The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2) Page 12

  He continues behind me to the elevators and I press the down button.

  “What exactly are you doing for my father?” I ask him, still annoyed I’ve been kept in the dark.

  The elevator arrives and we file in with a few other employees, so I stop the business talk.

  A familiar scent hits my nostrils and my eyes casually cast over the people in the four-by-four space as though he’d be standing in the corner. It’s the same cologne Chase used to wear, I know it, so I scour each person as they come and go on each floor.

  “Looking for someone?” Michael asks softly in my ear and I draw back to gain some distance.

  “No,” I say, my two hands clenching my purse in front of me.

  The elevator stops at street level and I file out with everyone else for lunch. The streets are busy with people trying to grab their lunch before having to return to work, so Michael holds his hands up for a cab.

  “Corridor, please,” Michael instructs the driver and the car pulls away from the curb.

  Michael is busy on his phone most of the trip, frantically emailing or texting, I’m not sure what, but his thumbs are sliding along the screen at max speed. I could pull my phone out and stare at the blank screen again, but I’d rather not. I take the opportunity to study him. I wonder what he’s like in bed? His well-built body implies that he’d be good, but he could be selfish or inexperienced. What am I saying? A man with ocean-blue eyes and a strong jaw like him is definitely experienced in the bedroom.

  While the cab stops and goes in traffic, I find myself comparing Lucas and Michael. They come from different worlds. One’s rough, the other smooth. One wears a metal chain around his neck of the St. Christopher medallion and the other one an expensive watch. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the coolness of the metal hit my heated skin as he ground in and out of me. The way it slid up and down between my breasts. How the small piece moved with him and teased me as much as his lips and tongue.

  Someone touches my arm, jolting me back from my memory.

  “Tahlia,” Michael’s soft voice says.

  I shake my head, plastering a smile on my face.

  “Sorry.”

  He smiles but he’s hesitant and I really hope I wasn’t moaning out loud while I was daydreaming.

  I follow him out of the cab and while he pays, I look up at the restaurant, thankful he didn’t inadvertently choose one of the Webber families’ holdings. Michael picked the perfect place for a dreary day in San Francisco. After the rainfall this morning, the dark clouds stayed behind, blocking any sun. Corridor is known for their comfort food—pastas, risottos and meatloaf. My mouth is watering just thinking about the food hitting my belly.

  Michael’s hand lands on the small of my back and I step forward faster to shake it off. That’s intimate and I’m not giving the guy who is supposed to be just a co-worker the wrong idea only for him to be upset about it later. He seems to get the hint, opening the door for me to enter first.

  The somber male host seats us at a table that’s set up along the glass window overlooking the street outside. Michael pulls out my chair and slides it under me as I sit down. I place my purse on the back of the chair and shrug out of my jacket. Michael takes off his coat, hanging both of our coats on the hooks next to the tables. He sits down to join me.

  I’m not sure what to call this. It’s not a business meeting, nor is it a date. I tell myself to just go with the flow.

  “What are you doing for my father?” I ask him the question I attempted to earlier in the elevator.

  He places the menu down on the table, leans forward and clasps his hands together.

  “I’m helping you guys stay in the black.”

  There’s something sketchy in his expression. Not endearing as I’d hoped. More like, You guys have screwed the company up and I’m going to fix it. I don’t like it and I’m thinking there’s a whole other reason why I’m seated across from him right now.

  “Why are you the right person to help us?” I ask, my tone turning bitter.

  “You went to Stanford, right?” He leans back now, a cocky grin taking the place of the flirtatious smirk he wore earlier.

  “Yes.”

  He nods his head like it’s good but not good enough. “Yale,” he says and points at himself.

  “Yeah, I heard. How old are you?”

  He narrows his eyes, trying to decipher why that matters. “Twenty-five.”

  “And at twenty-five, you’ve come across a lot of companies where you have the knowledge and experience to help them increase profitability?” I lean my elbows on either side of my chair rests to show how relaxed I am and that he’s not going to get a reaction out of me.

  “The last company I worked for was already in the red. I’m solely responsible for putting them back in the black.”

  “Name of company?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Are you interviewing me?” He leans forward, those white teeth sparkling. “Vertigo.”

  “Vertigo?”

  He nods.

  “The radio company?”

  He nods again and a condescending smile pulls at his lips.

  “They were in the red?” I’m surprised I hadn’t heard anything about that.

  “They made some bad decisions. Just like your idea to have tofu sausages.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, annoyed at this entire exchange. I wish I’d had Midge order in.

  “Let’s face it, your idea to do non-meat sausages isn’t working. It’s not driving business, it’s taking time away from the business you should be focusing on.” He picks up the menu to peruse it before we’re finished talking about the subject.

  The burn of my hives itch my neck, but I ignore it because he can’t know how much I want to reach across this table and throat-punch him.

  The waitress comes over, fills our water glasses and places the pitcher on the table.

  “I’m Viv, do you know what you’d like?” she asks and I haven’t even looked at the menu. At this point I’m not even sure I could swallow one of their meatballs sitting across from this guy.

