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Was she thinking about leaving already?
“Did someone say something to you?” I ask, ready to fire anyone who might have hurt my Pia’s feelings.
“No! Nothing like that. I actually didn’t even talk to anyone here yesterday… or this morning. Maybe I should be eating in the breakroom.”
“No! No, I want to get to know you a little better.”
Her cheeks heat, and I hate to think I’m making her uncomfortable.
“I want to make sure that you feel comfortable here. Were you able to look around all of the software programs and all of that? Did you have any questions?” I ask her, and she relaxes.
“Yeah, it seems pretty standard. I’ll ask if I have any questions.”
“Good, good,” I say, passing her a burger and some fries. “I got us both cheeseburgers. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She unwraps her burger and takes a big bite, moaning slightly as the flavor hits her tongue. I freeze, my eyes locked on her full mouth as she chews. She licks her lips, and I bite back a groan. I’m seconds away from coming in my pants like a teenager, and all she’s doing is eating. God help me if she ever tried to seduce me. I think that I would come on the spot.
“It’s so good. Thanks again,” she says, and I nod, trying to get my body under control.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask her as I unwrap my own burger.
“Pizza,” she says right away.
“Pepperoni?” I ask, and she grins.
“Of course,” she says with a laugh. “What about you?”
“Same, though I have more of a sweet tooth, so maybe I should say ice cream.”
“What flavor?” She asks.
“Mint chocolate chip.”
She scrunches up her nose adorably, and I laugh.
“Not a fan?” I ask her, and she shakes her head.
“I’m a moose tracks or cookies and cream kind of girl,” she tells me.
I make a note of that and take another bite of my burger.
“Where did you work before here?” I ask her, and she tenses.
I’ve noticed that whenever I ask her about her past, she seems to freeze or get nervous. I’m not sure what she could be hiding or worried about, but I intend to figure it out.
“Oh, just odd jobs here and there,” she says evasively, and I nod, trying to remind myself to pull her resume later so I can look it over.
“What did you go to college for?” I ask, and she seems to tense even more.
“Um, business.”
“Where did you go?” I try.
“UCLA.”
“That’s cool. Did you like it there?”
