Working Out West - Lila Rose Page 0,3

I quickly moved over to the table and sat. I wasn’t foolish enough to sit at the head of the table. Mr. Hail certainly looked like he was in charge, and his position was set in stone. Even with the small amount of time I’d spent in the building, I could see the man wasn’t one to be messed with.

It had me wondering why he needed company from an escort in the first place. Why didn’t he just have one of his friends over for dinner and a chat?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t my place to question his motives. I was there to do a job, and if Mr. Hail wanted to eat dinner with me, we would. Besides, it smelled amazing.

I jolted when a bowl was placed in front of me. I glanced down, and my mouth watered.

“Beef stroganoff,” Mr. Hail stated as he put his own bowl down and sat.

I smiled. I didn’t let it wither when he just stared at me, giving me nothing. Instead, I said, “Thank you. It looks and smells amazing.” I picked up my fork and took a mouthful, moaning as the taste exploded in my mouth. I opened my eyes, which I hadn’t realized I’d closed, to see Mr. Hail had been watching me still. He didn’t pick up his fork until I nodded and mumbled, “It’s great.”

He grunted and started eating. Silence rent the room except for our forks and the slight sound of munching. I really didn’t do well when things got quiet. In fact, I got more nervous. I felt like I needed to speak and make things comfortable, but I was fighting myself, unsure Mr. Hail was looking for someone to start dribbling shit about nothing in general.

So, I would sit there in silence.

I could.

I had to, because he certainly wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was good.

Oh, look over there to the row of floor-to-ceiling windows that I can jump out. I just have to move the transparent curtains. Why do people get see-through curtains? Wait, it looks like there’s a balcony. At least I won’t have to climb out a window.

Yep, silence was so much fun.

Well, what do we have here? There’s a dead plant sitting in a pot at the end of the row of windows. Maybe the silence killed it.

On my last forkful, the silence got to me, and when I placed the fork down in the bowl, I rambled, “My mom cooked beef stroganoff once, but it was nothing like this. She also couldn’t say the words as well as you do.” Heat hit my cheeks, and I quickly went on. “But when Dad complained about the meat being too tough, she never tried again and stuck to her normal meals she was used to cooking. They mainly contained sausage and vegetables. Meatloaf and vegetables. Lamb stews and chicken and rice. There were other plain dishes, but nothing to rave about. It wasn’t until I reached high school and was allowed to attend my first and only sleepover that I discovered pizza.” I groaned. “I never knew love until I had my first taste.”

Laughing, I shook my head. I hadn’t once looked at him while I spoke; instead, I gazed out the windows or down at the table. “When I started college and moved out, I kind of went crazy with all types of takeout, but I soon realized it wasn’t good for my bank account. Still, I spoil myself once a week with it.” Where the hell was I going with this conversation? “Anyway,” I drew out, sliding my fork back and forth in the bowl. “Do you eat takeout?” Did that sound rude? Did it sound like I didn’t enjoy the meal? Shit, I was getting paid to be here, and now it sounded like I was judging his food or the fact he cooked by mentioning takeout. With wide eyes, I dragged them up and spewed the words, “Wait, I didn’t mean I didn’t like dinner. I did, and I appreciate you cooking. I wish I could cook. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time because I’m not a good cook.”

“I know you liked it,” Mr. Hail replied, and that was it.

I slumped as the tension rolled off me. “Well, that’s good then.” I smiled. What did we do now? Did he want to watch a movie? Read a book together? Did I suggest something? If I didn’t look away from his lips, he would get an idea