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Speak of the devil.
He’s pushed his chair back several tables away. He strides over so he’s standing over me, casting his long shadow like a sword.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“Oh my God. Is that some line they teach pretty boys at prep school?” I bite off, wincing at how my body tightens with the soreness lingering from the massage.
I said that out loud. To my boss.
Stupid.
Heron’s perfectly chiseled face is pure arrogance. It’s punchable, hatefully gorgeous, and yes, still intimidating all at the same time.
“Someone’s in a mood today,” he observes with a smirk. “I thought the massage would make you a little less bloodthirsty.”
Whatever. Sleep deprivation does awful things to me, but he’s hardly Mr. Congeniality.
I shrug. “I didn’t spit any coffee today. So you’re welcome.”
A corner of his mouth twists up. He’s trying to stifle his amusement but it’s far too obvious. “I guess I should be grateful for small miracles.”
“Ah, I see you’ve moved.” The hostess looks from me to Magnus to the table he sits at. “Do you want to set up here?”
“No,” I snap.
“Yes,” he answers.
Both simultaneously. And his voice is deeper, carrying over mine like thunder.
“Actually, we’ll both be moving to my table,” he adds.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Fine,” I backpedal. “I guess.”
I heave a sigh and start sliding out of the booth. She holds the black leather book she carries in front of her face, blocking herself from Heron’s view.
“If you don’t want to sit with him, it’s all right, I’ve got your back,” she whispers, snickering under her breath. “But he’s handsome and rich. I say go for it. Just don’t give him your room number!”
My jaw drops. “He’s Magnus Heron! The Magnus—”
“Oh, shit.” Her face goes completely white. “I’m so—”
“No, it’s fine.” I say limply. “I’ll sit with him.”
The terrified hostess isn’t wrong. He’s a blue-eyed beast designed to electrify lady bits, and the fact that she thinks so reminds me it’s not just in my head. Unfortunately.
So I try not to dwell on his smug, stupid, dangerously sexy face while she collects our stuff to get us situated.
She pulls the chair out on the other side of Mag’s table and sets the leather book down in front of me. “Here’s your menu.” She walks away.
“Wow,” I say, hefting its weight as soon as I sit down. “Feels like a history book.”
“It’s hardly as thick as it seems, just a few pages tucked inside. They do it for show.” Heron chuckles, burning me alive with that lightning in his eyes. “You must have eclectic taste for an English major. Wasn’t that the other degree listed next to fine arts on your resume?”
I scan the menu. “Huh?”
“I mean, to enjoy The Fireman’s Pregnant Tinkerbell.”
I’m busy reading the entrees—and frowning because there are no sandwiches, probably no fries, ugh—so it takes a second for his words to click.
Fireman’s Pregnant Tinkerbell? He must’ve seen my Amazon search.
Oh, great.
I decide to play it cool. After all, my personal shopping has zilch to do with him.
“Why would it have to be eclectic? There’s a literary reference right in the name. Sounds very English major-y to me,” I say.
“English major-y? Is that a word?” He holds his water up, taking a long, sardonic pull off the glass.
God. If only I could clock him in the nose right here.
“It is now,” I say without looking up.
“Interesting. I must’ve missed the part in Barrie’s work where Tinkerbell even met the fireman.” The bastard winks.
Winks.
My face heats at his words and I abhor how good he is at getting me all riled in more ways than one.
Yeah, no, I decide.
He’s not getting the satisfaction.
I scoff—I have to do something with the fire in my veins—and set the menu down so I can meet his eyes. “I’d love to meet a fireman. If I ever have an evening off in time for dinner, I’ll cruise Tinder or Match for one.”
“You’re serious? Firemen are your type?” His face becomes more serious and slightly angrier than it was like two seconds ago.
Oh, God. Thanks, Mom, for putting me in this predicament. You couldn’t just write a book with a more mysterious title?
I take a deep breath and look him square in the eye.
“Why does that shock you, Mr. Heron? Are you fireman-phobic? They’re heroic, hardworking, protective, and risk their butts all day to save lives,” I say, registering his grump-face growly mood with some satisfaction. I can’t resist adding a dollop of icing to the cake. “Plus, they’ve got big hoses. I know those are things preppy business guys probably wouldn’t know about, right?”
His face is, for once, completely blank.
I’ve caught him off guard.
Ha. I like being the one on top, so I continue while I’m on a roll.
“Especially the big hose part. I mean, you wouldn’t even know what to do with equipment like that. It’s not your fault. There’s no need for a long, thick hose in boardrooms.” I smirk at him and flip through my textbook of a menu again.
