17. Fiona
Chapter Seventeen
FIONA
I try not to look too impressed by the extravagant restaurant Cormac has chosen, but inside I am screaming.
I’m used to eating food out of cardboard containers, so the white tablecloths alone are enough to make me feel out of place, let alone the enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the dining room.
The waiters are dressed in full tuxedos and gloves, bringing over a bottle of champagne the moment we’re seated.
Whether Cormac ordered ahead or that’s part of the service, I don’t know, but I’m not about to start asking questions because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
Cormac has made it perfectly clear up until now that what we do outside of work is purely physical. I am a way for him to scratch an itch without having to put in too much effort, and I was fine with that. Or, at least, I thought I was, until he decided to take me out for dinner.
Is this his way of saying thanks for the great sex, or is this a date?
Oh, my god.
What if it’s a date?
“Is everything okay?” Cormac snaps me back to the present.
I look over the menu. “Everything’s fine.”
Each entrée is more decadent-sounding than the last. I have no idea how I’m meant to decide.
Normally, I would look at the price to help me, but seeing as there are none, I’m left with no choice but to play Russian roulette with my wallet.
Suddenly, the fancy dinner doesn’t seem so romantic. Instead, I wonder if this is just another form of power play.
I set down my menu. “Did you choose this place on purpose, to teach me some sort of lesson?”
He hasn’t even bothered looking at his. His eyes have been glued on me from the moment we sat down. And not in a curious or concerned way. No.
Those dark eyes are practically blazing with need as he mentally undresses me.
Even with the low lighting, I know he can see the permanent blush staining my cheeks as I squirm in my seat. Having his undivided attention like this is making me nervous.
Or that might also be down to the fact that I’m sitting in a very expensive chair at a very expensive restaurant with no panties on.
I quickly snatch up my water glass and take a sip to try and cool myself down.
“Believe me, if I were trying to teach you a lesson, you would know about it,” Cormac murmurs.
I almost choke on my water.
Cormac might be a man of few words, but when he does speak, it never fails to leave me on the verge of falling to my knees, which I’m pretty sure is the point.
“The bill has already been taken care of, so you are free to order whatever you want.”
Of course, it has.
When the waiter comes to take our order, I settle on the burrata to start, followed by scallops with truffle risotto, making a point to smile when I hand the menu back because Cormac hasn’t even bothered to look the poor man in the eye.
“And for you, Mr. Sullivan?” the waiter asks.
“I’ll have the ribeye. I want it medium rare but leaning toward rare. Sear it hard on both sides and let it rest at least five minutes before plating. I want only salt to season, no pepper. And the edges need to be charred, not burned.”
The waiter’s smile doesn’t even flicker.
“Of course, sir.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh as the waiter walks away, but it doesn’t work. The sound escapes in a tiny, undignified snort, which I quickly try to cover by taking a drink of my champagne.
Cormac narrows his eyes at me. “Something funny?”
I hold up my hands, though the amusement keeps tugging at my mouth.
“No. Nothing. I just…didn’t know steak came with an instruction handbook.”
“It’s called having standards, Fiona.”
I nod solemnly. “Right. You see, I would call that a full-blown dissertation on red meat.”
His jaw flexes, but there’s the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting a smile.
“Try not to mock me before the food even gets here.”
“No promises.”
He huffs out a breath that might be mistaken for a laugh.
“But it’s good to know that I’m not the only one you like to boss around.”
Cormac leans forward, and I find my breath catching as his eyes darken. “You would do well to remember that I am just that, your boss. By definition of the role, I should be telling you what to do, and you should obey my demands without question.”
“We both know you go well beyond just telling me what to do,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Cormac levels me with a look that tells me I will pay for speaking back to him, but I’m not afraid. If anything, I have to fight the urge to squeeze my thighs together at the thought of how he might punish me.
“Would you like me to stop?” he asks.
Yes.
No.
Time to change the subject. Fast.
“Have you been here before?” I glance nervously around the room.
“Once or twice.”
“What is your favorite cuisine to eat? For me, I love anything Italian.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
There is that annoying little shiver that runs down my spine.
These breadcrumbs of attention that Cormac is offering me must be secretly laced with something because I am eating them up like an addict.
I take another sip of water. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Cormac eyes my empty water glass. “Do you not like the champagne? You can order something else if you prefer.”
“Champagne is great. I’m just…thirsty.”
Cormac’s lips twitch. “I’ve noticed.”
I scowl across the table at him. “You only have yourself to blame.”
“How so?”
“You’re the one who wanted to come out for dinner. I was fine with having a quickie against the wall.”
Cormac almost chokes on his champagne, and I grin.
I think I might enjoy catching him off guard a little too much. “Then again, you don’t seem like the type who was taught to deal with the consequences of your own actions.”
“You seem to like jumping to conclusions about me.”
“It’s easy to do.”
Cormac sets down his glass and leans forward.
I find myself automatically mirroring him, mesmerized by the way the candlelight reflects in his eyes and highlights the sharp lines of his jaw.
