Charming Co-Worker - Jeannine Colette Page 0,16
looking like he’s waiting on me to go somewhere.
“I told you I was taking you out,” he answers my unasked question.
I look from side to side, trying to figure out what I’m missing. “You were serious about that?”
Branson heads out of his office, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Hunter. “Oh. Hi,” he says to Hunter and then nods as if he just remembered something. “You’re picking her up for your date?”
“I have a whole evening planned,” Hunter says, standing up as tall as he can, which is silly because he’s a good three inches taller than Branson.
Branson gives the two of us an easy smile. “Well, you two have a smashing evening. Cheerio.”
As he leaves, I shut down my computer and wait for it to turn off. “Your act is cute, but I’m not really in the mood for it. It’s been a long day.”
“Don’t you eat dinner?” he asks me as I rise and grab my coat.
“I do. But the real kind. Not the fake-boyfriend kind.”
“Then, let’s get dinner.”
His statement shocks me, not enough for me to argue though. “Fine, but I get to pick.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asks, opening his coat with his hands that are still in the pockets as if he’s open to going anywhere I’d like.
A wide smile develops on my face. “I have the perfect place.”
Nestled in the bucolic Central Park setting is Tavern on the Green. When the taxi drops us off at the iconic restaurant, I hear Hunter sigh and watch him drop his chin to his chest. I toss the driver a twenty and hop out of the car, pulling my winter coat close to my chest as I step to the sidewalk.
Hunter closes the door behind us, and I turn to him with a grin. He’s staring at the stone building with curved brows and a pout on his lips. I flip his collar up to cover his neck.
“It’s not so bad.” I grab his hand and pull him around the circular drive to the long red awning that leads inside.
“There’s no way we’re getting a table. It’s Christmastime in New York. This place is booked months in advance.”
I wave him off as I weave through the patrons waiting inside the entrance for their tables, and I walk up to the podium, where a woman is taking names.
“Two for Branson Ford,” I tell her.
She looks down at the reservation log and gives a nod. Of course it’s packed tight, and his name is nowhere on the list, but there are certain names that get instant access anywhere in this city, and Branson’s is one of them.
“Right this way,” she says, grabbing two menus.
I give Hunter a smug look as he follows me into the glass-enclosed dining room. Even the biggest Grinch who can’t get into the holiday spirit would have a rough time staying a curmudgeon in this space. Crystal chandeliers, accented in red bows; white linen-covered tables with fresh red flowers as the centerpieces; and a giant Christmas tree, ornately trimmed, decorate the historic dining room.
The waitress leads us to a table for two in the center of the room. I have to shimmy in between two chairs to get to mine. Hunter pulls out his seat, his wide shoulders nearly bumping into a waitress as he takes his coat off and hangs it on the back of the chair. With my own coat shrugged off, I take a seat and look back at him, beaming.
“You made a reservation under the boss?” he asks.
“It’s Christmastime in New York. This place is booked months in advance,” I take his comment from before and throw it in his face.
“And you did this—”
“From my email in the cab. Branson does a lot of business with the publicist for this restaurant. I think she has a crush on him,” I state matter-of-factly.
“And no one’s gonna notice the CEO of Empire Media isn’t here?”
“They don’t care.” I unfold my white napkin and lay it over my thighs. “If someone were to ask, I’d say he was held up and sent the producer of Empire Media’s top show, On the Sidelines, instead.”
Hunter grins. “I’ve never used my title to get anything.”
“You should. Branson does all the time. Tickets to late-night shows, VIP tables at clubs, and an autographed baseball for his nephew. He’s a name-dropper.”
“That’s very clever of him.” He gives a sigh that sounds like an eye roll would if it were audible.
“You could, too, you know.”
“I like