That must be the answer he wants, because he pulls one of the butcher paper “plates” towards him and picks up the sandwich.
We simultaneously take a bite, and we both groan. I’m still chewing when he says around his bite. “This is the perfect sandwich.”
It really is. “I don’t know how they do it. Sandwich geniuses.”
After that, we eat in silence for a few moments, wallowing in the bliss that is the perfect combination of crusty bread, fatty deli meats, and piquet peppers.
It shouldn’t be comfortable or relaxing—sharing this random meal with my boss—and yet it is.
My boss that I lied to. Let’s not forget that.
I wasn’t joking when I said the sandwich would have been too much for me alone, and after a few bites, I’m already slowing down. I’m not even able to finish my half. I set aside the last bite or two and wipe off my hands.
I look out over the skyline and sigh. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”
“How did you get up here?”
I start guiltily. “One of the security guards who used to work here showed me how. Apparently, the latch is sticky enough that sometimes it doesn’t close all the way.”
He nods. “Same. My dad showed it to me.”
“Oh, I just assumed your badge lets you up.”
“My badge?” he asks.
I still, realizing my gaff. I introduced myself to him as if I were a stranger, which means I shouldn’t know he’s an executive. I shrug evasively. “You probably work in the building, right?”
He gives me a speculative once over. “Which implies you don’t. Are you a guest at the hotel?”
This would be the perfect chance to come clean. But I just don’t want to. Even though I don’t feel that spark of attraction, it’s still gratifying to have Reid looking at me like this. Like I'm an intriguing stranger he wants to know better.
Still, I can’t keep lying to him. So I stand. “I should go.”
He stands too. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Call me crazy,” he says, closing the distance between us. “I know we just met, but I feel like there’s some sort of connection between us. Like we were meant to meet tonight on this rooftop.”
It’s all I can do to not burst out laughing. A connection between us? That’s ironic.
“I think you need better lines.”
I keep my tone gentle and free of sarcasm.
“It’s not a line,” he says, his tone earnest as he steps closer, stopping so close to me I can smell the lingering scent of his cologne.
And it’s not woodsy at all. There’s a hint of citrus and bergamot. He doesn’t smell like adventure and home all at the same time.
There’s nothing comforting or delicious about his smell. It’s just there. A thing I notice without enjoying.
Unaware of my thoughts, Reid says, “There’s something about you.”
This time I do laugh. But it surprises me because it doesn’t sound like a fit of hysterical laughter. It sounds like a sexy tinkle of flirtation. He smiles in response, ducking his head ruefully, for a moment, looking every inch of my fantasy guy.
Badly done, Meg. Badly, done.
He takes another step closer to me. “Can I have your number?”
