Wyatt picks me up from the office lobby. It’s been only a few hours since I saw him, but a small hitch forms in my chest when I spot him in the lobby scrolling through his phone. He fills out the pale blue dress shirt and slacks perfectly, his shoulders broad and waist trim. His sleeves are rolled up, showing sinewy forearms. The sunlight pouring in from the huge glass behind him creates a halo effect. A group of women on their way to lunch check him out, but he’s oblivious to them.
Then he lifts his head and an electric tingle shoots through me when our eyes connect. I smile to hide the intensity of my reaction and walk toward him on slightly unsteady legs. If we weren’t in my office building, I might just hold his face in my hands and kiss him. Or drag him down on the
floor.
Bad hormones, bad! Salazar’s coming back today, and I need to be back before then. There’s no time for lunch and a nooner, and no way I can skip a meal, unless fainting from low blood sugar has become the new standard of professionalism.
Wyatt offers his arm. I link mine with it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world and I’ve done it a million times.
A few curious gazes bore into my back. I turn my head and see the security guards watching, like they can’t believe their eyes. I’ve never had a lunch date come pick me up like this before. But let ’em wonder. I’m enjoying being with Wyatt way too much. Besides, it isn’t against my employment contract.
The burger joint Wyatt takes me to is a hole-in-the-wall, small and neat. But the place is surprisingly busy, with a long line, and as soon as we get within olfactory range, I understand why. There is a positively crack-tastic aroma coming from the kitchen and tables. If their food tastes half as good as it smells, it’s going to be killer.
With a hand at the small of my back, Wyatt bypasses the line and goes straight to the bar. A man with silver hair and laugh lines fanning from the corners of his eyes walks around the counter and comes over, an apron loose around his comfortable girth. “Wyatt, good to see you! Your table’s over there.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You take reservations?” I ask the man, surprised. This place doesn’t seem like the type to do so because… Well. Just look at the line.
“No, but an exception can be made for a friend of Dane’s.” He winks.
I resist an urge to wiggle a finger in my ear. It’s hard to imagine that Dane is this well liked in the city.
We sit down, and the man walks back to the bar, leaving us to his server. The waiter brings our water. I pick up a laminated sheet and look at Wyatt over the bright yellow and red on the menu.
“You have to tell me the story between that man and Dane,” I say. “I can’t believe Dane was nice enough to someone to get special treatment.”
Wyatt laughs. “There’s no big story. The owner over there was having some financial issues, and Dane invested in the business.”
“This is a pretty small business. Doesn’t Dane usually operate in a larger financial space?”
Wyatt shrugs. “He just likes the burgers here a lot.”
I look at the menu dubiously. Dane likes them so much, huh… “They aren’t poisoned, are they?” I can see him feeding them to his enemies while sneering, Eat ’em and die. Dane himself, of course, would be immune.
Wyatt laughs. “Dane’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, the jury’s still out on that. So what do you recommend?”
“Bacon cheeseburger and fries.” Then he hesitates and adds, “But you can also get a salad, if you want. They have a couple.”
My mom’s texts from this morning pop into my head.
You’re going to be in your thirties soon. Your metabolism’s going to slow down and nothing will stop you from becoming too fat to be an acceptable wife.
My eyes start to narrow.
Not even those barre classes will save you. Do you know what being fat does to a woman’s market value?
“Kim?” Wyatt asks.
I pull myself back to the present. I texted Wyatt so we could have a nice time together, not so I could dwell on her toxic messages and let them ruin our date.
“Are you kidding? Why would I want a salad?”
“Well… You know.”
Oh geez. I rub my forehead as it becomes clear. I’ve seen countless women who say they want one thing—Oh my God, I want the richest chocolate you can find!—then complain when they get it because it’ll make them fat. I had to deal with those asinine complaints for my boss more than once when he was still in his player phase. A couple even accused me of trying to sabotage their size-zero bodies so I could snag Salazar for myself. Obviously, Wyatt’s had one too many encounters with those types. “I’m getting the burger and the fries,” I say firmly.