I can’t do this anymore. I wish I’d brought my phone so I could pretend to get an urgent text and make my escape. Or at least have a blunt object in hand.
Then again, why should I break my phone? I should throw the cake at him instead.
“Hey, is this where you hid the free cake?” comes a cheerful voice.
I turn and see a black-haired guy with beautiful olive skin coming into the breakroom. Something about him seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m certain we’ve never met, though. He isn’t the kind of guy you’d forget easily.
He’s tall, with shoulders and biceps that strain against the tight fit of our trainer uniform. Given his size, he’s in the largest shirt we have. Muscles bulge in his thick thighs and calves as he walks. He isn’t exactly handsome, but his features are even, and his white smile puts you at ease, like you’re in the presence of the protective big brother you always wanted.
Right now, he’s my hero. Jack can’t be as gross when somebody’s watching.
“Hey, Arturo!” Jack feigns a smile and claps his shoulder in manly greeting. But thethwackof flesh hitting flesh is awfully loud.
Arturo doesn’t seem bothered. He looks like he could hit back just as hard, if not harder. His hands are just as big as Jack’s—and veinier. “Hey, boss. So who’s this pretty girl?”
Amazing how when Jack called me a pretty girl, I wanted to scratch my skin off. When Arturo says it, I just want to smile and say a friendly hello. On the other hand, anybody is better than Jack.
“Molly Greene. She’s an accountant here. Back office, you know? It’s her birthday.”
“Yeah, I saw your text.” He turns to me. “Hi. I’m Arturo. Just started today.”
“Hi.” I shake his hand. He has a good grip. Firm and controlled.
“If I’d known it was your birthday, I would’ve brought a gift or something.”
“Thatreallyisn’t necessary,” I say quickly.
“That’s why I got a cake!” Jack booms. “For her!”
Other trainers trickle in. Elaine walks in and smiles at Jack before raising an interested eyebrow at Arturo. He gives her a glance, nods, then looks back at me.
“Looks like everyone’s here.” Jack claps his hands. “Let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”
“Actually, let’s light the candles first,” Arturo says. “So the birthday girl can make a wish.” He smiles.
And although it feels greedy to want so much, I wish for love, happiness and respect.
Chapter Seven
Molly
Dolce’s reputation is well deserved. The place isn’t super glitzy, but it’s definitely elegant, with lots of dark wood and ivory tiles and marble. The lighting is low and warm, and the candle on our table burns romantically, casting a dreamy glow over my sober, showered and cleaned-up boyfriend.
Owen is a good-looking man. He has wide-set brown eyes and a thin mouth that smiles easily. He’s photogenic, too, which helps with his platform and career. He has a huge following online, a lot of them women. The crisp button-down shirt looks good on his lean, wiry frame. The slacks are black and perfect for the restaurant.
I changed into a black dressIbought, since I refuse to put on the dress Dad got me. Besides, I’m more comfortable in clothes I’ve paid for. They tend to fit better, and aren’t overly showy the way Dad’s selections tend to be.
Owen checks his phone for the third time, then smiles at the waitress when she clears our table of the appetizer dishes and brings out a fancy salad with leafy greens and tiny fruit chunks. He taps the table once, then turns his attention to me.
“Thank you for dinner. This is lovely,” I say, then struggle to decide how much of the green stuff I should choke down. I should eat at least two leaves, so it doesn’t look like I’m being picky. I hate vegetables. They taste like dirt, no matter how well you wash them or what kind of dressing is poured over them.
“My pleasure.” His tone is overly smooth, and his smile is more polished than the mirror in Get Jacked’s yoga studio. “I figured it was perfect when I was asked to check the place out. Two birds with one stone. And the menu has everything we both like, so…” A shrug and a small smile. “It just seemed perfect to order the six-course dinner. It’s supposedly the best one they have.”
Is it me, or does it sound like celebrating my birthday is an afterthought to his work?I shake myself mentally. I must be more upset than I thought after Dad’s texts and Jack’s ogling. Owen’s trying to do something nice for my birthday, even if he isn’t using a penny of his own money. He didn’t forget, like Shawn, although that’s setting the bar pretty low. Romance novels didn’t give me any unrealistic expectations.
I manage to swallow two whole leaves, but my hands start to shake when I find a few blueberries in the bowl. Ever since Mom’s death, I can’t eat blueberries. I don’t even like looking at them. I just tell people I’m allergic because that’s easier than explaining the real reason.
I place a large lettuce leaf over the berries and put down my fork. Then I down the entire glass of Cabernet to wash away the lingering taste of lettuce.
