Page 44 of Lying to the Boss

“Coming down with something?” he asks, his brow pinched into confusion.

“Yes. You know… are you ill?”

He frowns. “I feel fine.”

In that case…

“Good. Because I’m taking you to dinner.”

May as well shoot my shot while I can.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

He sighs, smirking. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

I get up and walk over to him. “I beg to differ. You love when I tell you what to do.”

His smirk turns into a bashful smile. “You’d get a better answer if you asked nicely.”

I pause a moment, thinking over what he’s said.

“Fine,” I say, leaning against the table to seem more relaxed. Casual. “Tage, will you come to dinner with me?”

He looks up at me, his honey brown eyes sparkling. “Yes, Lane. I will go to dinner with you.”

Then he turns and leaves me speechless. Was it really so simple? Now I’m even more curious about what he wants.

I think hard on where I’m going to take Tage to dinner. Of course, there is a list of places in my head that we could go. Places I bring clients to impress them and give us a safe space to chat about business where we won’t be interrupted by rude waiters or screaming children.

But that doesn’t go far with Tage. In fact, it usually sets me back. So something low key, not expensive but casual. I think over the area in my head, going through all the places nearby, but nothing stands out. I turn to my phone and look for places outside of the city. Close enough that the drive won’t be inconvenient, but far enough away that it feels different.

A few pop up, but the thumbnails of a place called Driftwood catch my attention. The name throws me a little, but it’s just a name. The photos give off the exact vibes I’m looking for. Calm. Moody. Casual.

There is an outdoor patio with string lights twisted around poles, and a few pictures of a beach that’s a block away. It feels exactly right, so I call to make a reservation. Only they don’t take them. I laugh to myself as I end the call.

This is exactly the kind of place he’s going to love.

When the day is done, we walk to the garage together. He puts his things into the back seat, and I open the door for him so he can get in.

“Thank you,” he says with a grateful smile.

There is no eye roll or smart remark.

I get into the driver’s side, start the car, and put the address into the GPS. Tage doesn’t watch what I’m doing, and instead his gaze is out the window as I leave the garage. From the corner of my eye, I watch his reaction. There are a few moments when he seems confused. Clearly, he expected me to bring him deep into the city. Only I know him better than he thinks I do.

Soon we’re in Evanston and finding the restaurant is easy.

I pull into a parking spot and shut the car off.

“Is this a joke?” he asks.

“Why would it be a joke?”

He glances back at the restaurant. “This isn’t the type of place you go out to eat.”

That hurts my feelings just a bit. Not enough to mention, but enough to feel. Especially because I am not the one who gave this impression to him, and I thought we were past this. I thought he’d accepted that I wasn’t some cookie-cutter CEO.