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"Which is that you’re scared and hurting and striking out at everyone in sight?"
We stare at each other. To my surprise, he doesn’t protest. He simply looks at me with a steady gaze. "You came here to ask me questions, didn’t you?"
"The list of questions are in my bag." I begin to rise from my seat, but he shakes his head.
"Sit down."
My butt hits the chair.
"Ask me your questions from memory."
"But I don’t remember all of them."
"You’re wasting time. Also"—he jerks his chin toward my plate—"you’re not eating."
I pick up the burger and take a huge mouthful. The juiciness of the patty, the chewiness of the bread, the tanginess of the tomatoes, the fresh creamy taste of the coleslaw—all of the different flavors and textures fill my mouth. I close my eyes and moan around the mouthful of food, then take my time chewing it and swallowing it down. "It’s so good." I open my eyes to find he’s staring at my mouth, his jaw clenched. There’s an almost angry look in his eyes.
"Sorry, I clearly have no manners when it comes to eating."
He reaches out, then drags his thumb across the corner of my lips. He scoops up some of the coleslaw that’s dripped from the corner of my mouth, then brings it to his own and sucks on his digit.
The heat shimmering under my skin blazes into a forest fire. Every part of me seems to be awake, alight, more alive than I’ve ever been before in my life. I place the half-eaten burger on the plate, then snatch up the flute of champagne and down it. That only makes my head spin further. He places his fork down and tops up my flute.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk," I murmur.
"And you and I know, I don’t need to get you drunk for you to allow me to do as I want with you."
I draw in a sharp breath. "I thought you said this was a working dinner?"
"And you said it was a date."
I stare at him, then chuckle. "Touché, soldier."
His own lips quirk, then he leans back in his chair. "Eat," he orders.
I focus on the food, take another bite, and another, and stop only when my plate is clean. He pours water into a glass and slides that over.
"Thanks." I take a few sips, then sit back with a sigh.
"Now ask your questions."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and snap out a 'Yessir.' That’s only going to distract the both of us, and I need to complete the job I came here to do.
"What’s your favorite color?" I ask.
His forehead creases. "That’s what you want to ask me?"
"Humor me."
He looks skeptical, then takes another bite of his food, before placing the fork down. "Black."
"What a surprise," I mumble under my breath.
He arches an eyebrow. "You say something?"
"No, no, of course not." I smile at him sweetly. "Do you prefer to call or text?”
"Neither."
