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I glance over from my spot in front of the mirror. I have an earring in hand, the other already fastened on my left lobe. “I wouldn’t really know,” I say, “since I don’t have guests over a lot. Maybe he was just shy the last time you came over?”
Isaac runs a large hand over Milo’s back. I hear him murmur words, his voice deep and soft, but they’re too quiet for me to make out. Meant for Milo’s soft ears and no one else’s.
I watch them for longer than I need to. That cat might not know it, obsessed as he is with long naps on the couch and watching birds from the windowsill, but he had saved my life the past year.
“All right,” I finally say. “I’m ready.”
Isaac straightens and receives a disgruntled meow from Milo in return, who dramatically flops down by his feet. “You look stunning,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. I feel nervous around him again. The formality of this date, the restaurant reservation… we’re not going as pretend dates. This isn’t an act, or a twisted sort of revenge, or a facade.
This is just us.
One final time, before we potentially go into business together. One final time before tomorrow’s pitch.
Isaac has a car waiting for us at the door of my building. It takes us uptown, back into familiar territory. Past the marble pristineness of the Winter Hotel and onto streets I recognize well.
He’s reserved a table for us at Salt.
I’ve been there fairly often. It has expensive food, a Michelin-star chef, but it’s approachable enough for lunch or a date. I’ve been with friends, and once with my family when they were in town. And I’ve been there with Percy.
Often.
The car pulls to a stop outside. “Is this okay?” he asks. Maybe he’s noted my silence.
“Yes, yes, absolutely.”
“They have a great white wine selection for you,” he murmurs. “Several Chardonnay options.”
Salt is packed. It always is, even though this is a weekday evening. The nerves in my stomach increase to a fever pitch as we follow a waitress past fully seated tables. I’m pitching tomorrow. It’s the biggest day of my career so far, and then, it’ll mean an end to this. To him and I.
Isaac lets me pore over the white wine list in silence without as much as a sigh, so unlike Percy, and then we order our drinks.
He knots his hands on the table. “Sophia,” he says. “What are you thinking about?”
I sigh. “Sorry. I’m thinking about tomorrow.”
“Ah. The pitch.”
“Yes. Jenna, Toby and I ran through it today, but I’ll be honest, I’m still a bit nervous for it.”
He runs a hand along his jaw. “Because your client is such an asshole.”
“Yes, exactly. He also happens to be really good friends with my boss’s boss.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say they’regoodfriends,” Isaac says. “I mean, not as far as I’ve heard.”
I chuckle. “That’s a relief.”
“Still, though, I know you’ve worked incredibly hard on this pitch. Regardless of what my team or I will think about your suggestions for the hotel franchise, nothing can take that away from you.”
“No, that’s true. But it can make it all a waste of time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “A waste of time?”
“Well, notallof it, but you know what I mean.”
“I do,” he says. Then he frowns, those dark eyes intense on mine. “Is it because you know I’ll be honest?”
