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“What?” he snarls finally.
“I just—I thought you were better than this.”
“Better than what, worrying about my own company? The company that my whole family’s livelihood depends on? It’s a big deal, Harley.”
I turn to find him looking at me. I look back at him, hard. “I never asked you to sacrifice anything for me. You want to fire me, fire me. You want to end things, end them.”
“I never said I wanted any of that.”
“So?”
“So.” He tries to smile. “I just—we need to be careful, with this. With us. I don’t want your reputation getting dragged through the mud, either.”
“Having dinner together in a public restaurant isn’t exactly keeping things on the DL,” I point out.
Greyson’s hands are clenched on the wheel. “I’m not giving up whole parts of my life to mitigate risk. I just—needed to know.”
“I get it. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I never intended to imperil your company.”
His hand finds mine, encloses it. Squeezes it. “I know.”
With a kiss on my forehead, he pulls away, exhales. “We better have dinner before I forget all about it and kiss you how I want to.”
I giggle. “Sounds good to me.”
From the outside, the restaurant is nothing special: just a colorful shiny banner reading Rosalinda’s set onto a window-covered cement block. But inside, I’m craning my neck every which way. The place is exquisite, brimming with light and plants of all sizes. It’s got a cool boho vibe, with a big crimson Persian rug on the floor and yarn tapestries dangling off the walls.
“I’ve got a reservation,” Greyson tells the maître d’. “For the top floor private patio.”
“Ah.” The man nods. “Right this way, then.”
I tuck my hand in the crook of Greyson’s arm. “You’re right, this place is just my style. Low-key.”
“Low-key, gorgeous, fresh,” he corrects me.
“If I was a blusher, I’d be blushing,” I say with a little laugh.
The private patio is nothing short of an urban jungle. Vines and palms and monsteras of all sizes and shapes drape around us, so that we have complete privacy, while small lit candles add some romance.
“Talk about a rainforest throwback,” I say with a little laugh.
“My first choice was CANOE,” Greyson reminds me.
“And you get second dibs for Opus,” I point out.
“Good.”
“So,” he says, once we’ve gotten drinks and wandered out to look across the sunset spilling over the city, making even bland skyscrapers into beauties, “how’s work going?”
Hmm.
“There’s not that much of it, to be honest,” I say.
“Madeline hasn’t been keeping you busy?”
“She was supposed to?”
Greyson frowns. “The other day, I thought it over and realized there are actually a bunch of small projects for you to get started on. She was supposed to pass that on to you, give you the preliminaries. I’ll have to have a word with her. She’s been acting off all week.”
I stay quiet for a minute or so, but when he doesn’t change the subject, I say, “What a view, eh?”
What a fail at a subject-change.
“Harley.” Greyson turns to face me head-on. “What are you not telling me?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “I just think my coworkers aren’t used to me yet, is all.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s probably just in my head.” I force a laugh. “You know, new job jitters.”
“No. I don’t know. My team has always been really friendly to all new employees. Are you saying—”
“I’m not saying anything. Can we forget it, please?”
“Harley—”
“I’m not saying it again.”
Greyson shuts his mouth, looking away angrily. Maybe he’s thinking about how we’ve already fought twice in the past half hour.
But I’m not about to create some work drama prematurely. Plus, Greyson getting involved would probably just make things worse.
Our meals are served a few minutes later, and we eat in silence. It’s deliciously spicy Mexican food, but if Greyson’s enjoying it, he’s giving no sign. The three furrows in his forehead and two staring eyes indicate he’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to them.”
“Please don’t.”
“Trust me, Harley. I know how to handle this.”
“I don’t doubt that. But I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help. You really think the other employees will be receptive to you calling them out on it?”
“Yeah, I do. My dad and I hired them not just because they’re good, but because they’re willing to grow.”
I nod dully, and almost don’t say it until I do: “I think that, whatever their beef is, it has to do with us. Don’t you?”
Greyson swirls his fork around his plate uselessly, takes a sip of water. Until he can’t avoid it anymore. “It might be.”
His mouth has become a snarl, his eyes frustrated and narrow. “I haven’t told anyone, though. My brothers guessed, but that’s it, and they wouldn’t spread it around.”
“I haven’t told anyone either,” I say. “Except for my cousin Hannah, who wouldn’t tell anyone and doesn’t know anyone from the office anyway.”
