The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,79

the building, my breath hitches as I spot his town car. A chauffeur holds a door open for me and I slip in, finding it all a little surreal. I knew he got around in a town car because I’ve seen him before, but I’m still surprised.

Weston offers me a drink as soon as we’re settled in the sleek tan leather seats. “No, I’m good,” I say. I’m already nervous, and I don’t want to have to go pee ten times.

“You like Italian, right?” he asks. “I think you’ve mentioned it once.”

“I love it.”

“You look very lovely in your dress.”

“Thank you. You have very good taste, Sir.”

He smiles playfully. I can tell that he loves it when I call him Sir. That’s why I keep doing it.

My gaze darts over him. He looks dashing in a charcoal suit, blue tie, striped shirt and expensive looking coat. “You look very handsome too. Very distinguished.”

He fiddles with the silver buttons on the sleeves of his coat, not quite looking at me. The dichotomies of his personality baffle me. One second, he’s powerful, confident and completely in his element. And the next, he’s a shy little boy.

“I can’t wait,” I say. “I’m so hungry.”

“You’ll love this place.”

34

Edward opens the door for me again. Edward is Boss Man’s driver, and he seems nice. I smile up at him and thank him. Weston leads me to the restaurant, a brown brick Victorian house topped with green gables. It sits tall on the corner, more stunning than all its neighbors.

The atmosphere is both classy and quaint; wrought iron light fixtures, crisp white linens, rustic brick walls dotted with old photographs of Rome. Or is it Florence? I’m not sure since I’ve never been.

The hostess leads us to our table, and Weston pulls a chair for me, ever the gentleman. Donovan used to do that too. I take in the place and the crowd. “I feel a little overdressed.”

“No, you’re fine,” he assures me. “You look fantastic.”

I lean in closer. “People are staring,” I whisper.

“They’re staring because you’re the most beautiful woman in the place.”

I smile, and the server inches closer. “Hello, I’m Samantha. How are you two tonight?”

“Fabulous,” I tell her.

“I love your dress,” she says. “And your hair too.”

I reach for my up-do, a little unsettled by the unexpected compliments. “Thank you.”

She hands us the menus. “Take your time. I’ll go fetch water to start you off.”

I’m intimidated when I flip open the menu. “It’s all in Italian!”

Weston laughs. “Look closer.”

I take a closer look, and notice the descriptions are also written in English in a smaller font. Thank goodness. My stomach stands to attention as I peruse the choices. “How’s the veal parm here?”

“It’s fantastic. I highly recommend.”

“Well, that’s what I’m having then.”

He smiles. “You’re easy.”

“Don’t you know it,” I joke.

“Well, you weren’t that easy,” he points out. “It took me almost a month to…” his words trail off. I know exactly what he’s alluding to. It took him weeks to finally get his Twinkie stinky.

I smile wide at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, curious.

“Oh… it’s nothing. Just something Rosetta said. You know how she gets.”

“What did she say?”

I blush. “Oh… I can’t tell you.”

“You are being quite incorrigible, Grasshopper,” he says in his commanding boss voice. “You must tell me.”

“Okay…” I finally concede. “She said you got your Twinkie stinky.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

“You know… when you… Get it?”

He cracks up, and the patrons sitting three tables away turn in our direction.

“So she knows about us?”

“Of course she does. She’s no dummy,” I point out. “I swear I didn’t tell her a thing.”

He smiles. “I believe you.” He dips his head again. “I think I’ll have the seafood pasta. What would you like as an appetizer?”

“I love calamari,” I say. “But anything—”

“Calamari, it is then.”

“Great.”

“How about wine? Do you like Shiraz?”

“Love it actually.”

“Wow, you really are easy.”

We both enjoy the appetizer and the conversation. It’s mostly about work and Rosetta’s antics. We also chat about our kids.

“I love Ethan,” he says. “He’s such a sweet boy.”

“Thank you. I’m proud of him.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job with him,” he goes on. “And I’m not just saying that. I’m not one to offer insincere compliments. He’s so kind and smart. I was watching him eat his snack when I picked you up, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was dipping his nacho into the guacamole. Didn’t spill a drop. I’ve never seen a two-year old do that before.”

I laugh. “Yes, he loves guacamole. It’s