Style

There are some things that nobody needs in this world, and a homely preacher’s daughter is definitely not one of them. That’s how Jack had it figured anyhow… And that’s how he ended up in the middle of the desert with her. He simply asked her if she wanted a ride in his old Jalopy in the same manner he would walk into a restaurant and ask for a reservation, and with no more idea of being turned down. Confidence worked for Jack. It always had.

The small talk and softly handed connotations were just semantics at this point. Jack knew her liberal amount of conservative textiles would soon be wrinkled about the back seat of his Ford. The sport had gotten so elementary for him that he had almost lost interest, but it was all Jack knew… and it was all that he could do.

He did often wonder sometimes… while sipping a brandy after his typical king’s meal… if his success was due purely to wealth. He hoped not. He really did. Maybe the confidence came from the bank, but Jack wanted to believe that ultimately it was his style that closed the deals.

Regardless, who is anyone to judge?