“Working lunch, remember?” He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit, then he takes a seat across from me. “I figured we could use the extra space to spread out if needed.”
I nod. Right. This is a business lunch. Nothing else. Which is good because he’s my boss. I need to remember that because I’m both embarrassed and annoyed that I’ve caught myself staring at him in the office, when he doesn’t know I’m looking. I’ve scolded myself for admiring his square jaw, especially when he’s skipped shaving for a day. I hate that when he stands within a few feet of my desk, talking to one of his brothers, I can home in on which smell is his. Believe me, the four Aron brothers I’ve met areall something to look at and smell terrific when they’re nearby. I know that I’m probably a creep, but I can pick which one is Harrison’s scent in seconds. Hell, I practically salivate when I smell it. I remember and affiliate it with his body covering mine, wrapped around me that night.
Yep, that’s where the salivation comes from. That night. The one we spent together. Those people were different people. I know I was, anyhow. For one night, I pretended my life was simpler. I could drown my guilt and sadness over failing Mom in good whiskey and Harrison Aron. Him? I don’t even know if the man from that night is the real Harrison or if this gruff version I’ve come to know since I started working for them is. I’ve thought about it over the last few weeks more than I’d like to admit, and I can’t reconcile the two personas.
“Delaney? You okay over there?”
I blink and peer across the table at Harrison. He’s holding a menu out to me.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Was just thinking about… Um, about some things I need to take care of later.”
Harrison says nothing, but holds my gaze for several seconds, then nods, opens his menu, and focuses on that. I do the same.
I work to hide my distress when I see the prices on the menu. The French onion soup smells so good, and I’d love some, but it’s eight dollars a bowl. It does come in a bread bowl, though, so maybe I could manage that and just eat a cheap dinner.
I take a moment and look over at the sandwiches. Ten bucks for a grilled cheese. A side salad costs six dollars. That’s what I’ll get. It’ll seem normal. Lots of people eat salad for lunch.
When the server approaches, after I’ve placed my menu on the table, she looks at me and smiles.
“Ladies first.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m not very hungry, though. I’ll have a side salad with honey mustard dressing, if you have it. And I’ll have a water, please.”
“You sure, sweetheart? That salad’s tiny, and it looks like we gotta get a little meat on those bones.” Her words are teasing, but not unkind.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I divert my eyes from her to Harrison, who is staring at me with narrowed eyes and a scrunched-up forehead. I already know it’s his thinking face. I’ve seen it in a few meetings I’ve sat in on to take minutes. I’m just not sure what he’s so pensive about right this minute.
“Okay, how about you, ‘darlin?” It’s obvious she’s talking to him, but Harrison doesn’t take his gaze off me, even when he orders.
“I’ll have a cola, please. And then we’ll have two bread bowls with French onion soup, one of your roast beef sandwiches—hold the horseradish—and one of your three-cheese grilled cheeses, please.”
“What are you doing?” I ask him in a hushed tone. “I already ordered.”
“How do you know any of this is for you?” He turns his eyes to the server. “I think that’ll do it, don’t you?”
She winks at him, smiles, and walks away.
I’m mentally calculating how much my meal will cost me. Maybe if I don’t eat dinner, I can still stay close to my food budget for the day.
“Why didn’t you order food?” he asks. He studies me intently, and I both hate and love how that makes me feel. Damn it.
“I’m not hungry. You shouldn’t have ordered all that food. Just make sure she puts it on separate checks, and half of it goes on mine.”
“No, that’s not gonna happen.”
“What are you talking about? I can pay for my own.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice and inwardly cringe. He’s just trying to be nice. “You don’t even know what I like.”
“Yes, I do. You nearly died when you came in and smelled the French onion soup cooking, so I’m pretty sure that’s going to be a winner. Then, I figured since you eat half of a cheese sandwich almost every day for lunch, that you’d be okay with the grilled cheese.”
He smirks at me, probably because my mouth is agape.
“Fine. But I can get my own.”
“Delaney, no. I’m your boss. I made you come to a working lunch. I basically kidnapped you —you have no vehicle here— so the least I can do is drop a couple of dollars to get you lunch.”
I’m just about to respond when a loud “Woo-hoo!” falls across the room.