  “Hi, Viv. I’d like the meatloaf with a cup of your soup of the day.” Michael hands her his menu. “A scotch with two ice cubes.”

  I roll my eyes right before Viv directs her attention to me. “The pot pie and vodka tonic, two limes.” She takes my menu and speeds off to another table.

  “Sausage sales were declining. Health-conscious people don’t want to eat a heart attack in a tube. I thought it was a good way to position the company as being more health-conscious.” Why am I rationalizing my decision to this man?

  “Well, unfortunately for Santora Sausage it wasn’t. You incurred too many costs by having to change lines and make new ones, not to mention the cost to develop the new packaging, roll out a new marketing plan. I could go on. Either way, no one wants to eat a tofu sausage made by a sausage company. People hear the word ‘sausage’ and no matter what’s inside the skin, it doesn’t scream healthy. Hey, everyone has failed at something, kudos for trying.” He pulls out his phone again.

  “Why did you invite me to lunch?” I can barely get the question out past the giant ball of rage lodged in my throat.

  He peeks up from his phone and I swear he switched spots with someone after we got out of the cab because he doesn’t remind me of the polite man in my office.

  “Truth?”

  “Yes.” My fingers twist the napkin.

  “You’re sexy and I thought we shared something the other night at your parents.”

  I laugh, a hollow and empty laugh. “What exactly did we share?”

  “Don’t play hard-to-get, Tahlia. You don’t have to with me. It can be casual.” He shrugs. “I heard about what happened with your fiancé, Chase Webber.” His face contorts into a look that says, Bad deal. “A Webber, could you imagine?”

  I glance out the window to calm my nerves. Who does this guy think he is? His phone rings and I roll my eyes.

  “Go ahead and answer,” I t
ell him, never looking at him.

  “You want me to answer your phone?” he asks and when I look up, he’s fiddling with his own phone again.

  I dig in my purse, grabbing the call right before it goes to voicemail. I’d answer a call from the IRS right now if it meant I didn’t have to continue my conversation with this man.

  “Hello?” I answer and turn my sights on the street.

  “Another bad dining experience?”

  Lucas.

  I’d recognize his voice from an echo through a long tunnel. It’s deep and resonates in every cell in my body.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Close. Is the suit business or pleasure?”

  I turn around, searching the restaurant, but I don’t see him. “Business.”

  “Good. I thought maybe you’d forgotten all about me until I saw the urge to kill in your eyes.”

  I search the street again, but there are so many people shuffling to return to work there’s no way I’ll find him unless he stands right outside the window. “Where are you?”

  “One o’clock by the newsstand.”

  I locate the newsstand and there he is in jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket with one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other holding the phone to his ear.

  “Ditch the suit and I’ll take you to lunch.” The smile he gives me dares me to refuse him.

  I grin back and then do what I have to get out of the remainder of this lunch from hell. “Really? Oh, my God. I’ll be right there!” I screech into the phone and Michael actually looks up from his phone.

  “You’re laying it on pretty thick there,” Lucas says with a chuckle.

  “No. No. I’m sure he’ll understand. It can’t be avoided.” I continue with my lie as I stand up and retrieve my coat from behind Michael. The bastard never even gets up.

  “What a gentleman you have there.” Lucas continues talking in my ear and for some reason I can’t hang up on him.

  I sandwich the phone between my shoulder and ear, swinging my arms through my jacket and buttoning it closed.

  “I’ll be right there,” I say in a frantic tone.

  “Don’t click me off yet. I want to hear what this jackass is going to say.”

  I hold the phone in my hand, placing my purse on my shoulder.

  “Sorry, Michael, I have to go. My friend has an emergency.”

  “Really? You’re leaving me?” He raises both his eyebrows.

  “Yes, but let’s get something straight. I may have jumped the gun on the tofu thing, but I still believe it’s a viable option, and if my dad thinks you’re doing good for the company then I won’t say anything about your earlier proposition. But from now on when you’re at work ignore the fact that my office exists from this point forward, got it?”

  He shakes his head as though I’m a child who doesn’t need his full attention. Talk about self-entitled.

  I walk out of the Corridor and turn toward the newsstand, but I’m pulled into a hard chest before I can turn the corner. An instant later lips meet mine. On the corner of Van Ness and Fell, I make a public spectacle of myself as I make out with a man who either thinks I’m crazy or hot. Maybe both.

  18

  Lucas slows our kiss and although I don’t want it to end, there could be a zillion people who recognize me here in the business district.

  “If I take you to lunch will you actually finish your meal this time?” he asks, his hands still linked behind my back, keeping me pressed to him.

  “How did you get my number? How did you know I’d be here?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  He chuckles. “You didn’t say whether you’d go to lunch with me.”

  “Answer my question first.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  He sighs. “You should password protect your phone.”

  “When?” I ask, but the memory quickly comes back. “The half hour I actually slept at your apartment.”

  His eyebrows raise and I shake my head.

  “Smooth.”

  “Only when it’s something I really want.” He pulls me into him and I let my hands drop to my sides.

  “And how did you know I was here?”

