Shaw

Shaw could not believe he was flirting with a girl in her thirties. He felt mid to late 20s was more his wheelhouse. They liked the distinguished gray cresting the tips of his hair, the fit jeans and shirts he picked to hint at his wealth, and the red vitality of his just cragging face. He knew how to make his eyes soft and fatherly, and they bit.

He had to take a mulligan on this girl though. From across the board room she looked much younger, but her back was to the sun setting a golden halo around her blond hair, and neutralizing all the features in her face so all Shaw saw was her eyes on a flawless porcelain mask. When he approached her during the lunch break, and began asking her about Kansas City or whatever place she had come from, he saw the experience around her eyes, and the lines of opinion at the corners of her mouth. She had no children and no husband, and in Shaw's experience that meant she would want them sooner rather than later.

Shaw complimented her on being so young for such an old room, but also mentioned how he thought age was an over emphasized number. Of course he usually used this line in an entirely different way, trying to narrow a wide gap, like a magician showing slight of hand to a child. She disagreed, another very unpleasant factor of her age, he found. The girl argued that each age had its' own experiences and challenges that were important to embrace, not speed through or put off. Suddenly Shaw flared, reading her as insolent, uncooperative, unpleasant and frustrating. He wanted in the worst way to contradict her. "I'll bet you cant tell how old I am?" It was a favorite gambit. Shaw knew he was dressed to the current style in the most sleek and tasteful way, he was as in shape as a man half his age, and girls often guessed too young, proving his point, so he could snatch them up in his trap.

Her smile listed to one side, and she demurely shook her head, too polite to answer. "I give up, how old?"

Triumphantly Shaw answered "I turned 40 just 18 months ago."