7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Lane
The flight was smooth. The rental car is practical and spacious. The room I’d requested was booked.
Tage did exactly as I asked him to do, and he did it perfectly. I’m no longer surprised by this. Now, I’ve come to expect it. He’s gained my trust when it comes to work. I can depend on this man to do his job. It is impressive, considering it’s only been a few weeks.
As we enter the penthouse suite, he doesn’t look around the way a normal person would.
Normal in the sense that they don’t spend time in penthouses.
Either he doesn’t want me to call him out on it, or he’s really not moved by all of this stuff.
It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never met a person in all my life who isn’t interested in money and what it gets you.
But Tage… something is up with him. And I’m going to figure out what it is.
“What are the sleeping arrangements?” he asks, sounding tired.
I shrug. “Didn’t you look at the layout of the room? You tell me.”
With a sigh, he heads deeper inside to scope out the place, walking from room to room until he’s back in front of me.
“I’ll take the room to the right. The bed is bigger in the other one.”
“Do I look like someone who hogs the bed?”
He looks at me pointedly. “Yes.”
I chuckle. “Fine. Dinner plans?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anywhere that has good chocolate cake.”
“So we’re basing dinner off dessert?” He’s annoyed again. “Got it.”
“If they can do chocolate cake right, they can do anything right.”
“And how am I going to figure that out?”
“I don’t know. Figure it out.”
I grab my suitcase, and clothing bag from the luggage cart the bellman left just inside the room. I tipped him well, and he went on his way.
Once Tage removes his things from the cart, he’ll put it out into the hall and it’ll get picked up.
The bedroom is spacious, as they usually are. Decorated minimally in calming blue tones with pops of burnt orange. The bed is king-sized, and there is a bathroom to the left. I can spot the tub from here, and I will most certainly be indulging in that later.
I unpack my clothes, hanging them in the closet and putting them away in the drawers.
Toiletries go in the bathroom, laid out on the sink for easy access.
No matter how long my stay is, I always unpack my things.
It makes me feel more organized. Digging through a suitcase to look for a sock or a matching shirt is for children.
When everything is unpacked, I head back into the main living area to find Tage smiling down at his phone.
“Care to share?” I say, moving to stand in front of him.
“No,” he says, not looking up at me.
“Do you have friends?”
Frowning, he looks up at me. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not very nice. I was just wondering if you had friends.”
Anger crosses his face, and he says, “I found a place for dinner. It’s a ten-minute drive.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
I clap my hands and head toward the door.
I insist on driving, because I don’t trust him to do that yet. And I enjoy showing him I’m capable of taking care of myself and that I’m not the baby he thinks I am. Though, I can’t tell if he actually thinks that, or if he’s just messing with me. He’s hard to read.
The restaurant has valet, and Tage assured me he has made reservations.
I give my name once inside, and immediately we’re led to a table beside an indoor garden with a water fountain; the water trickling loud enough to hear over the classical music playing from the speakers disguised as rocks.
I think it’s cheesy, but it works for the Grecian theme they have going on in here.
Decor, I couldn’t care less about. The chocolate cake better be top tier, though.
We go through the rigmarole of waiter introductions, specials, and drink and appetizer orders.
The menu has zero photos on it, as they typically don’t in places like this when the prices are high, as if that means the food is good.
Some of the best food I’ve ever had was from the food trucks in New York City.
Less than ten dollars for a container stuffed so full you can eat from it two to three times.
Money doesn’t make things good; it just gives the illusion that it is.
People believe it. And the cycle goes on.
“So, have you ever been to Connecticut before?” I ask. “Other than passing through, of course.”
“Yes,” he says, eyes on the menu even though I know he isn’t reading it.
“Do anything fun?”
“Not really.”
“What area have you been to?” I push.
He huffs. “All over.” The annoyance is clear, and I don’t like that it stings. I shouldn’t care if he likes me, but damn, I really want him to.
“Would it kill you to pretend you want to be here?” I ask.
His eyes snap up to meet mine, full of rage and fire. But only for a second or two. They settle, softening, until he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t force you into this position, Tage,’ I say.
“I know that.”
“If you didn’t want it, you didn’t have to take it.”
“I was a little desperate.”
“So, the only reason you took it was because you were desperate?” I ask.
That doesn’t seem right. I don’t believe it. He doesn’t seem like the type.
“Yes. No. Kind of?”
I hold his gaze for a long moment. “If you’d like a different position, I’ll make it happen,” I say.
Sighing again, he shakes his head. “No, I like what I’m doing.”
“You just don’t like me,” I say.
He looks guilty. “It’s not that I don’t like you…”
“Then what?”
“You’re just…” When he can’t come up with the word, he blows out a sharp breath.
“Nothing. It’s not you. I’m sorry, really.
I’m just dealing with a lot, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.
Again, I’m sorry, and I’ll do better. I appreciate you putting up with me.
I’m doing better than I expected, and that’s partly because of you. ”
“Better than you expected?” I question.
“What?”
“You said you’re doing better than you expected. What does that mean?”
His mouth opens and closes as if he’s deciding if he wants to answer me or not.
“It means I left home with nothing and thought I’d struggle a little bit longer. I mean, things aren’t perfect, but—.”
“If you need more money—”
“Don’t throw your money at me; it will make me hate you,” he says seriously.
Everything in his tone tells me this is not a boundary I should cross.
Not even one I should get next to. It also tells me that money is a sore spot for him, which I already had an idea of.
But why? An ex who bought him everything but wasn’t faithful?
A parent who showered him with gifts but was never around?
Those are just the obvious ones, but it could be any number of things.
Does it matter? I don’t know. But I do want to know.
“Well, to be fair, you are doing a wonderful job. You’ve caught on quickly. I can trust you with tasks. You’d deserve it.”
“My salary is already above starting to begin with.”
“According to who?”
“The average.”
“I don’t base employee salaries on the average, Tage. I base them on what I feel the job is worth and how well the employee is doing.”
“Yet you saw me, after fucking me, no less, and increased the salary by ten thousand dollars.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, I did do that.” I shrug. “What’s the problem?”
“I want to earn it.”
“You are earning it. By putting up with me. By showing up every day and doing your job wonderfully. Consider that extra ten thousand a reason not to punch me.”
He smiles at that, and I feel like I’ve just won.
Not the war, but a battle. A small one. One of many, no doubt.
But it’s still a win.