Chapter 28
It’s Going to be Awkward
NATHAN
My lunch meeting with Corin—okay, call it a ‘date’—immediately starts off on the wrong foot.
I’m not a man who likes to decide what other people will eat and order for them.
Let them pick what they want and, preferably, speak up for themselves, though I’ll take them picking and telling me and then having me actually give the order as a baseline.
That way, if they don’t like what they get, it’s their own fault.
I’m happy to advise on options, so long as no one expects me to make the final call for them.
Same deal with gifts. I’m the kind of person for whom birthday wish lists, wedding registries, and gift cards were invented—they make it easy to buy for the hordes of family and friends who seem to think that gifting is simple.
Don’t ask me to make these kind of little-decisions-that-aren’t-really-so-little-after-all because, get them wrong, and people sulk or pout or all manner of unpleasant things that could have been avoided if they’d bought what they wanted in the first place instead of expecting me to guess.
When I give a gift, I want it to show that I care, that I know them, that I’ve not just heard but listened when they expressed preferences for colors, fabrics, ideas.
Sending Johanna roses after Max’s memorial was easy.
They’d handed me all the info I needed, telling me that he loved red and she pink, and he ordered her a dozen every now and then, and especially before the start of any heat, as a reminder of their love.
Adding white to represent myself also ranked as easy, not because I love white roses—I don’t have any strong feelings about roses either way, love or hate—but to demonstrate that I don’t seek to replace Max.
The book, now—that took time and effort, remembering the kinds of words and phrases that meant something to me in the wake of my loss.
I’d teeter-tottered back and forth over whether to write it and whether to send it once I had and, in the end, lost my guts just enough that to make the whole thing anonymous as a hedge in case she hated it.
None of which Corin knows, except the sending flowers and book of grief quotes anonymously.
He doesn’t know me. That’s the whole point.
Therefore, it isn’t fair of me to hold a grudge against him for asking me to bring food for the one-on-one lunch we’ll share while Dan, the lucky coin toss winner, spends time with Johanna.
I resent Corin anyway. He doesn’t know me, but I also don’t know him, and ordering food for someone I’m mostly unfamiliar with ranks up there as one of the most irritating tortures ever invented.
Under the pressure, I broke down and texted him this morning asking what he likes.
He had the gall to reply that, although Johanna doesn’t eat flesh, he’s fine with most food and isn’t picky. Right. Most picky people don’t think they are. That wasn’t much help.
His nose wrinkles when I walk into his office carrying a sack from my favorite restaurant: one container of pad Thai and one of pad khi mao—aka drunken noodles—in case he doesn’t like nuts and forgot to tell me.
Corin stands as I walk in. “Nice to see you.” He’s got the usual CEO accoutrements: big L-shaped computer desk with multiple monitors on the shorter side; big comfy chair for him, and not-quite-as-big-but-still-comfy chairs on the guest side; a round table surrounded by four armchairs over to one side for more casual discussions; soft carpet and ample padding underfoot.
Artwork decorates the walls, though, upon closer inspection, it turns out to be mostly photos of his family or firm employees gathered to celebrate one occasion or another. A nice touch, that, and in keeping with the general ambiance of the place: focused, yet casual.
Corin himself is more on the casual side today: no tie, and though he’s still in slacks, shirt, and jacket, they’re all a step or two down from the bespoke suit he wore yesterday.
I paired a different navy suit with a gray tie bearing a pattern of kittens chasing each other’s tails, which makes me the more formally dressed, no matter that the tie is loosely looped around my neck due to my habit of yanking on it when I’m out of sorts.
The room reeks of apple cider. If I hadn’t known it was his office, I’d have guessed from that alone. No hint of cedar, though I can’t tell if that’s good or bad, because I still can’t figure out his weird back-and-forth scent.
At least cider mixes okay with food.
The tip of his nose twitches again. “Thanks for bringing lunch. Smells good.”
A polite, empty compliment. He still could have spared me the stress of fretting over what to order by offering a few more words of guidance. Even as little as a protein preference would’ve been nice.
