On Saturday night, I walked into the fancy lobby of Cole’s apartment building. It felt more sterile than his apartment with its slick green marble tile floors and gold accents. Yet, the doorman was polite when he checked my name off his list and then ushered me into the elevator.
Since Wednesday evening, when we’d agreed to be together, I’d worried about this date. Or was it a booty call? What did togetherness mean to Cole Campion? He’d been married, so he was clearly capable of commitment, but what would our relationship look like, especially with the complication of working together and staying secret until our presentation in six weeks? I’d die if someone from work saw us. The consequencesof the board finding us out were too terrifying to imagine. It was always the woman who was fired in these scenarios, while a man, especially a younger man like Cole, got the “boys will be boys” excuse and a slap on the wrist.
Cole was standing at his door when I arrived. He ushered me in, and when the door was closed, he gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. Then he took my coat.
“We’re staying in?” I asked, relieved.
“Unless you’d prefer to go out?” He paused with the hanger in one hand and my coat in the other. “We can, I suppose. Though we should talk about the eventuality of being seen.”
A ball of uncertainty about what we were doing weighed in my belly. “No, in is great.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Actually, yes.” Right on cue, my stomach growled. “All I’ve had since breakfast is hot chocolate. I ice-skated with my nieces and nephews this morning, then I went to the Vigil Mass this afternoon. I thought maybe…” I hadn’t known what to think about our date. I’d gone to the church service today so I wouldn’t feel guilty about skipping it in the morning if I slept over, but bringing an overnight bag felt too bold. I’d compromised by leaving a change of clothes in the trunk of my car, but I’d still have to do a walk of shame to go get it. I grimaced.
“Give me a minute. Then dinner is served.” He slipped my coat into the closet and set a hand on my lower back. I was glad I’d worn a dress—blue silk with a floral print. It dipped low in the front, but I’d covered up with a scarf for church. He had on gray trousers and a black wool sweater over an open-collared shirt that gave me a peek at the springy curls below his collarbone. I was tempted to run my fingers through them the way I had at the beachside resort. I remembered they were almost as soft as his hair. I’d wanted to touch his hair inthe office all week, but I’d been a good girl and honored our agreement. Now, I kept my hands to myself and let him guide me into the kitchen.
“You cooked for me?” I asked.
He washed his hands. “Nothing could top buttered noodles à la Brigitte…” I nearly swooned at his fake-French accent. If he actually spoke French, my ovaries might burst. “I bought some pantry staples. But I didn’t want to subject you to my bachelor cooking, so I got a little help from a friend.” He gestured at the white paper bag on the counter with Savannah’s new catering logo, Made with Love.
“You meanmyfriend?” I almost reached for my phone to text Savannah and ask why she’d kept the secret from me.
“I’ve met her. She caters our breakfast and lunch meetings.” His voice rose defensively. “And before you jump into your group chat, I asked her to keep this a secret.”
“I hope you paid extra,” I grumbled.
“I probably did.” He chuckled as he opened the oven and pulled out a foil dish. “Ow. Hot,” he muttered.
“Potholder.” Shit, I sounded like my mother. I opened the drawer that held a pair of the most pristine ones I’d ever used and handed them to him. He took the pads from me and lifted the other container. While I washed my hands, he got out two plates and removed the foil lids.
“Mmm.” I inhaled the savory scent. “I love her balsamic chicken and risotto.” My stomach growled again. “How did you know?”
“I asked her for your favorite dish.” His smile was smug. “Totally worth the secret tax.”
“Is there…” I peeked inside the bag, but it was empty.
“I put the salad in the fridge. Want to get it out?”
In his high-end refrigerator was a biodegradable container of salad. But it was the small pair of paper cups that I took out. “Are these…”
“Chocolate mousse. But they’re for later.”
“Later?” I pouted in my best Veruca Salt impression. “But I want itnow.”
“Sometimes we want things that aren’t good for us.” His eyes burned like Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber.
“Are we still talking about chocolate mousse?” I set one on the counter and lifted the lid off the other.
In half a second, he pinned me against the counter, his thick arms caging me. “You want dessert first?”
My heart raced. “I think I do.” I dipped a finger into the cup and scooped out a taste, then popped it into my mouth. The airy, creamy chocolate melted on my tongue, and I moaned.
Cole’s mouth was on mine, kissing and invading. He licked the chocolate from my tongue, and I savored his minty taste alongside the heavenly mousse. His hands slid from my hips up my sides, then he cradled my jaw and raised it to deepen the kiss. I was wearing four-inch heels, but I stood up straighter to try to match his height.
With a frustrated growl, he broke our kiss, set his hands on my waist, and lifted me to sit on the kitchen island. I squeaked in surprise. “Don’t manhandle me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed my neck, making me shiver. “Next time, I’ll say, ‘Bridget, may I please lift you onto the counter so I don’t break my neck bending to kiss you.’”