“I could say the same about you,” he murmurs.
My pulse quickens as my eyes flick to his lips. “Oh?”
Just then, the waiter appears, and I quickly straighten.
Cormac's eyes dance with amusement as our appetizers are set in front of us.
I snatch up my cutlery, grateful to have something to occupy my attention other than him.
“Have you always lived in New York?” I ask once we’re alone again.
“No.”
“I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It really has everything. I mean, I could get a slice of pizza at four in the morning if I really wanted to. I bet you couldn’t do that in Wyoming.”
“Wyoming?”
“It’s the first place that came to mind.”
“Do you make a habit of eating pizza at four in the morning?”
“No, but I like having the option.”
“I see…”
“I bet you barely get to experience the city with how much you work.”
Cormac shrugs as he takes another sip of his drink.
Somehow, I thought being in a more romantic setting would automatically make him open up to me, but of course, this is Cormac Sullivan, the king of one-word answers.
However, I refuse to let him get to the end of this meal without telling me something about himself, even if it’s only his favorite color.
“What are your brothers like?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because that’s what people do when they have dinner, they ask each other questions so they can get to know each other.”
“You seem to be asking all the questions.”
I roll my eyes as I take another bite of my food. “You’re welcome to chime in anytime you want.”
Cormac sets down his cutlery, his plate already empty, and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“I think I know all I need to know about you, Fiona Callahan.”
A shiver runs down my spine when he speaks my name. I’ve never been much of a fan of it, and yet Cormac can make it sound almost…erotic.
“I’m not that much of an open book.”
“If you say so.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Suddenly, my heart starts pounding in my chest.
Maybe I’m not hiding everything as well as I think I am… But then, if Cormac can see through my fa?ade, why bother taking me out for dinner? Unless this is all just a part of his game, a way to throw me off guard and lower my defenses.
I need to get it together. I’m dealing with a Sullivan here. Regardless of the dinner and great sex, Cormac is dangerous. Something I would do well to remember.
“Remind me why I agreed to have dinner with you?” I fire at him.
Cormac smirks as he leans back in his seat. “I can think of one or two reasons…”
“Free food?”
“Ah, so that’s the only reason you’re here.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not paying you enough?”
“To put up with your shit? No, you’re not.”
Cormac’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and I find myself genuinely smiling, which is not something I thought was possible in his presence.
Seeing this more relaxed side of him is what’s throwing me off. I’m sure not many people get to witness it, and yet I do.
Either he is one hell of a master manipulator, or he genuinely enjoys my company.
“Consider this an extra bonus. And if you behave, you might even get dessert.”
“So, you’re under-paying me and trying to make me fat? I really need to get the email of your head of HR.”
Somehow, as the meal progresses, Cormac’s lack of answers isn’t enough to make the conversation feel awkward. I find a way to naturally fill the silence by passing comments on nearby customers, and Cormac occasionally chimes in with questions about my life, which I narrowly manage to avoid.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go to grad school,” he comments once our next course has been delivered.
“Oh?”
“You’re clearly a high achiever. I would have thought you would collect degrees like Pokémon.”
“Did you seriously just make a Pokémon reference?”
“My brother was obsessed as a kid.” He looks down at his plate.
“Are you sure it was your brother?” I tease, but Cormac doesn’t appear to be listening.
He’s examining his steak like it’s a rare jewel, looking for any imperfections that, from the look of it, I’m pretty sure don’t exist.
I tilt my head. “So, we’ve covered all of the basics apart from our favorite films.”
Cormac glances up at me under his dark lashes. “Would you like to tell me your favorite film, Fiona?”
I grin. “Why, yes, I would. It’s Titanic, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
I narrow my eyes at the sarcasm in his tone. “Please, for the love of all things Leonardo DiCaprio, tell me you’ve seen Titanic.”
Cormac says nothing as he cuts off another piece of his enormous steak.
I gasp in mock horror. “Seriously? How have you survived almost three decades on this earth and not seen Titanic?”
Cormac shrugs as he takes another bite of steak. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
“Oh, it is. Do you have any idea how many pop culture references you’re missing out on?”
“The Titanic is not a pop culture reference. It was a significant event in history.”
I scoff. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, grandpa.”
“What did you just call me?”
I ignore him. “I can’t even argue with you over whether there was room for Jack on the door because you have no idea what I’m talking about!”
“How will I survive?” Cormac mutters under his breath.
“You’re lucky we’re not floating on a piece of wood in the middle of the Pacific Ocean right now.”
“Actually, the Titanic sank in the North Atlantic Ocean.”
I glare at Cormac across the table, but he only smirks back at me.
“Clearly, the movie failed at teaching you something.”
“It taught me that poor men make better gentlemen than rich men.”
“Now that part has me intrigued. Maybe we should use this dinner to test that theory and then watch the film tonight to compare our findings.”
Tonight? He plans on extending the date past dinner?
I’m treading a very dangerous line, but that only makes this night more exciting.
I try to hide my smile by shoving a forkful of risotto into my mouth. “I think we should.”