“Will it help if I demand it?” I flash him a look that makes him smile. “Didn’t think so,” he laughs.
“I have work to do, you know.”
“I have dinner reservations to make. Where do you want to go?”
Sighing, I lean back in my chair.
If I’m honest, I love his determination. I just don’t understand why. He wants nothing more than a distraction from whatever is going on in his life. It’s the off-season. He has time to kill. That’s how this works, and I’m all for a little sexual recreation, but I know better than to think that’s all it will be for me with him. I can’t risk that.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Doing what?”
“Not letting it go.”
An easy chuckle drifts across the desk and tickles my ears. “Because I don’t want to.”
“You’re impossible,” I say, wanting to be annoyed but just not able to find it.
“What do you want, Danielle?”
“To finish my work.”
He tsks me. “I’m not leaving until you answer me for real.”
“I want . . .” I take a deep breath. I know exactly what I want, but it’s not something I can explain in five minutes. Nor is it something I think matters anyway. “It’s more about what I don’t want, really.”
He watches me, his chin cupped in his right hand. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“You know what I don’t want? I don’t want to get all tied up in something that isn’t real.”
“Sounds fair. So go to dinner with me. Somewhere public, somewhere that I can’t just maul you.”
“I might like you mauling me,” I point out, pressing my lips together.
His eyes darken. “You have no idea how much I’d love to maul you right fucking now.” He leans back, his chin pointing towards the ceiling. “But here’s the thing, Dani: as much as I want to maul you, I also want to talk to you. Hear your laugh. Watch your smile. You’re making a mess of me over here.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling as I fight so hard succumbing to him. “You are too good for your own good,” I tell him.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Get out of here,” I laugh, feeling the last bit of restraint wither away.
“Fine, fine.” He unfolds himself from the chair in one simple movement. “I’m going to warn you though: be at Spora’s at eight o’clock on Saturday. My buddy, Fenton Abbott, owns it and I’ll get us a table. And, Dani—I will show up here every day if you don’t. I can be a thorny fucker.”
He’s out the door before I can get a word out.
Danielle
SPORA’S IS BUSTLING. LOCATED ON the bluff overlooking the river, it’s the hottest restaurant in the city. I’ve been here once. It was the only time my parents visited Memphis, not really me. They were here for three days for a convention. We had dinner once.
The front is dark with clear lights twinkling in the front beneath a large, red-lettered sign spelling out the name. My heels click against the sidewalk as I reach the door. A man in a suit opens it.
The lights overhead have an antique, industrial look and the bulbs cast a yellow glow over the dark wood inside. My stomach is in knots as I approach the reception desk. “I believe there’s a reservation for Landry.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes. Give me a moment.” She waves a man over from the bar lining the wall on the right. “Can you escort her to the balcony?”
“Follow me,” he says, leading me along a walkway at the front of the restaurant to a little elevator tucked on the other side. He pushes a button and the doors swing open. We enter, and as I’m struggling to not let my nerves get the best of me, they pop open again. We’re in another hallway with six different doorways spaced evenly apart. We walk to the first one to the right and he knocks gently. He waits a few seconds before pushing it open.