Page 17 of Thoroughly Innocent Intent

“I can tell.” He grins wryly as he tops off my wine. “You’ve stared longingly at every dish that goes by.”

“It all looks so good,” I sigh, distracted by another plate, chocolate mousse, I think.

“Was yours good?” He nods to my plate. “You didn’t finish.”

“I’d like to, I just don’t have the room. One meal here is practically the same amount as I grew up eating in a day.”

“You were hungry?” His question is full of concern, maybe even a hint of anger.

“Not hungry, no.” I shake my head. “We just didn’t need this much.”

“You probably think this is a waste then?” He looks at the food on my plate.

“Only if you throw it out. I’ll take it home…unless you want to finish it? The way you’ve been looking at it, I’m guessing you have room.” I push the plate in his direction.

He takes the plate gratefully and starts cutting into the steak. “I always have room. So, what do you like to do when you’re not working?” He watches me as he chews, waiting for my answer. Only I don’t have one to give. Outside work there’s Delaney, and not much else.

“Don’t tell me you’re a workaholic.” He teases when I don’t answer. “Smart, pretty little thing like you, you shouldn’t be holed up in your office all the time.”

“I’m not,” I say defensively, thinking about how I like to spend time outside when the weather permits, or how I eat out with Delaney at least twice a month. I don’t feel the need to justify my passion for my work, especially to a guy who admits that he puts his life on hold for football each year. Time to get things back on track.

“But speaking of.” I heed him off before he can dig further into my personal life. “We haven’t discussed what your thoughts are about your charity.”

“I know.” He grins around another bite.

“Well, do you have any questions?”

“Nope.” He pushes the empty plate away and leans back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Eating.”

I say another little prayer for patience, which I seem to do a lot around him. “We came here to finish our meeting. We didn’t need to do this if we weren’t going to talk about businesses.”

“I did. I can’t make decisions on an empty stomach.” He pats his enticingly flat abdomen. “And your office makes me claustrophobic.”

“What’s wrong with my office?” My mood shifts from somewhat unsettled to offended, and this time my face heats from anger, not embarrassment.

“It’s sterile.”

“It’s professional,” I say tersely. “If it was filled with a bunch of stuff it would take away from the work.” I selectively leave out the fact that I don’t have anything to put in there.

“Hey, whatever works for you.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I just can’t relax in there. I’m not really an office kinda guy.”

“Then, how will you survive as a commentator? Or a coach? Not all their days are spent on the field.” I reach for my wine and take a long sip to keep myself from objecting further, which I’m only doing because I feel self-conscious about my somewhat isolated existence, not because he’s wrong.

“Touché.” He raises his glass in a mock toast, his eyes twinkling with laughter. “But I’ll take part time office life over full-time office life any day.” He grins mischievously as he brings the glass to his full lips, and with that simple act he makes it hard to hold onto my anger. Hell, he makes it hard not to do anything but admire how beautiful he is.

I may barely know Colt, but it’s already made clear that beneath the handsome flirt is a guy who just wants to enjoy life. Who doesn’t take himself too seriously. That’s so completely foreign to me, and for the first time in my adult life, I sort of want to do something purely for fun instead of to serve a purpose. Then I catch Colt watching me, an amused, almost knowing look on his face, and I force myself back into professional mode.

I don’t know what he thinks he sees in my expression, but I don’t want him to confuse me with the women who don’t mind being the flavor of the off season. Colt’s playful personality may be somewhat infectious, and he may even genuinely be a nice guy, but letting him think we’re anything more than business associates would be bad for my career. Maybe even my naïve heart.

“And now that your stomach isn’t empty? Do you have any thoughts about how you want to go forward?” I try to bring the conversation back to work.

“Not yet.” He gives a subtle shake of his head.

“You weren’t listening,” I mutter to myself, frustrated that I believed him the first time when he said he was.

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