The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,43
came tumbling on the floor, and he helped me clean up the mess. We were both college students, but were at different schools. He was visiting his mom, and was cooking dinner, I remember. He always said it was love at first sight.”
“And was it?”
I smile, remembering that moment years ago. “Yes, I think so. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
His smile fades. “Yes… it can be a dangerous thing.”
I nod in agreement. “What about you? Where are you from? Do you have any siblings. How did you meet your ex-wife?”
The server arrives with our appetizer, interrupting the flow of our conversation, but as soon as she leaves, Weston picks up the conversation where we left it. “Chicago… my mother was studying at Oxford, and one of her professors knocked her up,” he says matter-of-factly. “He wanted nothing to do with the baby.”
“The baby?” I ask. “You?”
He smiles. “Yes… me. He was a wealthy man, and supported us financially, but that was it. I was mostly raised by my nanny… Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth… like your daughter?”
“Yes… we named Lizzie after her.”
“Oh, cool.”
“I was an only child,” he goes on, and I find that easy to believe. He seems very independent, introspective, like he doesn’t need anyone else. I appreciate that, but part of me wants him to need me.
“And Bridget and I met at Harvard. She was studying law, and was a year older than me. She was my first love… I was just a kid.”
I nod, riveted. “That’s sweet. So she was your college sweetheart?” I ask, the question rhetorical. “Donovan and I were too… sort of. I guess we have that in common.”
“Was Donovan your first love?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I had a boyfriend in high school, but it was nothing serious. What about you?”
He smiles, and just as he’s about to answer my question, the server is back with our entrées. I could wring her neck, but she’s just so friendly, I forgive her instantly.
“Enjoy,” she says, and disappears.
Weston grins. “Uh… to answer your question… Bridget was my first and only wife. I was with three other women in the context of our couple exchanges, Mirella being the last one. And there’s been no one since Mirella.”
I’m sad for him. “She really broke your heart, didn’t she?”
He stares down at his uneaten food. “Yes, she did, but certainly not intentionally. She had an impossible choice to make, and she made the right one. I was pretty much out of the game. Didn’t want anything to do with women or love…” his words trail off.
My heart is frantic when I ask, “Then what happened?”
“You.” His smile is wide. “You happened.”
I blush. “You always say the right thing.”
“What? It’s the truth. You’ve woken a dead man, Gretchen. You’ve opened me up to the possibilities of love again.”
I’m speechless for a long second. “Is this what this is?”
His smile fades. “I honestly don’t know yet. I hope it is,” he says. “One thing I know for sure is that I’m kind of crazy about you. You’re all I can think about… day and night. And I’m hoping the feeling is mutual.”
I smile. “It is.”
A long silence fills the space between us. We both stare down at our plates. “We should probably eat, or our food will get cold,” Weston ventures, and we both grab our silverware.
The food is delicious, and the conversation flows easily. We chat about the restaurant, and other restaurants and places we’ve been. He’s been to many more spots than I have. He gets very animated when he talks about all the restaurants he’d like to take me to.
We both have strawberries and mint soaked in Sambuca for dessert. It’s new to me, and it’s delicious.
He pays the bill, and helps me into my jacket before we leave. We’ve taken a cab there, but we decide to walk back home since it’s a beautiful night and I’m wearing comfy two inch heeled boots.
“So, I have good news,” he says. “Rosetta is back on her feet, sorta speak.”
“Oh, is she? Is she coming back?”
He smiles. “Yes, she’s back this Monday. Apparently she’s wearing a moon boot, and has crutches, but she’ll be back.”
“Oh damn… poor her.”
A playful smiles traces his lips. “You know what this means right?”
“No,” I say, completely clueless. “I have no clue.”
“It means we’ll have to be more discreet,” he whispers. “I won’t be able to slap your ass whenever I please. I won’t be able to spank you at your desk.”
I laugh.