“Not if it is to be delivered with your clothes on.” A grin formed on his face. I rolled my eyes. “Come on, I’m just teasing. Easy on the eye-roll.”
“You can see that?” I rolled them again involuntarily.
“And that. I’m good with the coffee, but thank you. Dinner should be arriving soon. I’ll get off my computer when it does, I promise.”
“What? Dinner?”
“Yep, it’s a particular kind of meal, usually served in the evenings, usually the last meal of the day.”
“You think you are so funny, don’t you? I didn’t know we would be having dinner.”
“Well you do now. Tonight and every other night until I say otherwise, you’ll be having dinner with me at the office.”
“Will I ever get to choose what I want to eat or will you always be doing it on my behalf?” I regretted saying that immediately. I was kind of being a bitch, but the best part about takeout is deciding what to eat.
He looked a little wounded by that. “Well, I will just email you Sean’s number and you can tell him what you would like from tomorrow onwards.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Sean’s my chef. He does international gourmet meals.”
“Oh,” I said feeling stupid. “Of course.”
Why would we be getting take-out when he had an international gourmet chef at his fingertips? For some reason, the notion made me feel extremely uncomfortable, and a little irrationally angry. I hung up, looked away from Zayden and took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure why I was so on edge. Perhaps because I had been hanging out around the office after a long day of work to entertain him, while he pretty much ignored me for most of the night thus far. What was he even trying to accomplish?
Okay, maybe I was a little upset because I had wanted to talk to him, get to know him, and get help with my Econ paper. Not sit here staring at my phone panic-texting Stacey. The truth was I wanted us to become friends. In order to achieve my dreams of becoming a successful loan officer, having a powerful network of contacts was essential, and it was particularly helpful if my contacts were of the power and stature of one of the most successful young banking entrepreneurs in the country. Part of my reasoning behind wishing to discuss homework with him was that he could see my potential outside of my job as a teller and hopefully serve as a valuable reference someday. In fact, the more I thought about the contract that I had signed, the more it seemed to be beneficial to me rather than him.
But this, whatever was going on right now, was beneficial to nobody.
It was another half hour before a couple of men in black-and-white uniform materialized as though out of thin air and began setting up silver dishes on the mahogany table in Zayden’s office. Wouldn’t that stain? Zayden Sinclair probably didn’t give a crap about stains though. He probably owned an entire IKEA all to himself, all furniture readily replaceable whenever he liked. Much like the women he got involved with. Disposable, just like me. I shook my head. Instead of letting my thoughts stray to needlessly upsetting places, what I needed to do was enjoy a nice dinner with an influential man and try to build on my nonexistent network.
One of the men in the uniforms was now walking towards me.
“Dinner is ready, Ma’am,’ he said with a smile on his face.
Ma’am. I wanted to burst out laughing. “Call me Aria, and thank you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ma’am,” he looked at me nervously.
Oh god. I did not have the energy or will to argue, as it hit me just how hungry I was. Whatever rich people ate for dinner, it had to be tasty, right? I took off my jacket and walked towards Zayden’s office. I was wearing a blue dress with a slightly low-cut neck, and black tights. Professional and hopefully alluring in a not misleading or sexual kind of a way. Most of the men in uniforms were now waiting just outside the bank’s premises, except for the guy who had come to summon me: he was holding a bottle of champagne.
Zayden was already seated when I got there, with a red napkin wrapped around his neck and his sleeves rolled up.
“Do you like champagne?” he asked.
“Who doesn’t like champagne,” I giggled in a don’t-be-silly kind of a way and sat down. “I love champagne
, it’s super tasty and-”
I made the mistake of catching his eye. It was twinkling.
“Okay, I’ve never actually had champagne before,” I admitted. “I don’t really drink other than a few beers here and there with pizza and T.V. I am not a particularly exciting person.”
He was beaming at me as though I had just said I saved sick puppies for a living.
“I haven’t had the luxury of enjoying greasy pizza and cheap beer with some good old television in quite some time.”
“Luxury? Are you mocking me?” Our waiter – server? butler? – was pouring out two glasses of champagne, as I tied a red napkin around my neck to match Zayden’s.