Chapter 13
Donovan
I look at the time, noting it’s just past six. It’s already dark, and when I lean back in my chair, I look at the woman opposite me whose head has barely left her screen all afternoon.
“My mind is almost mush…” I scrub my eyes, wondering if I need another coffee.
“Here.” Her head remains on her screen as she leans over slightly into her handbag and pulls out a small packet.
“What is it?” I watch her open it, then she pours whatever’s inside into the small empty crystal bowl I have on my desk, the one that she’s currently filling with chocolate-coated coffee beans.
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
“You were running low.” She puts the empty packet in the bin, then continues to tap on her laptop. I remain still, blinking a few times before Bentley’s words from our lunch ring in my ears.
His thoughts about how he met his wife. How she picked up on the little things he enjoyed, like his lemon slice addiction, and without asking, ensured he had one every Friday.
I didn’t understand it then. I didn’t get what he was trying to tell me.
But seeing my bowl now full, the brand of coffee beans she bought my favorite.
Not only has Jessica paid attention to me and what I enjoy, but she took time out of her day to grab me another packet.
No one has ever done that before. No one besides my assistants anyway.
“Let’s go.” I stand, grabbing my jacket. Feeling antsy, knowing if I don’t move, my hands are going to be on her body in under a minute. The two of us were working hard all afternoon, yet I continually lost focus at every point because I couldn't stop looking at her.
“Go?” Her frown is cute, something I’m adding to the mental tally of sexy things my business advisor does each day.
“We need to eat.” I grab my cell and shoot off a text to Gordon and Ashley to arrange things.
“Oh…” As if she’s only now just remembering to eat, and her stomach grumbling tells me she may have missed lunch too.
I grab my briefcase as she puts her laptop in her bag and grabs her coat. I notice she hasn’t worn the new scarf today, and I try not to let that small detail play on my mind.
“Wait. You want to go for dinner? Together?” She pushes her glasses back up her nose and looks at me. I pause my rushed movements and drink her in. The way her lips part, waiting for my answer, the way her eyes widen like she doesn’t want to miss a thing. I swallow before I clear my throat.
“Well, we both need to eat, and I would like to know what findings you came across this afternoon with your head so buried in your computer screen.” It’s work, York. Work.
“Of course.” She shakes her head a little before she grins. “I could eat a horse…”
I laugh as we walk out of the office. “Would Italian do?” I ask as we step into the lift, the office quiet, most people already gone.
“Stop teasing me. Pasta is my favorite food.” She groans, and I need to stifle my grin again. A constant feeling I get around her.
“Pasta it is, then. Let’s go. Gordon’s waiting,” I tell her as we exit at the lobby, a few people milling around, all looking at us as we step out of the elevator. I grip my briefcase tight and pocket my other hand so I don’t place it on her back where I want to settle it.
“Sir.” Gordon opens the back door as we walk outside, the coolness hitting my cheeks. I feel snow in the air.
“Hey, Gordon.”
My driver grins at Jessica like she’s an old friend. Jealousy shoots through me, even though he’s married with kids and grandkids. It’s a feeling that builds in me every time others get near her.
“Evening, Miss Johnson.”
We slide in, the closure of the door sealing our privacy, and I blow out a breath.
“You work too hard,” I tell her, watching her rub her eyes.
“You're my boss; you're not supposed to say that.” Her grin lightens my shoulders.
“I appreciate your work ethic, but I don’t want you to burn yourself out.”
“This coming from the man who starts his day at six in the morning and practically works through the night.” She looks at me pointedly.
“Yeah, okay, point taken.” I rub my hand over my lips so she doesn’t see the grin. The traffic is thick, so it takes us a little time before Gordon pulls up to my favorite restaurant.
“Fiorella?” She blanches.
“I think we deserve it.” I know I shouldn’t, but as Gordon steps out and we’re surrounded by the quiet of the car, I stretch across and grab her hands, entwining my fingers with hers, and just for a moment, everything feels right with the world.
“You deserve it,” I reinforce as her fingers grip on to mine just as warmly, before her stomach interrupts us again.
“Let’s go.” I open my door and step out, waiting at the side of the car for her, leaning in and offering my hand again.
She takes it with an ease that shouldn’t be present, and as she steps out, I’m so captivated by her that I don’t immediately notice the photographers nearby.
