“One of the ovens and the ice cream machine stopped working. They had to call the repair guy, and my store manager is away for the week, so they needed someone to sign the check. No big deal,” he shrugged. “Billy’s in training to be number two in the store, but he doesn’t have the authority to sign most stuff yet.”
I nodded in understanding.
“How long have you owned that restaurant?”
“Um,” he said, running his hand down the side of his face. “It was the first place I ever owned. I bought the franchise when I turned twenty-one.”
My eyes bulged. “You owned your first business at twenty-one?”
“Nah, I owned my first business at eighteen. I did real estate, bought my first one-story home to flip at eighteen to build up enough money to buy my first store at twenty-one.”
“You’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit. I remember when you used to host fight parties at your house when your mom was out of town for business.”
He grinned, laughing. “Yeah, those li’l bangers used to be lit.”
“So why the hospitality business? You obviously could’ve ventured off into owning anything you put your mind to, I’m sure,” I questioned, leaning on the center console with my elbow and resting my head in my hand. I could stare at this man’s profile for eternity and listen to him talk for even longer. I found myself wanting to know all about him.
As a teen, I’d found him intriguing. An enigma who didn’t exactly fit in with the stuck-up trust fund babies that populated our school’s hallways. Anyone could see he had a hustler’s spirit and would get anything he wanted. He wasn’t just another pretty face, but had the brains and most importantly, the drive to back it up.
“We’re doing the whole twenty questions thing tonight, huh?” He asked as we pulled up to the front ofGrant’s.They didn’t have reserved parking, but they made an exception for the owner, I noted as one of the wait staff came out and retrieved the keys from Xavier once we were out. He mentioned something low in the young man’s ear before wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked toward the door.
“Mr. Grant, your table is ready,” the cute young hostess damn near purred, making eye contact with only Xavier. For a half a second, a pang of jealousy sprouted in my chest as the hostess giggled at Xavier’s smile, flicked her brunette hair and sauntered off ahead of us, adding a little switch to her walk. I reminded myself that this was a young college girl, I was a grown ass woman, and if Xavier wanted that, he could have it.
“You all right?” he asked as we followed the girl.
“I’m fine,” I answered, a little more tersely than I would’ve liked.
“Here’s your menu, although I’m sure you already know what’s on it,” she giggled again. At that point, I rolled my eyes, grabbing the menus from her.
“Thank you,” I dismissed her, at the same time Xavier held the chair out for me.
She must have caught the message because her smile fell a little and she nodded, giving Xavier one last look before sauntering off.
“I hope you don’t like ’em that young,” I sneered.
“What?” His gaze followed my line of sight back up front to where the hostess was now receiving another couple. He turned back to me. “I’m a grown ass man, and that li’l girl is the daughter of a former business partner. You think I’d be interested in that?”
I shrugged, trying to hide the regret I felt under his scrutiny. “I’m just saying,” I mumbled.
“Well don’t ‘just say.’ Say what you mean.”
I squinted at his tone. “Whatever, X. Just drop it.”
“Xavier.”
“What?” It was my turn to be confused.
“Xavier. Not X.”
I frowned. “Everyone else calls you X. Why can’t I?”
He gave me an ardent stare, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “You’re not everyone else. I like the way my name sounds out of your mouth.”
Instant panty-wetter.
I began fixing the cloth napkin on my lap to avoid his eyes. The man could make me weaker than I ever wanted to be with anyone. His gaze was still on me, assessing me, and I both hated and loved how nervous it made me feel.
“All right, Xavier,” I said his name with emphasis. “Tell me how you got started in the restaurant business.” I was trying to steer the discussion into more neutral territory. Just then, our waiter came by with two drinks on his tray. He placed what looked like a scotch in front of Xavier and what I knew was an amaretto sour in front of me. I squinted at Xavier.