Especially since, when I set out the containers, he waves at me to pick.
Maybe he’s a casual man at heart, but he’s also a CEO, and I don’t know a single executive who isn’t a control freak in some way or other.
They’re often the worst kind of clients, and I tend to groan when they appear on my meeting calendar.
I can be optimistic, but I tend not to apply that to work situations. Better to prepare for the worst.
So Corin could either be the type of CEO who wants to make all the decisions, or the type who paints the big picture and makes others work out the details so he can critique them.
Or maybe, just maybe, he’s the rare sort who understands collaboration, cooperation, and sharing decision-making to play to everyone’s strength. He took the lead yesterday, but acknowledged good ideas from other sources.
I take a seat, though he hasn’t actually invited me to do so, and wait for him to choose.
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there.
I can practically smell the steam pouring from your ears.
” He grabs a container and fork. Real steam emerges as he opens the top and he digs into the pad Thai with a grin that doesn’t match the calculation in his eyes.
After the first bite, he lifts the fork in a toast to me with a cheery “Good choice.”
That leaves the pad khi mao for me, not that I need the extra spice. Eating gives me something to do with my mouth other than grind my teeth.
“What’s the problem?” he asks after the third or fourth bite.
“I don’t like choosing food for other people.”
“Okay. You could’ve said as much.” Corin shrugs. “I’d have had my assistant order something instead.”
He makes that sound oh-so-simple, but since he opened the door, I follow through. “Then why didn’t you?”
“We’re in my office.” Corin sets down his fork and leans back to gesture at our surroundings. “My territory. I thought bringing the food would give you some say over the ambiance. Some control. Like we’re potential partners.”
A kindness. He’d meant it as a way for me to share power. I’d assumed it was a power trip, with the usual consequences of coming across as an ass as a result.
Now, I also feel a fool.
Digging my fork into the noodles, I fill my mouth with spice, chew, and swallow. My face flushes because of the spice, not embarrassment.
I can’t even convince myself with the lie.
“Look, we all know Johanna some and she knows something of us, but we don’t know each other. We’ll have to learn.” Corin shrugs and picks up his fork. “It’s going to be awkward.”
“Calling it awkward is a cop-out,” I say, ducking my head and watching him out of the corners of my eyes.
“Say what?”
“‘Awkward’ is spilling wine at a deluxe dinner or tripping and toppling over. It’s accidental, not deliberate.
” The few bites I’ve taken sit heavily in my belly, so I put the container and utensil aside.
Time enough to eat later. “Building a successful pack requires purpose, meaning, deliberate sharing. Lots and lots of talking, even if we never reach the point of mating bonds.”
“I guess you’d know.” A hungry expression flickers across Corin’s face. Longing?
For bonds, perhaps. Pack bonds and mating bonds—sometimes, but not always, the same thing—have a mystical reputation, particularly among those who’ve never experienced them.
Purely magic, they rely on reciprocal bites: the first initiates the bond and must be made by an alpha or omega while the completing bite can be made by any designation.
Without the completing bite, the resulting weak bond will fade in a month or less.
My shirt and jacket collars mostly hide the scars of my mating bites.
Obviously, they no longer link me to my lost lovers.
I miss the days when I could tell something of what either was feeling, no matter the physical distance between us, though I never again wish to live through the horrid silence when the bonds snapped with their deaths.
I don’t know enough of Corin yet to guess with any accuracy what he’s thinking; it’s all speculation. Why did I think I knew what lay behind his request that I bring the food?
“I’ve seen too many marriages and packs fall apart because people made assumptions and didn’t bother to check them out.” Drawing in a deep breath and yanking on my tie, I meet his gaze and offer an all-but-apology. “As I did over the food.”
“I could have been clearer, too.” Corin’s graciousness just makes my innards roil all the more. “So where does that leave us?”
“Still talking.” I lean back in my chair and adjust my feet so they’re flat against the carpet.
“And eating.” Corin takes another bite, chewing slowly. “It is good food. You chose well, though I get that you’d rather not have to make that kind of choice for me unless we reach the point where we know each other well enough.”