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I navigate the car through Chicago traffic, pulling up to one of my favorite bistros and opening the car door before she can ask me why.
“Afternoon, Mr. Gates,” Austin, one of the regular valet attendants, opens Presley’s door and ushers her out of the vehicle before walking around to take my place behind the wheel.
“Austin,” I say, tipping my head toward him.
“What is this place?” Presley tilts her head to look up at the name on the sign as I gently press my hand to the base of her spine.
“The best damn French bistro in the city.” I’ve been a regular at Bistronomic since they first opened over a decade ago. I nod to the host who also recognizes me, leading me back to my regular table, tucked away from prying eyes. The last thing I need right now is someone’s tongue wagging about the new twenty-something on my arm.
“Allow me,” I say, helping remove Presley’s coat. It’s unintentional but the front of my fingers drag down her arms as I slowly slide it off her body. She turns just as I finish removing it, sending her hair over my hand. It’s just as silky as I imagined and it smells like warm vanilla. I curl my fingers into my palm to resist reaching out and grabbing a handful of it, tugging it to bring her body back against mine so I can lean over her, devouring her mouth with mine.
Fuck me.
I pull her chair out, allowing her to take a seat before removing my own coat and sitting down myself.
“How did you know I’d be at Lisa’s this morning?”
The waiter has barely left our table after placing down a pitcher of water before she asks. She’s really not letting this go.
“Have you checked your email today?” Her brows knit together. “Check it,” I say as she continues to stare at me. “Check. It,” I say again, slowly this time as I lean forward and grab my glass of water.
She reaches into her coat pocket and produces her phone, her face still twisted with confusion as she taps around. I see her eyes scanning, then a small smile slowly creeps across her face along with a slight pink that darkens her cheeks.
“Did you forget you sent me an email?”
She nods her head, her delicate gold earrings bouncing with the movement.
“I must say, it was a pleasant surprise to see in my inbox this morning.” I smile. “Why don’t you read my response out loud.”
Her lips part in that cute little nervous manner I’ve seen before. Her eyes drop from me to the phone, then back up to me.
“Go on.”
“Miss James,” she says softly before clearing her throat. “Good luck at your interview. I’m sure you will get the job.”
She stops.
“Signed?” I ask.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. She swallows.
“Your favorite professor.”
I like watching her fight the urge to sink beneath the table and hide.
She straightens her shoulders, sliding the phone back into her coat pocket before reaching for her water.
“I never said that you were my favorite professor.”
I shrug. “I think we both know it’s true.”
“Some might call that arrogance.”
“Not arrogance if it’s true.” She stares at me. “Is it true?”
“Will I get fired if I say no?” She gives me that cocky little grin.
“Of course not. I think you don’t want to say it’s true because you hate that you like me. It goes against every moral fiber of your being since I’m the big bad immoral wolf of Chicago teaching your ethics class.”
