The Perfect Match

Hi, my name is Davis.

TRAVIS: You wanted to talk?

I'm about to break things off with Travis.

I even brought him to a nice restaurant just in case he decides to kill me.

Don't laugh--he already got rid of Skyler. I'm not really crying any tears over that, but I don't want to be his next pet project.

ME: Travis, I don't think things are working out.
TRAVIS: Oh really? What things?
ME: Me. You. Us. Those things.
TRAVIS: Oh...really?
ME: Yes.
TRAVIS: I disagree.

He took a sip of his water. This is the only man I've ever met who can make sipping look dangerous.

ME: Well, whether you disagree or not--we're over.

Travis raised an eyebrow. I haven't gotten tough with him, because, you know, I like my arms attached to my body.

But I've had enough. It was time for the old Davis to make an appearance at this table.

TRAVIS: You're not going anywhere unless I say you are.
ME: Maybe you've forgotten that I run this town, and you're not the only rich bitch I'm acquainted with, Travis. So when I say I'm going, I'm going.

I stood up and started to walk away.

TRAVIS: Does that protection extend to your friend Jeremy?

I stopped.

TRAVIS: You may be able to keep yourself safe, but can you guarantee that something unfortunate won't happen to him?

I turned around, picked up a knife off the table, and slid my hand underneath the tablecloth so that it was pressing up against Travis' tax exemption.

ME: You stay away from Jeremy.
TRAVIS: Then sit back down and enjoy your meal.
ME: Nobody blackmails me, Travis.
TRAVIS: Blackmail is for poor people. Manipulation is more my style. Now if you don't sit down in the next three seconds, I'll hit a button and Jeremy's going to have a nasty run-in with one of my rich bitch acquaintances.

I sat down. Travis laughed.

TRAVIS: Face it, baby. You've met your match.

For the first time, I feel completely out of control.