Lost In Us (Lost 1)

"I have a choice?"

He leans forward a bit, but doesn't attempt to touch me again. "I told you on that plane, you always have a choice."

"It's not much of a kidnapping if I have a choice," I joke, fidgeting my hands behind my back.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile so heartfelt it instantly makes him look a few years younger. "Well, there aren't any actual elves around to kidnap you either, so giving you a choice should make up for it."

I shift on my spot, unsure what to do.

"So, what do you say about dinner?" he asks.

"I've had too many pancakes for that… but drinks sound all right, I guess."

"That's my girl," he says, straightening up. "After you." He points toward the other end of the room, at a large set of wooden doors, where the restaurant must be.

I can't take my eyes off the wall and the beautiful chandelier as I walk. I can't believe the beauty of this place. It makes it so easy to imagine that I really am in Rivendell. I steal a glance at James behind my shoulder. First the chocolate factory, now this. How determined he seems to make my dreams come true. And I… what did I ever do for him? What can I do for someone who has everything? I think of his fears and the way he shuddered, saying I helped him overcome one of them. I don't think I did. But maybe I can do it. That can be my gift to him: helping him overcome his fears.

But I can't do that at the cost of my own sanity.

The restaurant is as impressive as the reception area. The furniture is made of the same cherry wood, and the high ceiling is also painted—albeit in different patterns. The biggest difference is that instead of one enormous chandelier, there are a lot of smaller ones hanging from the ceiling here and there. It looks cozier this way. But right now, it also looks a bit frightening, because the place is completely empty except for one waiter who stands solemnly at the side of the only table that will be occupied tonight—by James and me.

"You shouldn't have booked the entire place," I say as I sit down, sliding a bit on the silk cloth that covers the chair. I place my minuscule purse in my lap.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable without other people around."

The waiter gives each of us a menu, and I flip through the pages with interminable lists of wines, pondering how many levels of lame I would seem to the waiter if I ordered a Sprite. I glance at James, who is deeply immersed in the menu, and my heart jolts painfully in my chest. No, Sprite won't do. I have a hunch that I'll need copious amounts of alcohol if I ever want to get through this evening. Perhaps the alcohol can numb my mind and my body to the wrenching impact this man has on me.

I put my menu down. "Why don't you order wine for both of us?"

"What would you say if we start with champagne? After all, we have things to celebrate."

"Sounds good."

He orders a bottle of champagne I've never heard of, and when the waiter disappears, he says, "Jess tells me you got a job offer in San Francisco."

"I did. It's from an investment bank."

"And are you thinking of accepting it?"

I shrug.

"Well, it's not like I have any other offers."

"You'll receive more, I'm sure." He winks. "Where else did you have interviews? Parker mentioned something about New York at some point."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat at the mention of Parker, and I try to gauge from James's expression whether Parker is still mad at me for the stunt I pulled. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyebrows raised. There is curiosity behind his eyes and something else that I can't quite read. I open and close my mouth a few times but can't pick up the courage to ask him about Parker, so I decide to let the matter drop. For now.

"I did have interviews at an investment bank in New York."

"Would you like to… move there?" he asks. There is an edge to his voice when he pronounces the word move that sends shivers down my spine. The waiter arrives with the champagne and I watch him pour it.

"I haven't thought very much about that possibility, to be honest. I don't think my chances of getting the job look too good. New York is crazy competitive."

He raises his glass when the waiter is gone, and I do the same, until they meet in the middle with a clang. "You shouldn't put yourself down. You have an excellent résumé. Though personally, I hope New York won't work out." He smiles, as if he's said the words as a joke, but his eyes darken a notch, and I know he was more serious than he wants to let on.

"How encouraging," I say sarcastically, but smile back. I take a sip from the champagne. It's sourer than I'd hoped, and the bubbles fill me with a jittery kind of energy that no doubt will transform in a blissful state of pre-drunkenness before long.

"You know what I think the perfect workplace would be for you? My dad's chocolate factory."