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I blush pleased at the compliment.
The rest of the breakfast is mostly quiet, and then he leaves to go to work. I think I won't see him till dinner, but somewhere around the middle of the afternoon, I get a call.
“Hello?”
“This is my number,” he says. “Save it."
"Right," I say.Why is he calling me?
"How's your ankle?" he asks.
"Good," I say, A day of rest has done wonders and it barely hurts. "You want me to bring dinner to you?"
"Not today," he says instead. "Have you ever had ceviche?"
“Um…I can't say I have.”
“I sent over a car to get you. Should be there in about forty minutes. It’ll take you downtown. We’re doing Galeta's tonight.”
“But I—” He hangs up before I can finish telling him that I can’t afford to be taking an Uber much less dining at fine restaurants. But it's probably for the best because I don't think he would have listened anyway.
I rush to get ready, then I walk out and the so-called Uber is in a Mercedes.
The driver is dressed in a suit too and he gets out to open the door for me as I step out. I smile nervously.
"You're the Uber?" I ask.
He smirks a little, then he nods.
I get in tentatively, in shock for most of the ride. It's my first time in a car so nice, and while I nervously feel the need to chatter, I don't want to bother the driver.
The restaurant is only fifteen minutes away, and I immediately spot Oliver standing a head above the rest. He nods at the driver when we pull to a stop in front of him, and he holds the door open for me, offering his arm.
“Come on,” he says. “Let's eat."
We walk right past a line that has formed outside the restaurant, and I ignore the curious looks they send us as we walk. No one stops us, though, and I know it's because of my companion. Oliver moves with undeniable confidence, as though the world is meant to bow to him.
One of the hosts shows us to a table that's elevated above the rest and has a Reserved card sitting on top of it.
I can tell a few people are watching as we walk to our table. I know why. No one expects a man like him to be here with a woman like me. They probably think he’s way out of my league. He’s an older established man, someone any woman would crave and I’m just a frumpy girl next door who is pretty at best.
Oliver removes the Reserved card and hands it to the host with quick thanks and then nods at me.
“What’s your favorite food?” he asks.
"What?" I glance at him, and he repeats the question.
"Um, I'm not sure, thanks," I say as he pulls the chair back for me to sit down. "I don't think I have one. There are too many tasty flavors in the world."
“Same," he says. "You really should just open a restaurant."
"As I said, it's not exactly easy. There's a lot of business things I need to know to start a business."
"So?" he shrugs. "Take a business course."
"With what money, exactly?” I ask him, and he smirks.
“Or you could start interning at one of my companies and it could teach you how to run a business?” he says and frowns. “I’m sure I have something in the food and hospitality sector?”
