Blackwell nods, confirming the order.
When we’re alone, he doesn’t even pretend to hide the way he drags his gaze over me—as if he’s assessing his prize, deciding which part he wants to consume first.
Though his tie is looser than it had been, nothing about him is casual. He’s a shark in the shallows, all sleek lines and the promise of teeth.
We haven’t been here for five full minutes, and he’s already unsettled me. “We should be at the office.” I fold my hands in my lap so he can’t see how they tremble.
He just smiles, and the razor curve of his mouth makes my pulse skip. “Relax, Ms. Hollis. This isn’t a date.”
So why does every inch of me feel like prey, served up on fine china?
I study the menu. Even the lower priced entrees cost more than I’m used to spending each week for groceries.
Using a pair of tongs, Blackwell places a roll on my plate. The scent of yeasty goodness teases me, and I break off a piece and use it to scrape some butter off the plate.
I feel as if I’m in heaven.
As I nibble instead of devouring, he asks about my visit to HR. And I notice he doesn’t have a single bite of the bread.
Maybe that’s how he keeps his spectacular physique.
The server reappears with the appetizer. It looks even more amazing than I imagined.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”
Blackwell surprises me by waiting on me again, heaping a few spoons of the fondue onto a small plate, along with a small piece of French bread that was served on the side.
While he takes some for himself, I try a bite and instantly squeeze my eyes shut. “This is amazing.” If it wasn’t so rich, I’d want to eat it as if it were a bowl of soup.
For a few minutes, he makes polite conversation, asking about my shopping trip and letting me know that I have a meeting with Tasha Leclerc, the property acquisitions specialist late tomorrow morning.
“So soon?”
“When I make a decision, I execute.”
No kidding. At warp speed. Obviously I’m not the only person whose life gets dictated by the CEO.
When I move my plate to the side, the waiter appears at our table, as if he’s been quietly waiting. Surely he has other customers? “Are you ready to order? Or would you like a few more minutes to relax?”
“I know what I’m having.”
At my statement, Blackwell nods.
“The Ceasar salad, please.”
“Any protein with that?”
“No, thanks.”
Blackwell flashes a scowl at me before directing his attention back to the server. “She’ll have the filet.” He glances back at me. “Medium rare?”
I sit there, blinking in shock.
When I don’t answer, he continues. “She’ll have that with the roasted potatoes and asparagus.”
“Very good, sir.” His eyes dart between us like he can’t decide which of us is the bigger threat.
When I open my mouth to object, Blackwell raises his hand. Fury is radiating from him. “You will not fucking argue with me, Ms. Hollis.”
