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“You didn’t wear glasses in high school,” he says, looking thoughtful.
I just give him a small smile. “I didn’t need them.”
“They look great on you,” he says honestly.
I blush harder, averting my eyes from his to murmur a low thank you.
“I have a project that I’ve been working on,” he says, relaxing his forearm on the table and leaning in so that for a split second, I think he wants to kiss me, which does not happen, by the way. “And like we discussed; I want you to be a part of it.”
“You’re blackmailing me into joining your team, Mitch,” I say with an eye roll.
Mitch looks very serious, there’s no smile on his face. He watches me for some time and then says, “I would never tell your brother about your sexual, uh... habits. We are grown adults who have needs, a healthy sex drive and hot fantasies.” He smirks when I blush, looking like he is laughing at my expense. “And if I star in yours—"
“Can we not talk about this?” I say, turning away to hide my burning cheeks.
“You are adorable when you blush,” he says with a laugh, and then his face suddenly turns serious again. “This project means a lot to me and I'd appreciate it if I worked with someone willing and not one who feels coerced into doing so.”
He looks serious now, there's no trace of that teasing smile. And as I gaze back at him, I realize that I do want to work for him. It might be because I am attracted to him or because I am passionate about what I do, but I find myself nodding.
“I want to do this,” I tell him in a firm voice, and just like that, the smile returns and he calls the waitress over.
The waitress is a very busty blonde whose breast causes my eyes to widen, stretching her white shirt until the buttons look like they're at risk of popping.
“Have you both had time to go through the menu?” she questions.
Mitch nods.
When had we?
“What will you both like today?” the waitress asks politely, pad and paper in hand. I look away from her breasts which look to be hiding half her face from my vantage point. Mitch, who doesn't look an ounce bothered by the waitress's look, answers.
“Endives with shrimp salad, please.”
We hadn't even had time to go through the menu!
“And you?” She is now glancing at me. Her eyes are a very light blue, and I wonder for a moment if she's the type Mitch would go for. Would she be the type he happily gets off to?
“She would like to have what I'm having,” Mitch says to the waitress, who is waiting for my response. Even though I'd zoned out a little and failed to answer on time, I glare hard at Mitch.
“You don't get to order for me.”
“Why not? You seem to have lost your tongue for a while.”
“I didn't lose anything,” I defend. “I was mentally going through the options.” I lie through my teeth. The waitress buys it, Mitch, on the other hand, does not.
“It takes you two days to decide on what to have?”
“There's no way I'm having some stupid salad.”
“But I'm paying.”
“Is that why you're trying to coerce me again?” I ask, leveling him with a stare.
“Don't act like you don't like it.”
I huff and turn to the waitress, who looks like we'd thoroughly entertained her.
“Cranberry, blue cheese balls for me, please,” I tell her. Even though Mitch's order sounds mouth-watering, there's no way I'm going to have what he's having, just to spite him.
