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“Everything is jumping out at me,” she answered honestly, her mouth watering at the fried cornmeal catfish with sweet potato beignets.
“The catfish is really good,” he whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. Just like when he had called at the exact right time earlier, she felt completely read by him, like a worn map he’d pulled from his glovebox, something familiar to him, a well-traveled path.It’s just catfish,she told herself, even as his subtle aftershave wafted her way. When he pulled back, a strand of hair brushed his cheek until he was upright in his own space again. She closed her menu.
“The catfish then.”
“Excellent.”
Like magic, a waiter appeared, his hands behind his back and his face solemn, as if taking their order was the highest honor, something akin to holding the robes of a magistrate. After they’d ordered and handed off their menus, they both looked at each other silently, waiting for the other to speak. It became apparent that he could hold off longer than she could, his index finger stroking the mouth of his glass as he watched her easily. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed to her that he was watching her lips. Unconsciously, she licked them, and when she caught his eyes flit up to hers, she was sure.
“Listen, what you offered me, it does sound very attractive. I’ve just never heard of an internship that pays to put someone through college. So, I’m wondering if it’s a normal offer.”
“What do you mean by normal?”
“Well, I guess I’m asking if . . . is it favoritism? Or nepotism?”
“It can’t be nepotism,” he laughed a little, that finger still trailing the lip of his glass like braille.
“But why me?”
“Why you? You just graduated from Vanderbilt with honors. Jobs are about to poach you, Lainey, and I want you first.”
She shivered a little at “I want you.” “Hm.”
“I think I hear you asking if this offer is an industry standard. I also hear you asking if I would extend this to someone whose father I didn’t know personally. It is not, and I would not, but it is standard practice to put an employee through school, and I don’t have many opportunities to meet people like you, people fresh out of school and hungry to do something revolutionary. I’m just getting a leg up on my competition. My hope is that when you’re done with school, you’ll like the job so much you won’t want to leave, and you’ll apply your education to my work. I could always use more eyes, more brilliant minds.”
“You mean you’re offering me Stockholm syndrome in four years,” she joked. He chuckled, and she felt pleased that she had made him laugh. She thought again of the little girl that lived in her ribcage. She’d always thought that little girl only stopped crying when people were proud of her but making Mr. Arnault laugh seemed to have perked her up as well.
“That’s exactly what I’m offering. What do you say?”
“I say yes. That sounds wonderful.”
Mr. Arnault reached for her hand, and Lainey took it, her eyes trained on their hands clasped together as they shook on the agreement. It felt similar to the moment she’d been handed her degree. She just hoped it wasn’t similar to the moment afterward when she’d back down in her chair, opened it, and realized it was an empty prop, just a book where the degree would go later. Her answer had been so sure. It was so unlike her to not need to write the pros and cons down. It was an attractive offer, and she could feel it. What she was feeling between her legs was irrelevant.
“Would you like to come by on Monday at seven a.m.? I can text you the address.”
“I could do that. Thank you, Mr. Arnault, for your generosity.”
“I told you, Lainey. I’m not being generous. I’m being sensible. You’re an attractive prospect, and four years is nothing in the long game.
“Well, then, you’re welcome, Mr. Arnault.”
He chuckled again at her brazen response, a quip that Lainey wouldn’t believe she’d come up with if she hadn’t said it herself. It was actually more like she’d heard herself say it, as though someone had pulled the words out of her throat by a string. He opened his mouth to respond as their waiter returned and set their plates down in front of them, Lainey’s first.
“Ah, just in time.” Mr. Arnault rubbed his hands together, raising his eyebrows at her.
“It looks amazing,” Lainey breathed, completely in awe of the crust on the catfish and the crisp of the beignet offset by the powdered sugar.
“As amazing as you look?” he asked, and her head snapped up. His lips were parted just slightly, and he was gazing at her with an intensity that could only be described as hunger. When she didn’t respond, he prodded, “Good enough to eat?” At her silence, he cocked his head at her and continued to look so far into her eyes she was certain he could see her soul. If he could, he would know that it had just ignited at his words, that she was aflame inside.
“Thank you,” was the lame response she could muster, and the corners of his lips curled up when he heard it. He glanced down at his plate, holding his laughter back. “Is this funny to you?” she asked in confused annoyance, her tone a little too biting.
“Not at all, Lainey.” He reached forward and ran the lock of hair she’d left loose between two fingers, almost as if he were measuring it. “Is it funny to you?” His hand dropped to her neck, cupping it, his broad thumb adding pressure to the muscle above her clavicle.
“No.” She sighed at his touch.
“Go ahead. Try it,” he told her, nodding at her plate. He let go of her throat in favor of his drink. In all the years she’d known Mr. Arnault, he never gulped, and he didn’t gulp now. He sipped his scotch, slowly savoring it, closing his eyes as he swallowed and smiling up at whatever it was that had graced him the opportunity to taste. She imagined him doing the same to her, relishing her skin inch by inch, his tongue never wandering but carefully voyaging across her body. “Is it good?”
“It is.”
