Chapter 11
Theo
My eyes burn as I stare at the computer screen before me. I’ve been trying to write this email for far too long, but the words don’t seem to be coming to me. This week has seemed to drag on. It’s only Wednesday, yet I feel we’ve been stuck in a perpetual warp.
Distantly, I hear Whitney’s phone ring. She picks it up and runs through her spiel, then pauses, listening to whoever is on the other line.
I finish writing up my email and then click send. Reaching for a pad of sticky notes, I scribble a note down and then saunter out of my office and to her desk. Whitney looks up at me briefly when I approach her, but her attention quickly falls back to her phone call.
Slowly, I place the sticky note on her desk so she can see it. Whitney’s blue-gray eyes scan over the message and then flash to me, asking a silent question. I give her a grin and motion with my chin at the note I’ve passed her.
Meet me tonight? 7:00 Gino’s?
Whitney’s eyes study my face for a moment before she nods and then crumbles up the note, tossing it in her waste basket.
I wait there for a few more minutes while she finishes up. While I wait, I admire the orchid I gifted her, still holding strong. The purple blossoms are still wide open with no signs of deterioration.
Even if they do end up dying, I figure I’ll just buy her a new one.
The flower delivers a nice pop of color to Whitney’s desk, even though she has many different colored accessories, like a purple, tie-dye mouse pad and other colored pens.
In the short time we’ve worked together, she always keeps her workspace clean and orderly.
Though there may be stacks of different things for her to work on, every note and document is precisely where she wants it to be.
It’s a stark difference from my own desk, where I have an exorbitant amount of reports piled upon one another, that I’m slowly working through, one at a time.
A part of me wonders if it bothers her that I’m not as orderly as she is. Does she notice my clutter like I see her lack of clutter?
Finally, she finishes her call and swivels in her chair to look at me. “Why Gino’s?”
I glance back at her. “Don’t you like pizza?”
“Of course, I do,” she says with an eye roll. “But why?”
Because I want to spend time with you, I want to say. Instead, I stick with my cover story. “I figured it would be a good idea to review the itinerary I gave you last week. The trip is coming soon, and I want to ensure all the details are smoothed out.”
Whitney nods her head as if this makes perfect sense. “I think I’ve got everything booked. The hotel had rooms blocked off, so I booked us two conjoined king rooms. Then you mentioned you could get us flights? That should be it.”
“Yeah, we’ll take my jet.”
“What else do you need to go over? I’ll run through everything before our meeting to have it ready.” She reaches for a pen and a paper pad and scribbles Gala Notes on the top before drawing a squiggly line underneath.
“Whitney,” I say her name slowly. She looks up at me expectantly, like she’s waiting for me to dictate more tasks for her to work on this afternoon.
“What?”
“Just…” I pause and run my fingers through my hair.
I’m about due for a haircut. I should probably do that before the gala.
I glance up the hall, where I know Charlotte is sitting at her desk.
I wonder just how much of our conversation she can hear.
“I’m sure you have everything in perfect order. Just come to dinner with me.”
Her eyes widen for a second before she finally catches on. “Okay,” she whispers. “That sounds great.”
At the end of the day, I find myself waiting outside Gino’s East, looking at my watch and hoping Whitney didn’t decide to back out. As I reach for my phone to shoot her a text, someone approaches me and places a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I turn around and face the woman who seems to haunt my every waking thought.
My face splits into a grin as I take her in.
After we left, she changed out of her work clothes.
Though her usual everyday attire compliments her immensely, I wasn’t prepared for how attractive Whitney could be in a pair of dark wash jeans and a silky, flowy top.
“You look great,” I say, my voice breathy as my gaze returns to her eyes.
She ducks her head as though my compliment embarrassed her. “Thank you.”
I’m dressed similarly, in my nicer pair of jeans and a blue, button-down shirt. It is a relief sometimes to have more casual events. Though professional, wearing a suit and tie can be highly uncomfortable day after day.
After finishing the rest of our pleasantries, I motion to the door. “Shall we?”
We walk into the restaurant and up to the podium, where the hostess watches us approach.
I had arrived about ten minutes early to put my name on the list so we’d have a table ready for us right when Whitney arrived.
I give her my name, and she grabs some menus, leading us back to a corner table in the restaurant.