  He bites his lower lip and how I would love to pull that lip free. “I had an appointment down here and saw the two of you get out of the cab. I wasn’t going to interrupt you, but when I saw the daggers you were shooting that guy I figured you wouldn’t mind the interruption.”

  “You figured right.” I smile.

  “Good. Now, lunch?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” I say and step back, my gaze dipping down to his aged Pearl Jam t-shirt.

  He places his finger under my chin and brings my gaze to his, which has no more of the playful quality I like so much. Now he’s serious. “We need to talk.”

  I nod, agreeing, because as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not the casual sex kind of girl I want to be. I like Lucas. And I’d like to know now if that’s not going to work for him rather than really get my heart invested.

  “There’s this place down the way from here,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  His hand slides down my arm until his fingers are linked with mine. We walk down the sidewalk, dodging the oncoming people as he leads the way. Three blocks away, he opens the door to a sandwich place. Again, there’s a line well past the cashier and every table is full. The anxiety that we might not be able to find somewhere to sit starts rushing forward, but I try to push it back.

  “Crowded,” I mention and he laughs.

  “Yeah, but no worries, they seat you after you order.”

  I notice a guy directing people to tables as other patrons leave, and a busboy rushing around to clean off tables just as fast as he can.

  “Worry more about what you’re going to order. The line can go fast.” Lucas points to the chalkboard menu above the cashier.

  There’s jargon I don’t understand and it all seems so confusing.

  “You order for me,” I suggest.

  Lucas’ hand lands on the small of my back and he squeezes closer to me to allow a group of men to pass by. God, his chest feels so good.

  “I’m not ordering for you, but I’ll tell you what I’ve tried. I prefer their hot subs over their cold ones. The Italian and processed meat is the best, but they have some carving sandwiches that they’re known for.”

  I look at him quizzically. “Gee, thanks for narrowing down my choices.” My eyes focus on the menu and the line continues moving forward.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He shrugs, but his voice shows no sign of truly being apologetic.

  “Did you notice that we’re always in line somewhere together?” I say the random thought in my head. The first time I met Lucas I was in line at the boxing event, then he was at the front of the line at the horseback riding, the yacht we stood in line for drinks and to get off the boat, then the diner and now here.

  He chuckles. “You’re great company,” he softly says, pretending to bow.

  “Next!” a lady screams and Lucas’ happy smile grows serious as we step up to the cashier.

  “Carved turkey and avocado sandwich with the works, hot.” I say my order and Lucas looks impressed that I did it correct without any questions from the cashier.

  Lucas gives his Reuben order, pays for our subs, adding on chips and drinks, and then we wait in line again to be seated.

  The whole process moves faster than I would have suspected and soon we’re seated in a booth along the back wall with our two sandwiches, deli chips and two sodas. The anxiety of being somewhere different fades and I take the opportunity to check out the restaurant. It’s decorated in red vinyl booths and old signs that say Tavern Meats and Selections. I know the company. They’ve been around as long as Santora Sausage.

  “Does Tavern own this place?” I ask, noticing every piece of art on the walls has their logo on them.

  Lucas glances around and shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Huh.” I bite the inside of my cheek, contemplating if that’s w
hat Santora Sausage should have done. We supply to a bunch of different delis and restaurants around the world, but none where all their sausage comes from us exclusively.

  “What?” he asks and takes a bite of his sandwich.

  “Nothing.” I wave him off. “Business never seems very far from my mind.”

  His eyes crease and he places his sandwich down.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He takes his napkin and wipes his mouth.

  “Sure.”

  “You’re not a Pilates instructor, are you?”

  I stare blankly at him, trying to remember why he thinks that. I rack my brain for recollection on when I ever told him what I do. Then it dawns on me. The horseback riding when I told him and Aaron that I was a Pilates instructor.

  “Oh.” I release my breath. “I’m not. I said that because I didn’t want anyone to know where I work in case I had a stage-five clinger or something.” I bite into my sandwich, which I hate to admit is awesome. I’m going to pretend it’s the mayonnaise and special seasoning and not the meat that makes the sandwich mouthwatering.

  “Yeah, I figured.” There’s something in his tone. Annoyance? “What do you do?”

  “Um…” I pause because with my name comes expectations and it’s not like Lucas understands yet that I’m not what my name implies. “I’m an executive at Santora Sausage…” He waits for me to finish, but I know he knows what I’m about to say. “My family owns the company.”

  “Tahlia Santora?” he says, with what I think is some disdain lacing his voice.

  I set my sandwich down, my stomach unsure if it can handle eating while we’re having this conversation. I don’t say anything, but wait for him to speak.

  “In truth, I put two and two together when we met your dipshit ex. I was going to question you at the diner, but you ran off with my cinnamon roll.”

  A nervous laugh escapes my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Tahlia. I understand why you did it.” The odd thing is that I believe he’s not upset that I lied, but there’s still something wrong.

  “Well, I don’t make a habit of lying.”

  He nods, picking up his sandwich, and that smirk returns to his lips. “I know, but we do need to talk about you taking my cinnamon roll.” He winks and then bites into the sandwich, the tension around the table disappearing.