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The waitress returned to set the wine glass next to me. I watched her fill the glass and then took an unnecessarily large gulp as she poured him more wine. He held my gaze. I was fascinated by him—and my strong feelings toward him.
“I apologize for all the secrecy, but it was necessary.” He reached inside his suit jacket that looked like it cost more than my car and pulled out several papers and a pen. He set them down and slid the pile toward me face up.
Oh right. The non-disclosure agreement.
In the email, he outlined the expectation for me to sign it “upon arrival.” I pulled it toward me and signed it. The penalty for violating the agreement was a whopping three million dollars. No article writing for me, then. I slid the papers back toward him and he folded them back into his jacket, looking relieved.
He looked at me shrewdly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Have you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve interviewed several candidates, but I found none of them suitable.”
Candidates. What a strange word. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”
The mysterious smile reappeared. “I don’t want to get into that today. I want to get to know you.”
My face grew hot, made worse with the wine. I knew he could see how uncomfortable I was. He was gorgeous and I was a nobody. I didn’t get it. “What I don’t understand is why you think you need a paid arrangement.”
No, stupid! Don’t say that. Just shut up and take his money!
He took another sip of wine and I heard the liquid hiss through his teeth. Then he looked at me. “I know what I want, and I have very little time. This is just the easiest way for me.”
A small shiver went through my body. Why would he want me? But he did all the same and it was overwhelming.
“So, tell me about yourself, Jessica.”
Now I felt like I was in an interview. “Well, I graduated last year with a Bachelor’s in English and I want an writing position at a magazine somewhere. I’m really not picky, but it’s been tough finding writing gigs. All I could find were unpaid internships. I signed up for this because I need an income to pay for my expenses. I think that I’m a pretty honest, reliable person. If you want, I could leave references. To be honest, I need the money.”
It was embarrassing to admit it.
The room filled with the smell of freshly baked pizza. I snapped my head around and saw the rather perfect sight of the waitress bearing a steaming pizza. She set it down over a metal stand in the middle of the table. It was a cheerful, vivid red with burnt edges, no doubt cooked in a wood-burning oven. Little specks of green dotted the sauce, and I smelled the basil from the rising, swirling steam. I reacted in a way that could only be described as Pavlovian.
“The pizza here is the best in the Bay Area. It’s almost like eating pizza in Rome.”
I didn’t care where it was from as long as I got to eat it. “I can’t wait to try it.”
He smiled politely as he cut a slice for me and slid the plate in front of me. Perhaps he was used to girls who only ordered salads when they went out.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Flustered, I glanced at his face and saw he was serious. “No, ‘course not. I’ve never—” My voice cut off. Fuck, I almost told him that I’d never had one. “I’ve never had much time for boyfriends.” My hand trembled as I took another sip of wine.
I watched him eat the pizza with a knife and fork, feeling barbaric as I picked up my slice with my hands. “Do you live in the city?”
He gave me an uncertain nod. “I have a house, but I’m rarely home.”
He probably had places all over the world. I bit into the pizza and moaned as the acidic taste of the tomatoes exploded over the perfect crust, blackened from the wood fire oven.
“Oh my God!” I moaned through my mouthful of pizza. “This is—this is incredible!”
Luke seemed to choke on his pizza as he looked at me and laughed. It differed from all of his polite, almost mechanical smiles. The corners of his eyes creased, and he covered his mouth with his hand.
Was he mocking me? No, there was kindness in his eyes—not cruelty. I returned his smile and laughed in spite of myself.
“I’m kind of crazy about food. Every week, I volunteer at a soup kitchen and I organize the recipes.” Perhaps the wine made me so talkative, but I was flattered by Luke’s interest and the way he leaned in so he could hear me talk. I kept forgetting that this was an interview.
“Every week? What for?”
