I ran my fingers over the corner of my mouth and pulled them away to look at whatever had caught his attention. A blue substance stained them. It took me a few seconds to realize it was pen ink.
“I was chewing on my pen,” I explained.
He looked at me with his usual disapproving look. And then he spoke again. His words came out in a staccato fashion, and they had a way of slicing through me like fine paper cuts.
“Probably not a good idea,” he said.
“Probably not,” I repeated softly. I’m sure he didn’t want his assistant walking around with a blue mouth. How embarrassing that would be!
“You should wash it off. You might have gotten some in your mouth. It could be toxic.” He looked at me.
Wait, what the hell was that?Was there something resembling concern flashing in his eyes?
“Uh . . . sure. I’ll go wash it off,” I said, feeling very taken aback by this sudden and strange concern for my well-being.
“Good.” He continued to look at me.
I sat there waiting for him to speak again. But his stare seemed to go on forever, and I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. He finally broke the silence.
“I need you to make me a reservation at Cappello’s tonight. In Camps Bay,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
“For how many?” I asked.
“Just two.”
“Really, two?” I enquired and wanted to slap myself the moment the question was out of my mouth. Him and hairpin, no doubt.
“Yes. Two,” he repeated.
“Okay. That’s fine. I was just making sure of that.” I smiled at him, trying to hide the fact that all I could think about now was him and some mystery woman having a romantic dinner.
He looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to talk this time. But I didn’t. I widened my smile.
His face scrunched up. “You smile far too much, Miss Granger,” he said.
“What?” I blurted out.
“It seems that whenever you don’t know what to say, you smile,” he said.
That wasn’t entirely true. Doris was the big smiler, not Poppy. In fact, if Poppy were sitting here right now, she might want to tip that poor dyingChlorophytum comosumonto his desk. I wiped the smile off my face.
“For what time?” I asked, as professionally as possible.
“Six.”
I nodded and then looked at the clock on the wall behind him. “But that’s in an hour.”
“Yes. Be ready to go soon.” He looked back down at his computer. “Please type up those notes from the meeting today and send them through to everyone.”
“Sure.” I exited.
I sat back down at my desk and looked at him. He was leaving early today, for his special date at Cappello’s that I had to book. I went online and searched for the contact details of the restaurant. I looked at the photos of the place. It seemed very romantic. Beachfront views, and tall cocktails. I dialed the number and didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“Mr. Stark, how are you?” The voice on the other end of the phone spoke.
“Uh . . . no, it’s his assistant,” I corrected, caught off guard that they’d recognized the number.
“Would you like your usual table?” the voice asked.
