Chapter 69

...Dickinson pov…

I was sitting alone at a table in the restaurant, sipping on a glass of red wine and waiting for my dinner companion to arrive. I looked up as the door opened, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Emile walk in. He was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and black trousers, but his tie was badly knotted and askew.

As he made his way towards my table, I could see the glances he was getting from other diners. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult to ignore the way his tie seemed to be choking him.

"Emile, hi," I said as he approached the table.

"Hello, Dickinson," he replied, looking slightly flustered as he took a seat opposite me. . Despite the formal attire, his disheveled appearance made it clear that he was not entirely comfortable in his outfit.

I sat down at the table opposite Emile, feeling a little self-conscious about my casual attire. But before I could even say anything, Emile spoke up.

"Please, Dickinson, sit well. You're a lady," he said, his eyes fixed on my legs.

I looked down at my jeans and shrugged. "It doesn't really matter to me."

Emile seemed to ignore my comment and instead focused on my choice of footwear. "What's with the sneakers?" he asked.

"I just wanted a change from lady's footwear," I replied with a smile.

Emile nodded, but his attention was quickly diverted when I pointed out the poorly knotted tie around his neck.

"What?" he asked, looking down at his tie.

"It's knotted badly," I said, gesturing towards his neck.

"Oh, I had a hard time doing that," Emile whispered.

"Give me the tie," I whispered back.

Emile removed the tie from his neck and handed it to me. I quickly and skillfully re-knotted it before handing it back to him.

"Okay, thanks," Emile said as he adjusted the tie.

At that moment, a waiter came up to the table, interrupting our conversation. We ordered our food, with Emile opting for the steak and I chose the salmon.

I snapped my fingers signaling the waiter to come take our order, as we waited I couldn't help but ask Emile about Henry. "So, who is Henry?" I asked, curious.

"He's a friend," Emile replied, taking a sip of his wine.

"How does he know about your kidnapping?" I asked, tilting my head and furrowing my eyebrows.

"Because I told him," Emile said, waving his hands dismissively.

"What did he say to you?" I asked, curious about their conversation.

"He rescheduled the date he was meant to have with you," Emile said, watching me closely.

My eyes rolled as I folded my hands across my chest. "Outing, you mean," I said, not thrilled about the idea.

"Whatever, but I'm not going," I stated firmly, not wanting to be put in an awkward situation.

"You have to," Emile said quickly. "I mean, we had this planned, and as you are in my body, you have to."

"Don't tell me what to do," I pointed out, a hint of annoyance in my voice.

We sat in silence for a few moments, both lost in our own thoughts. I couldn't help but feel frustrated that Emile was trying to dictate my actions.

"I'll think about it," I finally said, breaking the silence.

we waited for our food to arrive, we sat in silence. The tension between us was palpable, and I couldn't help but feel frustrated at Emile's insistence that I go out with his friend, Henry.

As the waiter brought our food and placed it on the table, I asked for a glass of champagne. "Alright, ma'am," he said, before leaving to get it.

Emile picked up his fork and began eating, while I sat there, staring at my plate. "I have to go to the hospital tomorrow to pick up your wife, Emily," Emile said, breaking the silence.

"Oh, that's great. Then you can get her to sign the divorce papers," I said, diving into my plate.

"Get her to sign?" Emile asked, looking surprised.

"Yes, that's your job," I replied, feeling slightly annoyed.

"But since you are in my body, you have to do it," I added.

Emile rolled his eyes. "Oh no, no, no. I can't do that," he said firmly.

"But there is a way, and that is if you go out with Henry," Emile said, grinning as he put more food in his mouth.

I sighed, feeling frustrated with the situation. "I don't know about that," I said, unsure about the idea.

"But you have to," Emile insisted, resting his chin on his hand.

I shook my head, feeling like I was being backed into a corner. "Fine, I'll think about it," I said, picking up my fork and starting to eat.

"You... you…" I pointed my mouth twitched. "Alright I will do it", I said as I gulped the drink down

" That's it," Emile grinned as he continued eating. The waiter came back with the champagne and cups.

As he brought them I quickly took them from him and poured it into a cup and sat down as she sipped it.

The waiter looked incredulously at her and then Emile. Emile smiled and waved him off and off he went. Dickinson was still sipping his drink and staring at Emile as she watched him.

I leaned on the chair, nursing my drink and watching as Emile argued with the three middle-aged men at the other table. They were loud and boisterous, throwing back shots of whiskey and laughing at their own jokes. Emile, on the other hand, was tense and serious, his face set in a scowl as he argued with them.

Three men sat sipping their drinks at the other table. The first man was tall and muscular, with short hair and a chiseled jawline. He wore a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt and ripped jeans, giving off a tough and edgy vibe.

The second man was shorter and stockier, with a bushy beard and a friendly smile. He wore a plaid shirt and work boots, suggesting he may work in a trade or manual labor job.

The third man was thin and wiry, with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit. He exuded confidence and sophistication, indicating he may be a successful businessman or lawyer. Each of the men had their own distinct style, but they all looked like they could hold their own in a conversation or a fight. He was the leader of the argument.

I didn't know what they were arguing about, but it seemed to be getting more heated by the minute. Emile was gesticulating wildly, his hands flying through the air as he made his point. The men, for their part, were leaning back in their chairs, looking smug and self-satisfied.

I didn't like the looks of those men. They had a rough, brutish air about them that made my skin crawl. They were the type of men who would start a fight just for the fun of it. And they seemed to be enjoying Emile's discomfort all too much.

But Emile wasn't backing down. He was like a dog with a bone, refusing to let go of whatever it was they were arguing about. I admired his tenacity, but I also worried for his safety. Those men looked like they could do some serious damage.

As I watched, one of the men leaned forward and said something to Emile. I couldn't hear what it was, but I could see Emile's face flush with anger. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, I spoke up from my seat and placed my cup on the table.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even.

The men looked up at me, sizing me up. I could tell they were trying to decide if I was a threat or not. I stood my ground, refusing to back down.

"No problem, buddy," one of the men said, his voice slurred with alcohol. "Just having a little argument with our friend here."

"Well, it seems like it's getting a little out of hand," I said. "Maybe it's time to call it a night?"

"What's the bitch feeling like", the other man nearby him said to him.

"What did you say?" I bellowed.

The men grumbled, but they eventually stood up from their chairs and stumbled out of the bar. I watched them go, relieved that they were gone but also a little shaken by the encounter.

I couldn't help but wonder what had sparked the argument in the first place. Emile seemed like the type of person who didn't go looking for trouble, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.

I sipped my drink as i watched Emile out of the corner of my eye. He was still tense, his eyes darting around the bar as if he expected trouble to come bursting through the door at any moment.