I’m immensely grateful when the waiter hands me a menu, saving me from catching fire under the heat of my own cheeks.
‘I recommend the lobster cocktail,’ Brent says. ‘And the Pimm’s sorbet with champagne drizzle is a must.’ He smiles warmly.
‘Then I’ll have that,’ I reply quickly, placing my menu down.
‘And for mains?’
‘You choose.’ I gesture towards his menu. ‘You clearly have impeccable taste.’
He releases a light shot of laughter and places his menu down, shifting in his chair slightly as he glances away. I watch him, interested by his reaction to my easy acceptance. Should I have declined and made my own choice? Does he like a woman with her own mind? I do have my own mind. I’m just struggling to think clearly right now. He’s coming on strong, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
I’m still mentally assessing my approach to this date a few moments later, still observing Brent as he brings his eyes back to mine. ‘Eleanor,’ he says quietly. ‘I desire the finer things in life.’
I sit back in my chair. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ he replies quickly and confidently before signalling for a waiter, leaving me wondering what the hell that means. I remain quiet while he reels off our order, asking for more champagne and giving very specific instructions of how he’d like our steaks cooked. He doesn’t check how I might like mine. But then, I did tell him to choose on my behalf. So, I let him do his thing. He’s cool, exudes confidence, and commands respect.
We chat casually for a while, and it’s really rather pleasant. ‘So, you have a chain of hotels?’ I ask as the waiter tops up my champagne glass. He starts chuckling under his breath. ‘Have I said something funny?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Then why are you laughing?’
‘I apologise.’ Taking his glass, he tips it to his mouth while watching me over the rim. I do the same, matching his cool string of movements. ‘It’s just, well, I love your indifference.’
‘You do?’ I ask, unsure of how I’m supposed to interpret that. Am I supposed to be gushing and swooning all over him? Is that the usual protocol for his dates? Damn me and my rusty dating etiquette.
‘It assures me you’re not after my millions.’
My mouth drops open, just as the waiter places something before me. ‘Enjoy, madam.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, keeping my eyes on Brent as he plunges his fork into his lobster salad. ‘How do you know that for sure?’ I can’t help myself. I could be a gold digger. His obvious confidence that I’m not almost makes me want to prove him wrong, stupid as it may sound.
‘I’ve encountered many women, Eleanor.’ He slips his fork past his lips and chews slowly. ‘I like to think myself a master at figuring them out.’
‘You do, do you?’
‘I do,’ he replies, looking at his salad and mixing it with his fork. ‘For example, I know you really only accepted my offer to dinner to piss off your boss.’ He glances up, clearly searching for my reaction to his conclusion. He won’t be disappointed. I’m squirming all over the restaurant, now mixing my own lobster salad.
‘Not at all,’ I retort quietly, hating that he’s figured out this woman. Damn. There are a million things I could say, anything to assure him my intentions were nothing of the sort, but I’d be lying, and he’d know it.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘But I’m looking forward to showing you that you’ve made the right choice. You won’t even remember Becker Hunt’s name after a night with me.’
He’s watching me closely. Holy shit, did he just say that? ‘He’s my boss. It starts and ends there. He doesn’t feature in my thinking space beyond that.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ He smirks, popping another chunk of lobster into his mouth. He chews slowly and swallows. ‘So, tell me what you get up to at the notorious Hunt Corporation.’
‘I . . .’ My words dry up, and I think for a moment. ‘Mr Hunt is very private when it comes to his business.’
‘Yes, he’s known for playing his cards very close to his chest.’
If he knows that, why did he ask? Am I being tested? And if so, why? ‘Then you should know I won’t divulge anything work-related to anyone outside the Hunt Corporation.’
He smiles. ‘Loyal, too. You really are a catch for Becker Hunt.’
I’m not sure how to interpret that. ‘I love my job. I’d like to keep it. Besides, it wouldn’t be very professional of me, or legal, for that matter, to talk about my boss’s company.’
He nods, thoughtful, as his eyes hold mine. Good God, he’s watching me way too closely. I need a timeout.
‘Excuse me while I use the bathroom.’ I stand, placing my napkin on the table. Brent’s quick to follow suit, rounding the table to pull out my chair. ‘Thank you,’ I mutter before scurrying through the tables and down the stairs, falling into the ladies’ in a flustered state. ‘Christ,’ I breathe, running my clammy hands under the cold tap while I take in my flushed cheeks. They nearly match my hair. I make a vain attempt to straighten myself out. My plans to meet his confidence have been spectacularly dashed by my pathetic bunk from the table. I never stopped to think about whether Brent would question why I’m here. Yes, I find him attractive, but there’s a much deeper, and really rather silly reason why I’m here. Becker-Fucking-Hunt. I cease my intended direction of thought before it runs away with me and focus on my situation. Brent has made his attraction clear. Why can’t I just go with this? Have some fun? Get my boss out of my head?