Remaining several inches from his body, she pressed the elevator button, desperately trying to think of a way to politely refuse his company. Then, entering the empty elevator, she ignored the amused look he gave her when she parked herself in front of the control panel and pressed the button for the ground floor.
“Michelangelo’s is just around the block. They have lunch specials that are guaranteed to have you back at your desk in thirty minutes.”
The door sliding open had her nearly running out of the elevator.
“I don’t care for Italian,” she threw over her shoulder, only to find Mr. Beck was easily keeping up with her.
“You don’t have to like Italian. Michelangelo’s has a variety of dishes to tempt any palette. I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll enjoy.”
The choice was taken out of her control when Mr. Beck cupped her elbow as they stepped out of the building, turning her in the direction he wanted.
What’s thirty minutes? Haley assured herself.
Beck dropped his hand from her arm when he saw she was complying with his wishes. She nearly used the opportunity to bolt away from him. Jeez, get a grip, Haley. He’s taking you to lunch, not his apartment.
The hilarity of the thought had her gaining a grip on her absurd reaction to eating lunch with him. Hadn’t she complained to herself just yesterday that she had no friends in the office? Technically, he wasn’t who she had been thinking about, but this could be a good thing, right? Besides, she couldn’t eat at the sandwich shop now.
She would have been perfectly happy with the sandwich, but now she was questioning the meals she had eaten there before. She would never have known that the darn restaurant had bad reviews if Beck hadn’t told her, but he had, and now there was no way she would be able to eat there again. It was in her wheelhouse, and once something was there, it didn’t roll backward.
Haley would have passed by the small brick house if Mr. Beck hadn’t stopped her. The house looked just like the others on the street. No cars were parked outside, nor was anyone coming or going.
“Are you sure this a restaurant?”
His lips twitched in amusement. “I’m sure.”
As they neared the door, a man dressed in formal black opened the door.
“Mr. Beck, how nice it is to see you today. Your table is ready.”
“Thank you, Eduardo.”
The interior of the restaurant reminded her of old Italian restaurants that were seen in black and white movies. The entrance broke off into three levels. The host led them down a short flight of steps that had only four tables spaced apart. The host waved her to one side of the booth, while Mr. Beck slid inside the other side. Haley was aware of the curious glance of the maître d’ on her as she awkwardly sat down, fumbling with the napkin on the table to place it on her lap.
A waiter then came down the steps, carrying a bottle of wine.
“Riccardo, we won’t be having any wine,” Beck stated, taking the menus from Eduardo then giving her one. “Haley and I are taking a working lunch. I told her you could have us out within thirty minutes.”
The older man gave him a beaming smile. “We will endeavor to do our best.”
“I’m sure you will.” Mr. Beck gave him a smile back before switching his gaze to Riccardo, who handed the wine bottle to the maître d’ as he left. “I will take the chicken caprese sandwich with a cup of your soup.”
“Certainly, Mr. Beck.”
Haley took a quick glance at the menu, aware the men were waiting for her. “I’ll take the same.” Haley closed the menu and gave it to the waiter, who moved away to place their orders.
“I thought you didn’t like Italian. There were several options you could have chosen from.” Mr. Beck stared at her from across the table. “There was no rush for you to choose.”
Haley shrugged. “I might not like Italian, but I don’t mind trying new things, and I’ve never had a caprese sandwich. If I don’t like it, I’ll still enjoy the soup.”
The waiter returned with a basket of fresh bread and an ice-blue bottle of water. Opening the bottle, Ricardo poured both Mr. Beck and her a glass.
Left alone with Mr. Beck once again, Haley felt ill at ease at the silence. Other than the sound of customers entering the restaurant and being seated in different areas, they were cocooned off to the side, out of sight from others.
Finding the silence unnerving, she fought to fill it with the first thing that came to mind. “When I asked Lucas about restaurants near work, he didn’t mention this one.”
Mr. Beck took a slice of bread, dipping it into the olive oil. “You have to have a membership to eat here.”