Chapter Five Break Out of Your Comfort Zone #2
We enjoy a phenomenal salad of braised gem lettuce and pancetta. I opt for the crab cake, and Hart orders the pistachio-crusted salmon on the advice of our server. Everything is delicious.
During dinner, he asks me more about the foundation, and I fill him in, providing more details about our other projects, and the twelve full-time employees I have, along with the countless volunteers. He listens intently, leaning toward me.
“Where did you go to school?” I ask him, lifting my water goblet to my lips.
“Jesuit Prep,” he says, watching me drink.
I’m familiar with it. It’s a private all-boys prep school in Maryland where the annual tuition is more than most families make in a year.
“And then Yale,” I add.
“Yes.” His eyes slide over me, and I grow warm.
He’s looking at me like I’m a cookie he wants to eat. I clear my throat.
“And now you’re ... traveling?” I assume he doesn’t have to work with his trust fund and family connections, but I’m really not sure what he does or how he spends his time.
“Traveling, yes. But also looking for opportunities to invest in and get involved with. Since graduating I’ve been working a little with our family’s foundation.”
When the server reappears to remove our empty plates, Hart turns to him. “Thanks for the recommendation. This was phenomenal.”
The server smiles and tells Hart the background on the dish and how the chef created it.
While I watch them, I decide I like how he treats people.
He’s polite, and he doesn’t have to be. Not when he could buy and sell this restaurant, this entire city block if he wanted to.
My father once told me you could tell a lot about a person by the way they treated the staff, and it’s something I’ve always remembered.
I’m not impressed by money or titles but by the way someone treats others.
Hart seems to treat everyone with kindness, and I like that.
“Can we have separate checks?” I ask the server when they wrap up their conversation.
Hart frowns. “No. Please allow me.” He hands the server his card.
Before I can press the issue, a girl appears beside our table.
“Hart?”
She’s beautiful. Tall and thin with long blond hair that falls in a sleek curtain down the center of her back. Her black satin dress is impossibly short, and her legs go on forever. The look she gives Hart is familiar, intimate.
“Ava, remember?” she says, smiling shyly.
He studies her for a brief moment before recognition flashes in his hazel eyes. “I do remember.” He gives her an uncomfortable, rehearsed smile.
They’ve slept together. That much is obvious. Painfully so. My stomach twists into a knot.
I crumple the cloth napkin on my lap into a ball, squeezing it tightly.
Ava glances my way once, dismissively, and then gives Hart another shy, sultry look. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Once she’s gone, he leans closer and says, “I’m sorry about that.”
I brush off his apology, but the truth is, I’m agitated. Mostly at myself. I’m a middle-aged woman sitting here getting jealous over a past hookup.
Hart signs the receipt and places his black Amex back inside his wallet.
“Should we go?” I ask, already rising from the table.
He stands quickly, and his hand is at my elbow to help me from my seat.
“Can I walk you back to your hotel?”
I nod.
We’re quiet on the walk back; the only sounds are the passing traffic and my boots on the sidewalk. It seems there’s nothing more to say. This was a silly idea, and I’d built it up as something in my head that it is clearly not.
We reach my hotel a few minutes later, and he holds open the door, allowing me to step into the quiet elegance of the lobby.
“Thank you for dinner,” I add, realizing I didn’t thank him. “I wanted to pay for my half.”
He meets my eyes. “It was nothing. Can I walk you back to your room?”
“I’m not inviting you inside.” My voice is unsteady, quiet.
“I know.”
Inside the elevator, my heart is still pounding from the awkward encounter at the restaurant.
“Which floor?” he asks.
“Seven.”
He presses the button, and we wait for the elevator car to ascend in silence.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
The doors open and I stride out. “I’m confused about your intentions,” I say, walking quickly.
“My intentions,” he repeats, mouth lifting in a smirk. “I thought I’d made it obvious.”
I spin to face him. “Do you have an older-woman fetish?”
“No.” His voice is smooth, confident. “I have a you fetish.”
I can’t even look at him. His words make me feel completely out of control. Like the world has tipped sideways and I don’t know which way is up anymore.
“Stop and be serious.” I dare a glance at him, lifting my chin to meet his eyes.
“I am being serious. I don’t exactly meet many women like you, Alessia.”
Straightening, I place my hand on my hip. “No, I would imagine not. Most of the others are probably a lot more like Ava.”
“Yes, they are.”
Ouch. It couldn’t have hurt more if he’d physically punched me in the stomach. For a second, I have no reply, almost like the wind’s been knocked out of me.
“Most of the women in my usual circles are self-absorbed and materialistic and can barely hold a conversation.”
“I don’t imagine you and Ava did much talking .” I scowl.
“You’d be right.”
I shoot him a look, then I continue walking down the hall.
His hand is on my wrist, grasping it and turning me to face him.
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Alessia.” He takes a step closer, and my back hits the wall. “Will you listen to me? You’re beautiful, brilliant, and incredibly giving. You want to make the world a better place. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty. You captivate me.”
Another step forward until his chest is touching mine. “You gave me a dollar for the bottle of water,” he adds.
“What?” I’m confused about what this has to do with anything.
“In Nairobi, after you showed me around.”
“It wasn’t a dollar. It was a hundred shillings.”
“Yes. Because you didn’t want to owe me. Everyone else in my life takes and takes. But not you.”
He dips his chin, his eyes sink closed, and then his mouth meets mine.
The intensity of the kiss sends a sharp jab of desire through me. It’s unexpectedly hot and also tender.
His hand cups my jaw, his thumb strokes my neck, and he tilts my head. My lips part, and his tongue slides against mine.
Dear God, he can kiss. I place my hands on his firm chest and push. He takes a step back immediately, confusion in his eyes.
“Too much?” he asks.
“Too much,” I say, breathless.
He moves to give me a little space and straightens his jacket. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. The only thing on my agenda was sleeping in, and then maybe doing some shopping at Harrods. I wanted to find a gift for Scarlet’s baby.
“I have to be at the exhibit opening at 3:00, and then I have a press interview to do, but after, would you like a private tour of the collection?”
I hesitate, my brain whirring with ideas about what his invite means. On the one hand, it would be a rare treat to enjoy the exhibit without anyone else around. And for him to show me a part of his world the way I showed him mine in Kibera is intriguing.
But on the other, I’m not sure it’s wise to keep spending time with him. But there’s something about him, about the way he looks at me, that makes it difficult to say no.
“That sounds incredible, actually,” I confirm.
“It’s a date.”
He touches my bare shoulder, the little bow that’s tied to secure my dress.
“Buona serata, Alessia.”
Good night, Alessia.