“Stubbornness and a Bakery Bliss latte,” I shot back, trying to maintain my composure.
“Impressive combo,” he said. “Dangerous, though. Lucky for you, I ordered dinner. Wrap up here. You can finish the rest tomorrow.”
I blinked again, confused.Dinner? Was this a meeting?
“Oh, no. It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I’ve still got—”
“I wasn’t asking, Elise.”
The way he said it wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t commanding. But it didn’t give me a choice either. I just sat there, stunned, watching him walk back toward his office. Was I being bribed? Was he trying to guilt-trip me into staying?
I stared at the spot he’d disappeared into for a long moment before I finally straightened in my seat, the room quiet aside from my manicured nails working on the keyboard and mouse as I saved my work before I powered down my desktop. I grabbed my purse, cellphone, and made my way to his office, unease curling tight in my stomach.
I knocked once.
Waited.
Five seconds later the door opened and I was standing face to face with Nathan. He had removed his jacket and tie since I last saw him, but was otherwise still dressed in the same crisp white shirt and dark tailored-made slacks from this morning.
“Hi.”
Nathan’s lips curved upward in the faintest of smiles. “Hi. Come on in.” He stepped back and gave me room to enter.
My eyes scanned his office, half expecting to see Ashton Kutcher and his camera crew. It was the only explanation I could think of as to why Nathan seemed adamant about me having dinner with him when he’s gone out of his way to spend as little time with me as possible these last few years. Instead, his office looked the same as it always did, which was meticulously organized and impossibly sleek.
Floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk showcased the city skyline, the lights shimmering like tiny diamonds against the night sky. On the far wall, there were framed photographs of Nathan with music legends and iconic artists, silent reminders of his influence and success. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mingling with a subtle trace of Nathan’s cologne which was crisp and expensive. The space was professional, commanding, and undeniably Nathan.
A sleek glass desk sat near the center, its surface free of clutter except for a single laptop and two In-N-Out Burgers containers.
I walked over to the desk and began to split up the food between the two of us, making sure to prepare Nathan’s first like I always did whenever we ate together. Suddenly, Nathan’s voice caused me to halt.
“Stop.”
My hand paused in the act of setting the plastic utensils on the paper napkin. “Mr. Edge?”
“I said stop. I didn’t invite you here to serve me. This isn’t work. It’s us.” He hesitated on that word like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it. “So, for once, just sit. Have dinner with me.”
Us? What even was that?
The word hit me harder than it should have, catching somewhere in my chest and throwing everything slightly off balance. I didn’t know what to do with it.
Still, I moved to the opposite chair and sat slowly.
“Thanks,” I said as I took a fry. “I didn’t realize I missed lunch.”
“You and me both.” Nathan replied, and it just dawned on me that he hadn’t stopped by my desk today and asked me to go get his lunch.
Ireached for a napkin at the same time Nathan did, our fingers brushing over the soft linen. The touch was barely anything, but it sent a spark up my arm, quick and unexpected.
Neither of us moved. His hand, larger and warmer than I expected, hovered over mine for half a second too long, his fingertips barely touching my skin. In the dim glow of his office lamp, I could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his blue eyes flicked up to mine, just for a moment.
A slow, steady tension coiled between us, quiet but impossible to ignore. Up close, I noticed the faint stubble along his jaw, the way a single strand of his perfectly styled hair had fallen out of place.
I should say something. Move. Doanythingother than just sit there, staring at him like an idiot.
Thankfully, he was the one to shift first, pulling back just enough to give me the napkin, but not before murmuring, “Goahead.” His voice was low, like he knew exactly what that small moment had done to me.
This wasn’t normal. This wasn’thim.
