"Our sexual compatibility?" I supply dryly.
A slow grin spreads across his face, and damn it, it shouldn't affect me the way it does. "I was going to say, 'how we take our coffee,' but yes, that too."
I should say no.. But he's right. If we're going to pull this off, we need to establish some boundaries and backstory.
"Fine," I concede. "Dinner. But purely professional."
"Purely professional," he agrees, though his eyes say something entirely different. "I'll pick you up at seven?"
"I'll just meet you there. Text me the place."
He pulls out his phone and unlocks it before sliding it across my desk. "Input your details, Whitaker."
His phone's background is a mountain vista. It's a gorgeous shot.
I type in my number and add Charlotte W. in the name field and hand it back.
He stands, and I can't help but notice the way his button up stretches across his shoulders. "Looking forward to it, Charlotte."
The way he says my name, because I made it perfectly clear on day one he didn't get to call me Charlie is drawn out with just a hint of that teasing tone and sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
"It's just dinner," I remind him. And myself.
"Of course." He pauses at the door. "Oh, and one more thing."
"What's that?"
"That dress looks fantastic on you."
Before I can respond, he's gone, leaving me with burning cheeks and the distinct impression that I've just made either the best or worst decision of my life.
Probably the worst.
Definitely the worst.
I grab my phone and text the group chat:
He said yes. I'm having dinner with him tonight to "plan our strategy." This is all your fault Em and I expect full emotional compensation.
Their responses are immediate:
YOU'RE WELCOME!!!
Em
Eeek!!!
Lily
Dinner reservations at Bellinis, 7pm. Dress code: stunning (though you already check that box).
UNKNOWN
I roll my eyes and save the contact.
It's not a date. And stop flirting.
Never said it was, Whitaker. And that wasn't flirting. When I flirt, you'll know.
