“No bother. I just need to go out to the car.”
He returned two minutes later with a fancy picnic basket and bakery bag. As I helped unpack the mountain of gourmet sandwiches with exotic fillings and elaborate salads, a tiny alarm bell went off when I found champagne and Godiva chocolates. This was date food, not employer food. Was I misreading the situation? Perhaps this was normal in Ben’s world.
“You’ll have to enjoy the champagne by yourself,” I said lightly. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“Not even a little glass?” He pouted, looking like a spoiled toddler with his round blue eyes.
“Not even a little glass. I’ll have a sandwich, but then I need to get back to work.”
“Okay. I’ll leave these in the fridge so you can have a snack whenever you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“It’s my pleasure. Do you have any food allergies? I asked my assistant to have these wrapped individually.”
I shook my head, unwrapping a sandwich. “No allergies, but it was really thoughtful of you. This looks delicious.”
“That’s porchetta and cheddar on focaccia.”
I hated to admit the only ingredient I’d heard of was cheddar. Porchetta turned out to be some sort of roast pork that was quite dry. I would have loved to drown it in mayo, but had a feeling that was probably sacrilegious in gourmet cooking.
Half a sandwich later, I decided to try some small talk. “So, Ben, what do you do? Robert mentioned your family works in oil.”
“I’m the international business liaison for my family’s oil empire. Sounds fancy, right?” His eyes glinted playfully. “It means I get to travel, jet-setting to different countries. I’m the friendly face who ensures smooth operations. But I don’t like taking myself too seriously. It’s all about finding the right balance between business and pleasure. Here, try this.”
He reached over with a cracker covered in brown mousse, trying to feed it to me. I struggled to chew the dry pork already filling my mouth. After several awkward moments, I managed to bite into the cracker.
“I like it,” I said, nodding. “What is it?”
“Duck liver.”
I was mid-swallow, my abused esophagus wanting to expel the thing, but I forced it down. All I could think about was Sebastian’s incredible cooking, how he could make amazing meals from whatever scraps I had in my fridge. God, I missed him.
“Something wrong?” Ben asked.
I realized my expression had turned pissed off. “Nope. I was just thinking of work.”
I felt guilty for being so ungrateful. After all, Ben had gone to so much trouble to put together this meal. Well, his assistant had, but it didn’t matter. It had been Ben’s idea, and I should appreciate it.
I stood, dusting crumbs off my fingers. “Thank you so much for this excellent lunch, Ben. Now I need to get back to work.”
“Are you sure you won’t have a glass of champagne?” He lifted the bottle enticingly.
“I’m absolutely positive. Maybe when I finish the project, I’ll accept a toast.”
“That’s a promise I can make.”
I cleared off the island and put the leftovers in the fridge. Ben didn’t offer to help, but people like him must be used to having others clean up their messes. I’d been brought up differently. I always cleared my plate and insisted on helping with the dishes. Sebastian was the same. He was obsessed with cleaning up after himself.
Ben stood watching me, leaning against the counter with a charming smile.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” he said. “I’ll be in L.A. for the next few days.”
“That sounds nice.” I tried to hide my relief that he wouldn’t be breathing down my neck.
He moved forward and took my shoulders between his palms. “Don’t worry, I’ll have my phone with me.” He ran his palms up and down my bare arms. “You seem to have everything under control, but if you need to talk to me about anything, just call or text, okay?”
His touch made me uncomfortable. It seemed overly familiar. Was I overreacting again? Was this how the#MeToovictims had felt in the beginning, always questioning themselves until it was too late?
