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“Because you promised to cook me dinner last night,” she explains, her eyes twinkling.
“Ah, so want you me to cook for you?” I rub my jaw and consider her request. “Okay, fine. My place at seven.”
“Good,” she says with a content nod. She steps forward and kisses me, then rushes out of my office. “By the way,” she says, poking her head back in. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about my internship.”
I sink back in my chair and smirk. I hadn’t forgotten about our arrangement, but I’m not sure if I like or if I hate the idea of not having her around me as much.
I met with the board of Benson Industries yesterday and I have to say, Alana really had an eye when it came to choosing them as her pick. I know she’s got a boner for analytics, and while I’m sure that played a big part in her reaching the conclusion that she did, I think she’d be wasted in that department. I’m thinking bigger things for her, but it’s something I can’t do overnight.
I just need to put the idea of this internship off for a little while longer.
#
Right on seven, she knocks on my door.
I whistle as I walk over to answer it, hoping I look cool calm and collected, which is the complete opposite to the kind of evening I’m having in the kitchen. It started off with the potatoes, which I set fire to when I forgot the water in the pot. I found it kind of amusing. Unfortunately the fire department who turned up after the smoke alarm and sprinkler system went off in the hallway of the building, didn't share my view. Then I realized I’d forgotten the main ingredient in the dressing for my salmon. Why is it everything has to go wrong the one time I boast about my skills in the kitchen? I guess it's better than it happening in the bedroom, because that would be a real disaster.
I open the door Alana stands there, holding up the lemon that I texted her to get for me.
“This is a first,” she says with a smile. “I've never been asked to bring my own lemon on a date before.”
“Because it never been on a real date with a man before,” I tease her. “I bet your wondering where I want to put that,” I add.
She laughs and then sniffs the air.
“Is something burning?” she asks, glancing around.
“Just my dignity.”
She looks at me curiously and walks inside, my gaze following her. She looks stunning as always, in a short black shirt and dusky pink lace top. I shut the door and walk back over to the kitchen.
She leans against the counter and watches me as I prep the salmon.
“Let’s see how much I can fuck this up,” I joke.
“You’re not buckling under the pressure, are you?” she teases. She glances at the salmon and frowns. “I’m expecting something exceptional. You did build yourself up quite a bit,” she reminds me. I laugh and wipe my forehead. She’s right. I am feeling the pressure because I want tonight to go well.
“And here I was thinking that you were the master at keeping calm.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“So…would now be a good time to tell you I don't like salmon?” she asks. My head snaps up and I look at her in horror. She holds her hands up to her face. “I’m sorry, I was going to try and tough it out, but even the smell of it is making me want to hurl.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a groan.
I scoop up the fish and put it into a bag and back into the fridge and then wash my hands. I’m sure I’ll see the funny side of this in about a decade. She walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and kisses me.
“I feel like I ruined your dinner for a second time,” she says. She frowns, but her eyes are sparkling. I kiss her on the nose and chuckle.
“No, I managed that all on my own,” I respond dryly. “Okay, so now what?” I grumble.
I fucked up on the potatoes and she doesn’t like salmon. Dinner isn’t looking all that great. She glances at the bowl of beans soaking on the counter. Her eyes meet mine and we both laugh.
“I love beans,” she says brightly.After we finish yet another pizza—with a side serving of beans, I lean back in my chair, glad that part of the evening is over. All tonight has achieved so far is to give me a complex over cooking for her.
“Who would’ve thought pizza and beans could be a thing?” she teases. I frown, pretty sure she’s making fun of me. “But seriously, thank you for going to so much trouble. And at least you can still redeem yourself and impress me with dessert,” she offers, her eyes twinkling.
