Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alexander
Olivia lives closer to Amsterdam than Broadway. I’m not surprised she gave the taxi driver the address of an intersection a block from where she lives.
Most New Yorkers would rather walk the few extra steps than pay the added fare for the driver to circle the block to get onto a one-way street.
“Where are we going for dinner?” She looks up at me expectantly.
I haven’t seen her dressed like this before, which is why I requested it via text earlier today.
I reached out this afternoon to confirm that we were still on for eight o’clock. I anticipated she’d ask what to wear.
When she did, I told her we were keeping it casual tonight.
The faded jeans and white sweater she’s wearing are perfect.
Her hair is down around her shoulders.
She looks relaxed and content. I’m hoping to keep her that way for the duration of the evening.
“We’re having pizza.” I reach for her hand. “We can walk there from here.”
Her eyes rake me from head-to-toe taking in the jeans, gray V-neck sweater and dark blue blazer I’m wearing.
“Pizza?” Her button nose scrunches.
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not a fan?”
She taps the toe of her black boot against the floor.
We’re still in the lobby of her building. I buzzed her when I arrived, hoping for an invitation up to her apartment, but she answered with a curt, “I’ll be down in five.”
It was more like fifteen, but I busied myself with returning text messages from Phoebe and Jack.
When she finally stepped off the elevator, any frustration I felt vanished at the sight of her.
“It’s never my first choice,” she admits. “Besides, I’ve lived in this neighborhood for months and I know for a fact that there isn’t a decent pizza place within walking distance of here.”
Honesty. It’s refreshing.
“Five hundred and fifty-two people on Yelp would disagree with that. They all gave the place a five-star review.”
“I’m not one of them.”
I laugh aloud. “Apparently not. What do you want to eat, Olivia?”
“I’ve had a craving all week.”
“For?” I arch a brow.
I don’t give a fuck what it is because I know she’s not craving me, yet. I’ll take her to any restaurant in the city if it means I’m a step closer to feeling her body against mine.
“A lobster roll,” she says quietly. “There’s this restaurant in the Financial District. They make lobster rolls just like the ones I have in Boston when I go there, and because it matters to you, their Yelp score is…”
She scrolls a finger over her phone’s screen. “Give me a minute to find it, but I guarantee they’re rated higher than the pizza place you wanted to go to.”
I watch her fingers tap over the screen, moving with deliberate precision.
“Here it is,” she announces with a smile. “Their rating is…”
“Inconsequential,” I interrupt. “Put your phone away, Olivia. If you have a craving, I’ll satisfy it.”
A blush creeps over her cheeks. “I just want a lobster roll, Alexander.”
“It’s a start.” I hold out my hand. “This is step one in getting to know each other better.”
“Step one,” she repeats as she takes my hand.
“Since you ate two lobster rolls, I take it you approve of my choice for dinner.” She smiles widely.
I nod as I finish off the last of the beer in my glass. We’ve been here for over an hour. The service was quick; too quick. My desire to learn more about Olivia was put on hold because of the complimentary breadsticks and the entrees, which arrived before our drinks.
She’s nervous. I can tell. Her leg has been vibrating since we sat in this booth.
I wanted to slide in next to her, but she teetered so close to the edge that I had no choice but to take a seat on the bench across from her.
“How long have you worked at Liore?” I ask before she has a chance to call it a night. I’m anticipating that happening at any moment since her gaze keeps diving to the antique silver men’s watch on her wrist.
My questions about that will have to wait for another time. I’m hoping it’s not a treasured memento of a long lost lover. I don’t handle competition with ease, even if it’s only grounded in memories.
When I’m with a woman, I want her undivided attention. I give her as much, so I expect the same, whether that’s for a night, a week or in one case, two years.
“Forever,” she answers effortlessly. “I started as a sales associate at the store on Fifth Avenue years ago.”
“You’ve always worked for the company?”
She shifts in her seat. “Foster Enterprises is an amazing organization. They treat all of their employees with respect. I’m honored that I’m part of their team.”
It’s a canned response that would bring a wide grin to the face of her boss, Gabriel Foster. I’ve spent time with the man recently.
His family is his priority, but his company is a close second. He’d take pride in hearing those words coming from one of his employees.
“What about you?” She takes the lead and asks a question of her own. “What made you want to be a conductor?”
“Music,” I go on, “I’ve always loved classical music. I studied the cello and piano when I was a kid. Went to college and earned a degree. From there I traveled, played, learned more, and when someone I admired suggested I consider conducting, I gave it a shot.”
The details of where, when and who don’t matter. A broad view of how I ended up on that stage last night is all she’s looking for.
Studying my face, she brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear. Her lips purse before she speaks. “Do you believe everyone can learn how to play an instrument?”
“Yes,” I answer without reservation. “The ability to play is about technique.”
Resting her elbow on the table, she leans toward me. “I have to disagree.”
She’s failed miserably at learning how to play an instrument. It’s a story I’ve heard far too often in my life from people who couldn’t master the piano, a guitar or a violin.
“Did your piano teacher quit during your first lesson?”
Her brows shoot up and a giggle escapes her. “Third lesson.”
“How old were you?” I lean forward as well until my hands are almost touching hers on the tabletop.
“Seven.”
“You tried again?” I hold back the urge to smile.
“Never,” she answers with a sigh.
I glide the tip of my index finger over her thumb. “Why not?”
She gazes down at the movement of my hand. “I hate failing.”
Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.
I trail my finger from the base of her thumb to her wrist, circling a tight path over her soft skin. “I’ll teach you.”
“You like a challenge,” she whispers.
I grab her wrist in my hand. Turning it over, I bring it to my lips. I kiss the tender skin. “I love a challenge.”
Her eyes lock on mine. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.” I kiss her skin one last time before I let her wrist slip from my grasp. “That’s one thing you’ve learned about me. You know me better than you did yesterday.”
Her beautiful lips curve into a soft smile. “True, but not well enough to revisit our discussion from last night.”
“Understood.” I motion for the server. “I’ll settle up and we can head out.”
“Where to?” Her voice is soft.
“Your choice.” I tug my wallet from my suit pocket. “You chose this place. Our next move is in your hands.”