Page 51 of Unleashed

My eyes widened. “Why?”

“To give me an earful for poaching his best engineer.” Michael’s grin widened, clearly amused by the memory.

"What did you tell him?" I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Michael's lips curled into a sly smile. "An employee only leaves because they're unhappy," he said, his voice low and measured. "If you were his best engineer, he should've kept you happy."

My eyebrows shot up. "What did he say to that?"

"He had a few choice words." Michael chuckled, shaking his head. "Then he said, 'I'm not giving you up. I'll give you a raise if you need it.'"

"Why would you do that?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

Michael's eyes locked onto mine, his gaze intense. "Unlike Keaton, I want to keep my best engineer happy."

I fidgeted with my napkin, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I've seen your other engineers; they seem quite capable."

"And they are," Michael conceded, leaning back in his chair. "But some of them lack the passion I see in you." He paused, tilting his head. "Why did you choose structural engineering? It's a male-dominated field."

My eyes lit up, the discomfort forgotten. "I enjoy building things and seeing the finished product that I helped create," I said, my voice animated. "I know I won't win any awards, but I like to know I had a hand in the construction."

Michael nodded approvingly. "I'm glad you decided to come to Elliott."

"It was the right choice," I replied, a small smile playing on my lips.

The sleek black sedan pulled up to the Blue Room, and a doorman in a royal blue uniform stepped forward to open thecar door. Michael slipped out first, extending his hand to me. I hesitated for a moment before grasping it, allowing him to help me from the car.

Inside, the Blue Room lived up to its name. The elegant decor showcased a spectrum of blue hues, from deep navy to soft cerulean. Even the linen tablecloths shimmered in a delicate shade of periwinkle.

The hostess greeted Michael by name, her smile just a touch too warm. She led us upstairs to a small private room, where a dark blue semicircular leather booth awaited us. A round table, set for two, gleamed in the center. A serving station and a privately stocked wet bar completed the intimate setting.

As we settled into the booth, a waiter in a crisp royal blue uniform appeared with menus. my eyes widened as I scanned the offerings, noting the conspicuous absence of prices.

Michael watched my reaction with amusement. "Shall I order for us?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I trust you."

With practiced ease, Michael placed our order in flawless French. I listened, captivated by the unfamiliar words flowing from his lips.

"French?" I asked after the waiter departed.

"This restaurant is French and American," Michael explained, his eyes twinkling.

"What did you order?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just wait and see."

As we continued chatting about work and my recent vacation, I carefully omitted any details about my traveling companion. Michael didn't need to know I was sleeping with my former boss. I kept things vague, mentioning only that I'd gone with a friend.

Our first course arrived shortly after—an endive salad with a lemon vinaigrette dressing. It was light and delicious, paired perfectly with a fruity white wine.

Michael raised his glass, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The wine will be our little secret."

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh? You don't like us drinking at lunch?"

"As long as you don't overdo it if you go out in the future," he said, his tone becoming more serious. "I'd prefer you don't, especially if you're going out in the field."

"I would be going out?" I asked, surprised.

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