It’s not until I hear the familiar sound of their cameras clicking that I look up and notice them.
My jaw tightens. I didn’t expect them. They don’t usually follow me around like this.
Sure, I see them from time to time, but this is not a restaurant that they usually hang outside of which is exactly why I frequent it so much.
Jessica lowers her head, clearly not comfortable around them, and my jaw clenches, hating that she’s being photographed when she doesn’t want to be.
But I pull in a breath. It’s a work dinner after all and I walk us quickly inside.
The soft music playing eases my tension, the candlelight flickering around the room helping to do the same, and a waiter’s quick to take us to my table.
“You have your own table?” she whispers, and I grin, leading her straight down the back, away from prying eyes.
“I do. It’s my favorite place. The way they cook my steak is unrivaled. It’s a meal I dream about.”
I stand, waiting near her chair, and as she takes a seat, I push her in a little, forcing my hands to stay on the chair and not lift to touch her shoulders and sweep her hair back from her neck so I can kiss her skin like I want to.
But then her head turns, and she brushes her hair to the side and my hand moves before I can think better of it.
My fingers gently graze her shoulders, running from the bottom of her neck down to her shoulder, the bare skin prickling a little at my touch.
She looks up at me, her glossy lips capturing the reflection from the lights, her eyes wide behind her glasses and searching mine.
My nostrils flare, pulling in the oxygen I need as I feel her lean back into my hand, her silently telling me she maybe wants me as much as I want her. Clearing my throat, I move to my chair.
“Thank you.” I catch the pink blush of her cheeks as I sit down, the waiter filling our water glasses and opening a bottle of wine in an instant.
“Your usual, sir?”
I nod. They know me well enough to know what I like.
“And you, madam?” The waiter looks at Jessica, and I watch, seeing her eyes run through the menu, wondering what she’ll pick. He’s probably expecting her to choose a nice salad with dressing on the side.
“The Parmigiano-Reggiano spaghetti, please.”
The waiter stalls, and my grin widens. I don’t remember the last time one of my dates ordered a bowl of pasta. But I love it.
“Good choice,” I tell her as the waiter leaves us to it.
“I told you I was starving. I just hope it’s more than a small dollop on a big white plate…” She grins at me, already knowing the answer to that, and I mentally note to put in a request to the chef next time we come. Because I want there to be a next time.
“You need to eat lunch.” I’m concerned she isn’t looking after herself and worried she works too hard.
“Do you monitor all your staff’s lunch habits?” Her grin wraps around her wineglass as she takes a sip.
“Only the five-star employees.” I grin back at her teasing.
“Hmmm, five star… Glad to know I’m one of your best workers, Mr. York.” Her eyes dance in delight, and I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t smile like a dickhead.
“Not one of…” I make my position very clear. She’s leaps and bounds ahead of anyone else. Both in the office and out of it.
“It must be all those coffee beans…” Her eyes thin, her grin still brightening her face.
“Well, they do help keep me awake. Thank you for filling my bowl earlier.”
“I saw that you enjoy them. I can’t say I’ve ever really met someone who eats caffeine as a snack before…” Her eyebrows rise.
“What is your vice, Miss Johnson?”
“You mean, aside from pasta?” She chuckles, and I nod.
“You must have something? Something you love to the point of it being almost a weakness?” I push, wondering what it could be that would have her aching for something so much she has to have it.
“Hmmmm, probably vintage fashion from Mabel.”
I’m immediately intrigued. “Mabel?”
“A beautiful friend of mine who owns a thrift store. I see her every week, and I love walking into her store. Kind of feels like home.”
“Thrift store?”
“Yeah, she has owned it for years, but something is going on with her.” A sudden frown has her brow pinching.
“Is she alright?” I have no idea who this Mabel is, but I see the distress it causes Jessica.
“I think so. It’s nothing. I’m sure she will figure it out.” She shakes her head and takes another sip of wine, so I drop it.
“So, you’ve been glued to your office and your screen most of the week?” I get our conversation onto work, for no other reason but to get my head back in the game. This isn’t a date. I need to keep reminding myself of that fact.
“Yeah… I have a few things on my mind, so I bury myself in work when that happens.” She offers me a small smile, but her answer has my interest even more piqued.
“What’s on your mind?” I sip my wine and watch her, waiting.
She takes in a deep breath. “Well… the office gossip has started.”