I don’t dare. With the way a pulse is ticking in his temple, it’s clear he’s not above making a scene.
The waiter recovers more quickly than I do. “And for you, Mr. Blackwell? The usual?”
He nods.
Without taking any notes, the man double checks to see if we need anything else.
“We’re good, Lewis. Thank you.”
Moments later, we’re alone and adrenaline is crashing through me. “That was out of line.”
“So was ordering the least expensive items on the menu,” he counters instantly.
That offended him? “I like Caesar salad.”
“So have one for lunch tomorrow.”
I sigh. “We also have all this bread and an appetizer.”
“You’re not starving yourself on my dime.” He levels his gaze on me. Hard. “You’ve done enough of that.”
Heat burns up my neck. He means it as a dig. The maid’s uniform, the cheap shoes, my car, the way I’m living.
I pick up my iced tea glass. “And why do you suddenly care?”
For a moment—just a moment—I see a crack in his armor. Maybe a flash of guilt. It makes him almost human.
“What I did to you was reprehensible.” His voice is low enough that I feel it in my chest. “I didn’t mean to break you, Seraphina.”
A laugh bubbles up. “You didn’t.” What a lie. I feel the shards of that day every time I stand too close to him, every time he looks at me like he’s already stripped me bare.
My throat tightens, so I deflect. I’m good at it—old habits from the boardroom, from watching men like him lie with silk smiles and hidden knives.
“So. The Lockhart projections…” My voice is steady even though my pulse isn’t. “Of course, I’ve only skimmed them, but something doesn’t quite add up.”
He goes still. His eyes sharpen, and darkness flickers through them. Maybe respect? Or maybe I’m just wishing.
“I can’t find anything that’s off. I’ll need days to dive deeper.”
“Trust your instincts.”
Pride blooms in my chest anyway. “Thanks. I’ll figure out what’s bothering me.”
His mouth curves, a slow, dark movement that sends prickles up my spine prickle. “Good girl.”
The words hit me like a slap. Or a kiss. I can’t tell the difference anymore. “That’s inappropriate, Mr. Blackwell. The employee manual would consider that a boundary violation.”
“You’ve been reading.”
“Page twelve, if I remember correctly.” Which I do. “As you recall, you made me visit the HR department.” But the truth is, my body can’t keep my secrets. I like the way he said, “Good girl.” Shame scorches me as I squeeze my thighs tight against my forbidden desire.
I’m saved by the arrival of our meals.
My steak is seared to perfection. And he watches every bite I take, as if he’s imagining feeding me from his hand.
Where do these terrible, unwelcome thoughts come from?
After I have my leftovers wrapped to take home, he orders the dessert trio. I promise myself I won’t touch any of them, but the decadent opera cake proves irresistible.