As soon as we’re seated, someone swings by, dropping off glasses of water and getting our orders for any other type of beverage. Between getting our drinks and ordering our dinner, Whitney and I briefly discuss the day’s events and our weekend plans.
Finally, once our pizza is ordered, I ask, “Have you always lived in Chicago?”
Her eyes fly to mine in surprise, but she nods. “Yes, all my life.”
“Have you ever wanted to go somewhere else?”
Her eyebrows furrow just a bit, but she shakes her head. “No, I have no plans to leave. I mean…why do you ask?”
“I’ve lived lots of places. I find it interesting that someone would just choose to stay in one place when there’s a whole world to be explored.”
“I can respect that,” she says with a smile and a shrug. “I love that you got to experience all of that. But for me, I don’t even know where I’d go. All I have is here. Leila, my job.”
There’s something that bothers me about how short that list is, but I don’t make a big deal of it. “This job really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” I muse.
“It does. Especially now, I feel like it’s the last piece of Mr. Peterson that I have, besides pictures or memories. I want to see the company do well, for him.”
Anxiety bubbles in my stomach at the knowledge that her hero wasn’t all that he said he was. I still haven’t given her any indication that there may be something amiss with him and his books. I stomp down the worry, saving it for another day.
“Are you still happy, with the job?” I ask.
I hope she’s still happy working under me.
I know how much the old CEO meant to her, and I sometimes feel like a consolation prize.
All my life, I’ve felt like I’ve been running up hill, trying to be the best version of myself for everyone else.
And now, sitting here, staring into Whitney’s alluring eyes, I want to be enough for her more than ever.
“Of course,” she says, her voice going soft. “I’ve loved working with you.”
I note how she says working with and not working for. Something about that minute detail makes me happy. Technically, on paper, she does work for me, but I’ve always strived for more of a team-like environment.
“I’ve enjoyed working with you, too,” I tell her. “Honestly, I think it’s one of the best things about taking over this position.”
“Really?” Her eyes glitter in the low lighting of the restaurant.
I nod my head. I’m about to say something further when the waitress swings by, delivering a pan to our table, along with utensils and many napkins. We both give her our gratitude and then look down at our dinner.
“This is it?” I ask, trying to fight off the disgust lacing my tone as I observe the massive pie smothered in sauce before me.
Whitney laughs and reaches for the spatula they delivered with this monstrosity. “Yes, haven’t you ever had deep dish before?”
“Apparently not,” I mutter. I grimace when she cuts into the pizza and pulls out a slice. Gallons of cheese ooze from the middle and coagulate onto the plate the second the piece settles. Whitney hands it to me, and I look at my dinner warily. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.
“Come on. You’ve got to at least try deep dish if you’re going to live in Chicago,” she teases.
“Maybe I should just turn in my resignation. I’m not sure how I will stomach all of this.”
“Oh, you’re being dramatic.”
I give her a wary look but then reach for my fork and knife, opting for bravery.
I cut off a piece and ignore how my stomach is already rejecting the dairy before I’ve eaten it.
I pop the piece into my mouth and chew. Whitney is watching me, pure amusement etched on her features.
After I force myself to swallow, I reach for my beer and take a big gulp to wash it down.
“So?” she asks and arches her eyebrow, almost like a challenge.
I look her square in the eye and say, “That was disgusting. That’s not even pizza.”
Whitney tosses her head back and laughs, her wavy curls bouncing around her shoulders as she does so. My chest constricts at how beautiful she looks right now, so carefree and happy. She seems completely unfazed by the deep-dish pizza, taking bite after bite.
“So, about this gala,” Whitney begins, trailing off her sentence.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and swallow thickly.
Fuck, this pizza is going to rip up my stomach.
This was a terrible idea. I’ve made it about halfway through my serving and regret it immensely.
“Yes. You’ve already seen the gist of it from the itinerary I gave you, but I just wanted to run through everything. ”
She bobs her head and pulls a notebook out of her bag. Of course, she came prepared. I fight off the smirk that wants to pull on my lips.
“So, we’ll leave early Friday morning, and the actual event is Friday night. Then Saturday we can take as long as we need to. I believe there will be a luncheon if you want to attend. I’ll have my jet on standby so we can leave whenever necessary.”
