I felt strangely nervous. I knew I shouldn’t, since Fiona had been acting like the last thing she wanted to do was get involved with me, and yet I couldn’t help myself. I kept thinking about the looks she gave me, about her lips parted slightly, her pretty eyes wide, the way she stood close, even the way she got angry, so quick and sharp. I couldn’t help but think about how she’d taste, or the way she’d move her hips if I slipped my fingers between her legs, or the sound of her moans, or the way she’d bite my lip, or her pink nipples between my teeth— I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew it didn’t help a damn thing.
She showed up right on time. The door buzzed and I went to the intercom. “Come on in, door’s straight ahead.”
I opened the door and watched her walk toward me, a little smile on her lips, her hair down around her shoulders. She wore a pair of tight, dark jeans and a black top that showed a hint of her breasts, and a small gold cross that nestled in her cleavage. I smiled a little and knew she was drawing my attention there—and didn’t mind one bit.
“Nice place,” she said, looking around as we walked inside. “You did all this?”
I shrugged. “Most of it’s from vintage shops. Some of the art’s real though.”
She lingered in front of a large geometric canvas, a series of green, red, and yellow circles and triangles, with splotches of paint and mad dashes of lines and arcs weaving between them. It was modern and strange, and cost a goddamn ton of money, but I didn’t like to admit that to people. She smiled a little and wandered through the rest of the downstairs, lingering in the kitchen, then standing in the living room.
“Smells good,” she said.
“Roast chicken and vegetables. Hope you like it.”
“Sounds nice.” She ran her hand over some books in my bookshelf, lingered over a group of small statues I’d gotten in a trip to Tibet, then turned to me. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Lots of metal. Industrial maybe. Or that weird minimalist white thing you see on YouTube videos.”
I laughed and shook my head. I preferred a warmer interior design, lots of colors, mostly earth tones, and as many potted plants as I could stand to keep alive. I had several bookshelves, all of them packed with books and old DVDs I’d collected over the years, along with a big comfortable leather couch and several pillows and throw blankets.
“Thanks, I guess, but no. I like to actually live in my home instead of act like it’s a studio for content.”
She shrugged and nodded at the black staircase that led upstairs. “You have a second floor?”
“Split level,” I said. “Bedrooms up there.” I tilted my head and smirked. “You want a tour of it?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, thanks, this is strictly business.”
I shrugged. “Want a drink at least?”
“I’ll take wine.”
I laughed, got her a glass, then pointed toward the kitchen table. “Take a seat. I’ll bring out dinner and we’ll get started.”
She sipped her wine and watched as I got the chicken out, checked its temperature, and started plating everything. I’d made this dish more than a few times and had mastered it by now, but there was always that moment before you served it to someone when you’re not sure if it’s good or not, and maybe it’s garbage, you couldn’t be sure until they took that first bite.
I put her plate down in front of her then took my seat. I watched, pretending like I wasn’t watching, as she dug in—and seemed to enjoy it.
“Okay,” she said, nodding at the food. “I like this. But we’re supposed to be here on business.”
I smiled, very pleased the food came out good, and stood up. “Fair enough. Hold on a second.” I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table, opened it up next to us, and plugged in the USB drive. “So I grabbed a lot of crap off her computer, and I’ve been going through it little by little—” I opened up a folder and clicked on an Excel spreadsheet. “This struck me as interesting, but I have no clue what it means.”
She squinted at it. “Clearly some kind of financial document.”
“I agree. But what’s it say?”
She shook her head and absently ate as she scanned through the columns of letters and numbers. I’d barely been able to parse any of it since bringing it home, and I hoped she’d be able to understand at least some of it better than I did.
“I’m having flashbacks to math class,” she muttered.
I laughed and ate while she grumbled to herself and went through the sheet. I watched her chew on her fingernails, stab her chicken with her fork like she wanted to kill it a second time, and finish her glass of wine in record time. I topped her up and kept quiet, letting her concentrate as she went through a few more spreadsheets, then started clicking around the random folders.