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“What are you doing here?” I ask, still stunned he’s standing in front of me. This doesn’t seem like his kind of restaurant.
Instead of answering, he cocks his head to the side, watching me, and asks a question of his own. “Are you eating alone?”
Everywhere his eyes touch feels like a soft caress, causing my body to go into sensory overload.
“Yes… I mean, no.” I shake my head. I’m rambling, and making a fool of myself. “Yes, I’m eating alone. Eric was supposed to meet me, but he had car trouble.”
“Really?” His brows shoot up in surprise. “What a shame. I’m alone as well. Mind if I join you?” he asks, indicating the chair across from me with his chin.
“Sure,” I say nervously, fiddling with the tablecloth that’s hanging over the edge.
As soon as his butt hits the seat, the waitress comes over and offers him a menu. He doesn’t take it, but instead rattles off his order, indicating that he’s eaten here before. His eyes never leave mine as he talks to the waitress. I start to get nervous, crossing and uncrossing my legs. I tell myself it’s not because of the small ache between them, but I know it’s a lie. This guy is intense and demands attention, and my body is all too willing to oblige.
Why is it that the thought of sitting here eating with Eric doesn’t excite me like it does with Mr. Knight? And why am I still clutching my phone, wanting to look down at what Sterling’s response was, even though I’m currently mesmerized by someone else? This doesn’t bode well for me, and makes me feel like a hussy.
“How long have you and Eric been seeing each other?” Mr. Knight asks, leaning back in his seat, getting comfortable.
“We, uh… we aren’t. We were just having a friendly dinner after work,” I tell him, and watch him smirk. It’s sexy as hell.
After a minute, he murmurs, “I see.” He rests his clasped hands on the table. “So, Poppy, tell me about yourself.”
I blanch at his question, not sure how to respond, and wondering why he’s even sitting here with me. I clear my throat, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Why?” I question him, instead of answering.
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “I’m curious. You’ve worked for me for almost a year now, and you’ve never revealed anything personal.”
“The same could be said for yourself,” I retort, shocking myself.
He chuckles, the sound playing havoc on my senses, and sounds oddly familiar—which is strange because I’ve never heard him laugh before.
I shift in my seat. He notices the movement and smirks again.
“This is true. Is there anything you’d like to know?”
There’s a lot of things I’d like to know about Mr. Knight, but I’d never have the nerve to ask.
The waitress comes back with our drinks, and to tell us our food will be out momentarily. I snatch my drink up and take a healthy swallow. The sweet wine falls smoothly down my dry throat. When I place the glass back on the table, I look back at Mr. Knight to see him still watching me with his bright green eyes. He lifts a brow as if in question, reminding me of our conversation before the waitress came up.
“There’s not much to tell, Mr. Knight—”
“Asher,” he interrupts.
“Excuse me?”
“Call me Asher.”
“Oh, umm… I’m not sure if I should. I mean, I work for you.”
“So?”
“So, wouldn’t it seem inappropriate?” I ask, confused at the turn of the conversation. He’s never asked me to call him Asher before. Why now?
“Do I look like a man who cares what other people think? I have several employees that call me Asher, and I work the closest with you. It would be more appropriate for you to call me by my first name than anyone else in the company.”
His reasoning is sound, but it still seems strange to call him Asher. I’ve called him Mr. Knight since the beginning. Although, it may feel weird, the thought of calling him by his first name sends pleasure racing through me. I’ve always loved the name Asher.
“Okay,” I say shyly with a smile, “Asher.”