“And I’m assuming this is a black-tie event?” she asks as she scribbles something in her notebook. She’s writing in some kind of cursive that I can’t make out from my position across the table. I am curious as to what she’s jotting down.
“Yes, I’ll be in a tux,” I tell her, winking when she looks up at me.
She smiles and then writes something in her book again. “I’ll have to find something to wear. I don’t think my prom dresses from high school will fit me anymore.”
“I can have—” I stop mid-sentence when she holds her hand up, halting my train of thought.
“Do not offer to buy it or have one bought for me,” she says.
She’s still smiling softly, but now I can see the resolve in her eyes.
She means what she says. “This is not going to be one of those relationships where the measly, middle-class girl dates the big bad CEO and lets him buy everything for her.”
I lean my elbows on the table. “They make relationships like that?”
Finally, the gleam is back in her eye. “Oh, yes.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
“You said your mother hosts it?” she asks. I nod my head, and her expression morphs into something thoughtful. “So, your mother will be there?”
“She will. We’ll likely be seated at her table.”
“Does she, um—” Whitney hesitates, unsure how to ask her question. “Does she have any indication that I’m more to you than just an assistant?”
I tilt my head and observe her, trying to figure out why she’s asking me this.
She quickly says, “You know, just for my sake. I need to know how I’m supposed to act.
If it’s going to be as your assistant or your date.
” She whispers the last word and looks up through her eyelashes.
I catch a sliver of hope in her blue-gray eyes and blink a few times, wondering if I just imagined it.
“You’ll be coming as my date,” I confirm. Now that we’re out of the office, I can drop all pretenses. If Whitney is going to be by my side, on my arm, in some knockout dress, she is damn well going be referred to as my date.
“So I shouldn’t bring my notebooks and color-coding system?” she asks, teasing me again, though now I notice her shoulders relaxing into her seat.
“Not unless you really want to. I won’t stop you,” I say fondly. “There won’t be much to work on, though. It’s really just for leisure, more than business.”
She bobs her head. “Good to know. I don’t think I’ll have much to protest about then.”
“I hope not,” I say playfully.
We finish our meal on a light-hearted note.
There never seemed to be a lull in conversation between us and each topic flowed seamlessly onto the next.
As I hand the waitress our paid check, I can’t help but feel content.
I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of getting to spend one-on-one time with this beautiful woman in front of me.
Now that she’s agreed to come with me to the gala, I’m sure it’s all I’ll be able to think about for the next few weeks.
As we’re on our way out, something catches my eye. I grab Whitney’s hand before she can get too far ahead of me and hold her back. She whips around and gives me a questioning look. I tilt my head toward the wall with names and quotes scattered all over it.
“You got a permanent marker?” I ask.
She stares at me blankly before sighing. “Of course, I do.”
After digging around in her purse, she produces a black permanent marker. I frown at it. “That’s not going to work. The walls are black.”
“Oh, for the love of—” She stops mid-sentence, then goes over to the maitre d’ and whispers to them. Whitney returns to me with a white paint pen and slaps it in my palm a little too forcefully. I give her a grin.
“Thank you.”
Walking over to the wall, I uncap the pen and start scribbling. Whitney stands at my side, peeking over my shoulder to see what I’m writing. When I’m finished, I recap the pen and look at her, waiting for her approval.
W + T
First Date at Gino’s
“You didn’t tell me you were such a sap,” Whitney says, nudging my shoulder. She’s teasing me, but I can see how my little note makes her eyes glitter in a way they haven’t before.
My chest feels full as I wrap my arms around her shoulder. We drop off the pen before walking outside of the busy restaurant.
“How do you know we’re meant to be?” she asks as she wraps her arm around my waist, holding onto me just as tightly as I am to her. We stop in the middle of the sidewalk outside the front doors. “Maybe this is just a fling.”
“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t believe that one bit. “But even then, I think we were meant to find each other. I don’t think people who aren’t meant to be around each other feel this way.”
Whitney stares thoughtfully at me, and I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. Finally, she stands up on her tiptoes and kisses the side of my mouth. I catch her around her waist with one hand and hold her close to me.
When she pulls away from me, her eyes are glassy. Her full lips rise into a smile, and she whispers, “I think you’re right.”