I’m not sure how to interpret that. ‘I love my job. I’d like to keep it. Besides, it wouldn’t be very professional of me, or legal, for that matter, to talk about my boss’s company.’
He nods, thoughtful, as his eyes hold mine. Good God, he’s watching me way too closely. I need a timeout.
‘Excuse me while I use the bathroom.’ I stand, placing my napkin on the table. Brent’s quick to follow suit, rounding the table to pull out my chair. ‘Thank you,’ I mutter before scurrying through the tables and down the stairs, falling into the ladies’ in a flustered state. ‘Christ,’ I breathe, running my clammy hands under the cold tap while I take in my flushed cheeks. They nearly match my hair. I make a vain attempt to straighten myself out. My plans to meet his confidence have been spectacularly dashed by my pathetic bunk from the table. I never stopped to think about whether Brent would question why I’m here. Yes, I find him attractive, but there’s a much deeper, and really rather silly reason why I’m here. Becker-Fucking-Hunt. I cease my intended direction of thought before it runs away with me and focus on my situation. Brent has made his attraction clear. Why can’t I just go with this? Have some fun? Get my boss out of my head?
On a sharp, satisfied nod of my head, I square my shoulders and make my way back to the restaurant.
My steak is waiting for me when I arrive, and Brent is sitting patiently, sipping his drink. ‘Okay?’ he asks as he stands and pulls out my chair.
I take my seat and take a deep breath. ‘Yes, thank you.’ I let him place my napkin across my lap and take his chair before I collect my cutlery. ‘This looks delicious.’
‘I’m glad you think so. Please, lead the way.’
I smile in response to his gentlemanly manners and push my knife into the meat. It slices easily, and the moment it passes my lips, I sigh, sinking my teeth into the succulent steak.
‘Good?’
‘Hmm.’ I chew slowly to savour the taste. ‘Very good.’
‘Tell me about yourself, Eleanor.’
‘I moved to London just over a month ago. New start.’
‘New start?’ He nods. ‘No better place to make a fresh start.’
‘Have you lived in London all your life?’
‘Yes. My great-grandfather emigrated from America in the early nineteen hundreds and established the family business soon after arriving.’
‘From America?’ I ask, surprised.
He smiles fondly. ‘Yes. He met my great-grandmother only a day after being in London. Love at first sight.’
‘Very romantic.’
‘Tell me about it. They had my grandfather a year later, and the rest is history. Everything I know, I learned from my dad, and he learned from my grandfather and so on. They were very shrewd businessmen.’
‘Were?’
‘My grandfather passed away twenty years ago. My father has been gone for five.’
‘I’ve lost my father, too.’ I surprise myself with my willingness to share, but it only seems right since Brent is being so open. ‘He also died five years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
I shrug on a smile. ‘Live for today, right?’
‘Right,’ he confirms quietly, seeming to drift off into a daydream for a few moments while I look on. ‘Jesus, I’m hardly wooing you, am I?’ Brent laughs. ‘How’s your steak?’
‘Amazing,’ I answer honestly, focusing my attention on my plate and taking another mouthful. Silence falls again, except this time it stays for considerably longer while we both eat, him obviously distracted, me wondering why. It’s beginning to get slightly awkward when his phone rings and he stands, placing his napkin on the table. ‘I’m so sorry. Please, excuse me. I need to take this.’
I nod and set my knife and fork down, watching as he strolls through the restaurant towards the bathroom, his phone at his ear.
I move back when the waiter approaches, giving him clear access to my empty plate. ‘Was everything okay with your meal, madam?’
‘Perfect, thank you.’
‘Dessert menu?’
‘Oh, Mr Wilson mentioned some Pimm’s and champagne thingy.’
The waiter winces at my uncouth reference to what is likely a ridiculously expensive dessert. ‘Pimm’s sorbet with champagne drizzle, madam?’
I cringe, embarrassed, as my phone dings. ‘Yes, please.’ Sighing to myself as the waiter leaves, I open the text message as I sip my champagne. It’s Lucy.
Roland is wild!
A burst of laughter flies from my mouth, sending spurts of champagne with it. I can sense Lucy’s sarcasm from a simple text, and I imagine her utterly bored out of her poor