Page 37 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
The man is genuinely attracted to me. It’s still hard to wrap my head around that, but there have been moments when I swore the air would start sparking from the sexual tension.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but pineapple buns and gelato also taste better in his presence. I wonder what it would be like to lick gelato off his chest.
It’s been more than three years since I’ve had sex, and I miss it. Being skin against skin, holding each other afterward, waking up together. When I’m with Julian, I can’t help thinking about it and yearning for it, these things I told myself I’d never have again.
I have to remind myself that there are good reasons for my vow of celibacy, but damn, it’s tough when he’s sitting across from me, looking so hot in his jeans and polo shirt. He put on the polo shirt before we left, even though there was nothing wrong with the T-shirt he’d been wearing at breakfast. It’s like Julian thinks he cannot be seen without a collared shirt in public. ButIsaw him in that T-shirt. He’s let me into his private world...sort of. As much as I would allow him.
I have a sip of my pumpkin spice latte. Even though it’s only August, this coffee shop has started serving pumpkin spice lattes, or maybe they serve them all year round. It’s pretty good, though not quite as good as my regular gingerbread latte at Chris’s Coffee Shop.
Julian leans forward. “You don’t have to babysit me all day to make sure I don’t go into the office or start looking up stock prices. I know you have your own life.”
“I don’t mind.” I lose my train of thought for a moment, slightly distracted by his closeness. “It’s not like I have much else to do.”
Though it’s good to know he doesn’t expect me to be with him every hour of the day, because at some point, I’ll need some time alone to recharge.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” he asks.
My mind is completely blank, even though I’ve eaten at dozens and dozens of restaurants in Toronto. I hate when that happens.
I turn the question around. “Where doyouwant to eat? You’re the one who’s supposed to be having fun, and I’ve been dragging you around all day.”
“Um.” His mind seems to have emptied of all rational thought, just like mine, and now he’s stroking the back of my hand, which isn’t helping my poor brain.
When my brain finally latches onto a word, I blurt it out.
“Tapas!” I say, proud to have come up with something. “I love tapas. I don’t care if it’s Spanish, I just really like ordering a bunch of small plates and sharing them. It’s so much fun.”
It’s also very date-like.
Just like that fact that he’s still stroking my hand.
“Okay,” he says, as though my outburst was perfectly normal and did not draw the attention of the women chatting at the table next to ours. “We’ll go to Mosaic.”
Mosaic is a Middle Eastern small-plates restaurant in Yorkville. It’s supposed to be excellent, but I’ve never been because it’s also expensive.
“That’s not necessary,” I protest, and then I remember who I’m talking to. “Actually, I misspoke. It’s totally necessary and we should go there so you can spend your money on me. Although I suspect you need to make a reservation for Saturday dinner a few weeks in advance.”
He pulls out his phone. “Let me see what I can do.”
* * *
An hour later, we’rewaiting to be shown to a table at Mosaic.
I don’t know how Julian did it. I imagine if you’re a real celebrity, restaurants would make special accommodations for you, hoping it would bring them attention. But Julian, though rich, isn’t a celebrity, and I’m not sure many people would know his name, outside of the Chinese community. And investment bankers, presumably.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” the hostess says, though we’ve only been waiting a minute. She flashes Julian a spectacular smile.
I have the urge to wrap my hand around his arm and yell, “Mine!” However, that would be weird, and it might get us kicked out.
And I very much want to eat here.
Plus, he doesn’t actually belong to me.
We’re led to a table on the rooftop patio. We’re not very high up, just on the third floor, so we don’t have an impressive view of the city, but it’s really nice. There are potted shrubs and flowers and a few well-dressed couples having quiet conversations.
I feel underdressed, but there wasn’t time to go back to Julian’s to change. We still have Joey the Cactus with us, and Julian places him on the table beside the unlit candle.
“How did you manage this?” I ask as soon as the hostess walks away.
