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I make a note to research more about his grandpa. “He founded Helius, right? What was he like?”
“Total salesman,” Luke says without hesitation. “He could make friends with anyone. He was whip smart and wasn’t afraid to take business risks nobody else would. He flew planes in WWII. Won the medal of valor.” Luke looks out the window. “I think after that, running one of the fastest growing airlines of the twentieth century felt like a fun, low-stakes game to him.”
“He sounds amazing,” I say. “It must have been hard to follow in his footsteps.”
Luke frowned. “I never really thought about that. If it was hard for my dad, he never let on.”
I wasn’t talking about your dad, I think, but I don’t push it.
“What about you?” Luke asks. “What’s your earliest memory of writing?”
The question catches me off guard. I sip my wine, letting the rich taste fill my mouth. “I’ve got this one memory, from before I knew how to write. I wanted to make a picture book about our dog, so I made Cooper write it down for me. I made him draw the pictures too, since he was better than me. I wanted it to be good.”
The corner of Luke’s mouth quirks. “What I’m hearing is, you’ve always been a bossy perfectionist messing up other people’s schedules.”
“You say bossy, I say project manager.”
“Touché.” He lifts his glass in salute, his eyes laughing.
For some reason that makes me flush.
I turn back to my notebook. “Um, do you have any hobbies?”
“You mean with all my free time,” he says pointedly.
“Ugh, you’re such a martyr,” I complain. “Everyone needs to do something for fun.”
The waiter returns with our food. It smells rich and decadent, which, come to think of it, also describes the man who ordered it.
“I run,” Luke says. And then he takes a massive bite of his food.
This is the thing I’ve noticed about Luke. He appreciates what he puts in his mouth. And he’s not delicate about it. He’s got manners, obviously, but he eats with gusto.
I wonder if he eats pussy like that. I frantically squash the thought and reach for my glass of wine.
“What about you?” Luke asks, licking sauce off his thumb.
“What?” I ask, setting my wineglass down too hard. It sloshes over the edge, and I hastily fumble to mop it up with my napkin.
“Hobbies,” he prompts. “I hear even martyrs have them.”
“Um, writing,” I say distractedly.
“That’s your job,” he says. “What would you want to do for fun?”
You.
I mentally slap myself in the face. I’m going to horny jail.
I drag my mind back to the conversation. “Um, sometimes I babysit my neighbor’s little girl. I like kids.”
It might be my imagination, but I think his face softens a bit. “I bet they like you too.”
Wait. Was that a compliment?
I take a large swallow of wine, feeling flustered. I know this is just another interview. No different than any other interview I’ve done over the course of my career.
But it doesn’t feel like an interview.
