she makes tugs at it, making me want her even more.
While we wait for our food, I watch her eyes register the other diners, the dishes of food as they pass by our table.
“This place really isn’t you, is it?” I ask her, feeling suddenly foolish for even bringing her here.
She gives me a smile. “It’s nice.”
“But not what you’d choose as a lunch option?” I observe, reminding myself there was a time when a sandwich or a hot dog from the street vendor was something to look forward to.
“We can get something else,” I say, knowing the chef will gladly make me anything, even a sandwich. But she says she’s fine.
Stop trying so hard, relax.
Her face grows a little determined and she asks me more about the job. A sensible girl, as well as gorgeous. I’d be concerned if she didn’t ask a lot of questions.
I guess I have to give her a job title ‘Queen of my world’ is a little odd for office stationery.
“For now, you’ll be my personal assistant,” I declare, letting my eyes run to her cleavage and jumping as the wine cart waiter clears his throat.
“Just mineral water for me,” she says, and I know for sure I’m with the right girl.
“How old are you?” I ask her next, frowning then wincing. I don’t want to look or sound like a desperate old man, but at my age, my money, it’s almost expected I take someone half my age.
“I’m twenty-two in December,” she says bashfully and I feel relief when the entrée arrives.
“Parents?” I ask next, “I mean, do you live at home?”
She shakes her head automatically.
“Just me. Always has been,” she says, puckering for her straw as she sucks down her mineral water, and I know in an instant that she’s all alone in this world.
Something I’ll let her tell me about when she’s ready. And something I have an instant remedy for.
The food’s fancy, but there’s plenty of it. It’s how I like to eat and I’m relieved too once Alyson’s relaxed enough to enjoy her pasta, then lobster but declines a dessert, which I do too but only because she does.
There’s more color in her cheeks and I can tell she needed to eat, her whole mood seems better and I know now how much I enjoy watching her eat as well as just being with her.
“Better?” I ask her, followed by some scrutiny. “When did you last eat?”
She flushes red and looks down at her lap, fidgeting with her napkin.
“I only meant...” I start to say, but it’s clear she needs a job for more than one reason.
Like the choice of restaurant, I forget sometimes, often that most people have money worries.
“It’s okay,” she says, smiling now. “I can’t lie to you, I’m broke. I’m watching the neighbor’s apartment while they’re overseas, eating from their…”
Her face suddenly goes pale and her mouth drops to form an ‘O’ shape.
“What is it?” I ask her, panic rising in me, mixed with the pain of the thought of her living like that.
“My neighbor!” she exclaims. “Uh, sorry, they have a bed being delivered today. I have to go!”
I blink and shake my head from side to side, not believing it when she stands to leave.
“I have to go, I promised to be home for the delivery, it’s up twelve flights, ugh! I’m so sorry.”
“Wait!” I growl, my hand up and I hear the hush of the restaurant behind me as everyone turns to look.
She’s frozen to the spot, but I can see she has someplace to be, probably never figured on getting the job and lunch within the same hour.
“Alyson,” I say softly, motioning her back to her seat, “I can take you wherever you need to be, you don’t have to rush. Don’t have to run away.”
“In twenty minutes?” she asks, screwing her face up with anxiety.
She gives me her address, which isn’t that far.
“I’ll take you there myself.” Jutting my chin for the waiter and telling him to have the valet bring my car around front.
“Very good, Mr. Chambers,” he says, and with a brisk bow he’s off, the deep throaty growl of my custom sports car not too far behind a few minutes later.
“Shall we?” I ask standing up and offering her my arm, which she takes.
I feel like I’m floating on air with her on my arm as we leave the restaurant, the valet holding the car door open for me, but I walk round to make sure Alyson