup. She'll need dinner this evening."

"We have several types of soup, Sir. What kind would you like?"

"What kind do you have?"

"Loaded baked potato, broccoli cheddar, tomato, vegetable, minestrone..."

"Isabella?"

I don't answer at first. I hate having to choose. It's almost as if he senses this and decides for me.

"Bring a bowl of broccoli cheddar and a bowl of loaded baked potato. Don't skimp on the cheese. Package it up in record time, bring me a receipt and your tip jar."

I find the request for the tip jar odd, but I'm too shell shocked to question it. He was correct in his assumptions regarding my financial situation and I'm secretly overjoyed that I don't have to eat another peanut butter sandwich for dinner. My paycheck will be here in two days and today's meals will get me by.

I barely register the exchange. He's invasive and excessive but I need to figure out why I'm so compelled to listen to him.

"So. I believe I asked you about that boyfriend earlier?"

I begin to laugh uncontrollably then. Almost hysterical in sound, I feel my eyes water slightly.

"No. The hole in my boot seems to have disqualified me from the pool of dating applicants."

"Isabella, I didn't point it out to be rude or to demean you. In fact, we don't need to discuss the boot again. Hopefully, by the time this is all over, we'll have purchased you new ones."

"I don't understand."

"I know. I've been vague. Finish your sandwich while I clarify things."

I nod slowly. He's giving me whiplash with his moods here. One minute he seems completely disapproving of me, the next he seems drawn to care for me. He's repeated it so many times, I know the sandwich isn't optional.

"As you probably already know, I'm never photographed with the same woman twice. I'm the founder and CEO of Cullen Engineering and while pursuing that legacy, I haven't made much time for companionship along the way. Most of the women I meet are only interested in my money. A couple of weeks ago I decided that traditional dating was no longer working, and I began to look for a companion of sorts, hoping to find one before my next event."

"What's that got to do with me? I'm not a hooker or an escort."

"Please chew with your mouth closed and do not interrupt. Also, don't blush like that. It's very distracting."

As if it were something I could control. I sighed deeply, biting my bottom lip and pushing my sandwich away.

"I don't say this to you because I think you're a hooker or an escort. It's clear to me that you're a student, a smart girl that may need a little extra help."

"I'm not going to sleep with you for money."

"Isabella, I'm not asking you to."

Just then the barista returns. Saved by the barista. I laugh to myself at the joke and snort into my latte.

"I took the liberty of adding two extra panini's and some cookies and potato chips, Sir. We'd love for you to return to the Coffee Cup soon."

"I didn't ask for you to do that, but I know the food will go to waste if I return it. I'll send it home with Isabella. Here's my credit card. Please charge my card for all of the items. There's no need to bring me a receipt."

He smirks at her. He's probably realized by now that she seems to be tripping over herself to 'help'. Before putting his wallet away, I see him throw several $20 bills into the tip jar. He places his wallet back into the pocket of his suit jacket, puts the tip jar into the corner of the table, and slides the bag of food over to me.

"Isabella, what would you say if I offered to pay your school tuition and all of your expenses for the duration of your undergraduate career?"

"I'd say that in my experience, you don't get something without giving something."

He smiles then, and I'm bothered by the fact that I enjoy seeing him that way.

"See? I knew you were intelligent. What I want is company. Dinner on the table when I come home, and someone to go to events with me. I don't have many rules and if you'd prefer to date during our arrangement, you're more than welcome to."

"This has been great, but your 10 minutes are up."

He smiles sadly then, and I feel a pang in my heart from knowing that I've made him something other than happy. He reaches into another pocket and takes out a business card, writing what I can only assume is his cell phone number on the back. He slides the card across the table with a $100 bill.

"It's yours. No strings attached. All I ask is that you give me a call if you change your mind or if you need anything."

I nod, still not really looking at him. I'm absolutely not going to change my mind.

"I meant what I said about the food. It's yours. Also no strings. I also meant what I said about you being beautiful. I'm going to go before I make an even bigger ass of myself."

With that he's at the register, picking up his credit card, and out the door. I watch as he gets into the backseat of some sleek vehicle. I don't know much about cars, but I think it's a Lexus. I gather my purse, bag, and takeout bag of food in one hand, my latte in the other. I'm determined to forget our encounter, but I slip his card into my pocket anyway. Something like this couldn't possibly be true. I was damned to my life and I'm sure he'd forget about me. After all, everyone else already had.