“Pig.”
“What’s that say about you? You’re wet for a pig.”
I tried to push back from the grip he had wrapped around my waist. But it only made him clutch me tighter. “I’m not wet.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Only one way to verify that.”
“Back off, Morgan.”
Graham took a step back and raised both his hands in surrender. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Inside, Zenkichi was dark and not what I had expected. The traditionally dressed Japanese woman led us down a long hall that was made to feel like outside. The walkway was lined with rocks and slate stones, as if we were walking a path through an outdoor Asian garden. Both sides were lined with tall bamboo and lit with lanterns. We passed an opening to a large seating area, but the hostess kept going. At the end of the hallway, she seated us in a private booth, enclosed with luxurious, thick drapes. After she had taken our drink order, she pointed out the buzzer built into the table and told us we would not be intruded on unless we wanted to be. Then she disappeared, pulling the curtains closed. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, instead of inside a busy, posh restaurant.
“This is beautiful. But odd,” I said.
Graham took off his jacket and settled into his side of the table with one arm casually slung over the top of the booth. “Fitting.”
“Are you saying I’m odd?”
“Are we going to fight about it if I say yes?”
“Probably.”
“Then, yes.”
My brow furrowed. “You want to fight with me?”
Graham tugged at his tie, loosening it. “I find it turns me on.”
I laughed. “I think you need counseling.”
“After the last few days, I believe you may be right.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. She set a highball glass down in front of him and a wine glass in front of me.
Graham had ordered Hendrick’s and tonic. “That’s an old man’s drink, gin and tonic,” I said as I sipped my wine.
He swirled the ice around in his glass, then brought it to his lips and looked at me over the rim before drinking. ”Remember what arguing with me does. You might want to look under the table.”
My eyes widened. “You aren’t.”
He smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Put your head under. I know you’re dying to take a peek anyway.”
After we both finished our drinks, and some of my nerves had started to calm, we finally had our first real conversation. One that wasn’t about sex or tongue rings.
“So how many hours do you work a day in that big fancy office of yours?”
“I usually go in by eight and try to leave by eight.”
“Twelve hours a day? That’s sixty hours a week.”
“Not counting weekends.”
“You work weekends, too?”
“Saturdays.”
“So your only day off is Sunday?”
“I actually sometimes work in the evening on Sunday, too.”
“That’s nuts. When do you find time to enjoy yourself?”
“I enjoy my work.”
I scoffed. “Didn’t sound that way when I stopped in the other day. Everyone there seems afraid of you, and you refused to open the door.”
“I was busy.” He folded his arms over his chest.
I did the same. “So was I. I took two trains to personally deliver that phone, you know. And you didn’t have the decency to even come out and say thank you.”
“I didn’t know what was behind the door waiting for me, or I would have come out.”
“A person. A person was behind the door. One who went out of her way for you. If I were a sixty-year-old married woman with blue hair, you should have come out to thank me.”
He sighed. “I’m a busy man, Soraya.”
“Yet here you are on a weeknight at only 7PM. Shouldn’t you be working until eight if you’re so busy?”
“I make exceptions when warranted.”
“How big of you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to look under the table, don’t you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell me something else about you. Aside from you’re a workaholic with a superiority complex who drinks fancy drinks. All of that, I could have guessed from my observations on the train.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. I’m an only child.”
I mumbled under my breath. Gee, I never would have guessed that one.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“How about you?”
“One sister. But I’m not speaking to her at the moment.”
“And why is that?”
“Bad blind date.”
“She fixed you up?”
“Yep.”
“With the guy who took you to the funeral? What was his name, Dallas?”
“Aspen. No, she didn’t fix me up with Aspen. I picked that disaster all on my own. She fixed me up with a guy she used to work with. Mitch.”
“And it didn’t go well, I take it?”
I fixed him with a stare. “I nicknamed him High Pitch Mitch with the Itch.”
He got a chuckle out of that. “Doesn’t sound so good.”
“It wasn’t.”
He squinted at me. “And will I have a nickname tomorrow?”
“Would you like one?”
“Not if it’s anything like High Pitch Mitch with the Itch.”