“How do you keep it all straight?” I ask, steering away from giving him my condolences on his parents. Something tells me it isn’t a topic he wants to discuss.
“I have people that run the different sectors. And they have managers that run each individual brand beneath them, so I’m not dealing with them on a day-to-day basis. I just look at the reports and make sure we’re hitting benchmarks, working towards our end goals. That kind of thing.”
“I see. You’re everyone’s boss.”
He laughs, the sound stoking the desire growing in my core. The way his Adam’s apple bobs, the animation on his dazzling face, the sound of his smooth voice dancing across the table causes the rest of his words to evaporate into thin air. I can’t concentrate, as much as I want to. All I can do is try not to combust right here in the middle of dinner.
Lord, help me.
“Yes, I’m everyone’s boss,” he says as my ability to pay attention comes back. “I might get that on a plaque for my wall.”
“You should really think about it before you do it. I don’t know how well received it would be by your employees.”
“True,” he grins. “So, enough about me. What do you do? You mentioned you go to school?”
“Yeah,” I say, loving that he paid attention to that little detail. “I want to be a teacher. My grandparents were ministers and it really gave me a desire to help people and kids are my weakness.”
“That’s honorable.”
“It’s where my heart is. My parents wish I’d do something that made more money. And maybe I won’t have a Ferrari in my life, but I’m okay with that, you know?”
His features are soft, the smugness that usually hovers around him is gone. Something about the way he’s looking at me is so intimate, so pure, it makes my skin break out in shivers.
“I do know,” he confesses. “And I love that you know that. So many people get caught up in the materialism of life.”
“But you probably have a Ferrari,” I note, looking at him through my lashes.
“I don’t have a Ferrari. But I could if I wanted one.” He leans back in his chair and watches me. “I have a lot of nice things and I’m grateful for that. I work hard for them. My parents busted their ass for them too.” He taps his chin and searches for words. “Sometimes the things that are the hardest to get aren’t material. They aren’t things you can bust your ass for.”
It’s as if a thick blanket is snuggled around the table, blocking out everything else. Even the waves that I’ve been watching out of the corner of my eye are now forgotten. Something passes between us, some level of understanding that I can’t place but is assuredly there. We sit at the table, watching each other, until he finally breaks the silence.
“You surprise me,” he says, picking up his glass again.
“How’s that?”
“When I first saw your pictures, I expected . . . let’s say I didn’t expect you.”
When I went to pick it up, I certainly didn’t expect you either.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I flush.
“It is most definitely a compliment. You’re quite a woman—smart, gorgeous, witty.”
My cheeks heat at his confession. I’ve been told all of those things before, but never with that sincerity and never from a man like him. I’m not sure there is another man like him. He makes my clothing want to combust without a word, yet when he adds language to the mix, it only makes it better.
“What’s on your finger?” he asks.
I glance at my hand. On the inside of my pointer finger on my right hand is an open heart. Presley has one, too. It’s our ode to the best friend heart necklaces we used to give our friends when we were little girls. One night after a bottle or two of wine, we hired an Uber driver to take us to the tattoo parlor and got them.
“This?” I ask, holding it up for him to see. “It’s a heart.”
“What’s it for?”
“Presley has one, too. It was a random decision late one night. When I look at it, I smile. I think of her and her loyalty and the laughs we share. It’s our thing, you know?”
A dark shadow flitters across his face. I’m intrigued, but don’t ask.
“Presley—she’s your best friend?”
“Yeah, strangely. We don’t really have that much in common, other than we like each other,” I laugh. “Do you have friends like that?”
He shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “No, I don’t. But I like what you just said.”
“What’s that?”
“That all you have in common is that you like each other. I like that.”
“It more poetic than true, really. We both like the beach and we both like vodka,” I laugh.
“All the makings of a true friendship.”
“Definitely. But some days, I really think that’s all we have. She’s never worked a day in her life and never will. Her father owns some big corporation of some sort and they are loaded beyond comprehension. My family isn’t poor by any means, but my parents have always made me have a job. They said it’s character building.”