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“Just like your tattoo?”
“Yeah.” He beams, looking at me like I’m his good luck. “And it’s proven to be more than just superstition.” Then he observes his shirt that I’m wearing. “Is that…?”
I serve him a naughty look.
He comes close to me. “What are you doing to me? I’m going to ban you from this complex,” my man growls.
Kylie comes to fetch us. “We’re waiting, Rob,” she says flatly. Then she turns and walks away.
Rob looks on as she disappears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. I thought she’d be happy the guy is here.”
“Maybe he’s wearing a wedding ring?”
Rob chuckles. “Could be.”
We approach the boardroom, and even from a few yards away, I can smell bacon, seafood, and a mix of sauces. My taste buds and empty tummy should be dancing—but when the doors are opened for us, a repulsive shudder runs through me.
The boardroom is decorated with roses. The supplier has certainly put in the effort, but something is too obvious and rather over-the-top.
Kylie approaches us, introducing the representative from ARTable. “Rob, this is Evan LaRue, Aaron’s assistant.”
“Aaron sent his apologies. He can’t make it today,” Evan says in a French accent. I guess that’s why Kylie didn’t look so enthusiastic earlier. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hartley.”
The two men shake hands while I’m standing right behind Rob, as if I could wear him like an invisibility cloak.
“Call me Rob, and this is Amber,” Rob inevitably introduces me to Evan.
While my blood is humming, the man calmly takes my hand and kisses it. “Mademoiselle, nice to meet you.”
I smile and yank my hand away from him. Seeing this, and perhaps noticing nervousness all over my face, Rob moves in to shield me. He neutralizes the mood, saying, “This is a magnificent spread.”
It is magnificent, but it looks eerily familiar. I scan the ARTable signage and collaterals—serviette, business cards, plates. Yet more roses.
“I’m so grateful that you’ve given us an opportunity to showcase what ARTable has to offer.”
“Do you help Aaron cook too?” Rob asks.
“A little. But these are all his recipes,” Evan says. “Why don’t I acquaint you with our dishes?”
I pull Rob aside. “Rob, who’s this Aaron guy?”
“He’s the owner of the company. Aaron-Reid Smith.”
Evan stands proudly to explain the first dish. “This is smoked tuna crostini, with garlic and horseradish aioli. Please, please taste.”
“Looks delicious.” Rob reaches for a piece.
“No!” I shout and swipe at Rob’s hand, sending the impressive crostini to the floor. Creamy tuna and aioli stain the carpet.
“Amber-Rose?” Rob takes my hand. Every eye is staring at me.
I free myself from Rob and run to Evan, pushing him into the corner of the room. “Who sent you?”
“Mademoiselle… I’m just trying to present this wonderful food. I—”
