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Yup. I’m looking at the dream man.
My brain freezes for a second, like it can’t do anything while it processes this revelation.
“All right,” Elliot says, jolting me back to reality. “Now that ordeal’s over, are you hungry?”
I rest my hand on my belly as it gurgles right on cue. There’s definitely something going on in there. “I think so.”
“Would you like… well…” He looks down at his fidgeting fingers. “Can I take you to dinner? I mean, as a thank you for the lesson?”
8
CHARLOTTE
Ishould say no. I should go home and have that bubble bath. But it turns out that Elliot is harder to say goodbye to than I expected. This is the longest I’ve ever spent with him, yet something deep inside me, so deep I don’t know where it’s coming from, reaches out and pokes me in the brain to say it hasn’t been quite long enough yet.
And I do need to make sure he pulls off this presentation. My chance of a promotion depends on this whole thing. Well, it depends on the launch happening on time. But getting Elliot to kick it off by doing an outstanding job at something he thinks he’s terrible at could only do me more favors.
“I guess I am hungry.” It comes out like more of a question, as if I’m unsure whether jumping off a cliff is a good idea.
“Great.” He leaps to his feet and pulls his phone from his pocket. “I know the owner of Hector House. He might be able to get us in.”
“Hector House? Wow.” The cool, swanky place, frequented by discreet A-list stars and highfliers, is notorious for being hard to book.
Elliot looks up from his phone. “Would that be okay?” He obviously detected the hesitant surprise in my voice. He’s always so good at picking up on feelings. Well, he is with mine, so I assume it’s a general skill he has with everyone.
“I’m sure it would be amazing, but…” I focus on running my finger along the edge of his desk. “Well… honestly…” It’s hard not to sound ungrateful. “I’d be happier with just a pizza.”
His eyes light up. “Seriously? Because I’d prefer that too. I just thought maybe we should go somewhere special.” He looks back at his phone and pushes his fingers through his hair. “Because you’ve been so helpful, I mean. And worked so hard pulling everything together this week.” His thumb scrolls while his other hand rubs the back of his neck. “How about Basil’s?”
Basil’s is the fanciest pizza place in the city. Crisp white linens, actual fabric napkins, the works. Are these Elliot’s go-to places? Does he only ever eat at the best of the best? Just the thought of stepping foot into those restaurants makes my toes curl with discomfort.
I disconnect my laptop from his widescreen monitor and slide it into my bag. “Do we actually have to go somewhere?”
A bright smile spreads across his face, his white teeth sparkling between those lips which, I see now, are not just the perfect juicy shade of raspberry, but the perfect shape. The lower one curved and pillowy, the upper one with a neat cupid’s bow.
“So you’d rather I ordered a delivery for here?” he asks. “Instead of going out to a nice restaurant?”
“I would. I really would.” My stomach makes a rumbly growl at the thought of food. Maybe I’m hungrier than I thought.
“Fantastic. Me too.” He scrolls on his phone. “Poetic Pizza is great. And it’s just around the corner. You okay if I order from there?”
“Absolutely. And I’m not picky with toppings, so get whatever your favorite is.”
He makes a few taps on his phone and looks up with delight. “It’ll only be a few minutes. They’re usually quick.”
How generous that his first suggestion was to take me to a lovely restaurant, when it was obviously the last thing he wanted. And what a coincidence we’d both actually prefer takeout in the peace and quiet of the office.
Elliot walks around behind his desk and opens a high cabinet behind it—the one next to the shelf that holds the framed photo of him with Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd. I think he told me he was fourteen when that was taken. He’s certainly all limbs and teeth and gawky teenager, with glasses that are too big for his face and a grin that reaches from one ear to the other.
“While we wait, would you like a glass of wine? I have so many bottles I’ve been given as corporate Christmas gifts over the years.”
Wine? We’re going to have wine too? This is almost like an office date. With a perfect man with perfect lips.
Except it can’t be a date. Because he’s my boss’s brother. Which means he couldn’t be more of a no-go area if he were wrapped in barbed wire, booby-trapped, and placed in the middle of a minefield surrounded by armored tanks, with a sign around his neck that says “Don’t Even Fucking Think About It.”
But there’s absolutely no harm in enjoying his company just like I always have. And the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to take my advice and pull off a great presentation.
The cabinet is packed with bottles.
