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When he returns to the table with two drinks and my desserts in a paper bag, I pick up the glass and take a sip of the sweet and warm beverage.
God, just what I needed.
Dario adds sugar into his black expresso as he says, “First question. What’s your name?”
I play with the idea of giving him a fake name, but in the end, I mutter, “Eden.”
A sexy-as-hell smile curves his lips up. “I’ve never met anyone with that name before. It suits you.”
“It better suit me. I’m stuck with it for life.” I start to feel bad for being so bitchy but worrying about getting to work and not blowing my cover is pushing my stress level to its limit.
Dario relaxes in his chair, and with his eyes locked on my face, he murmurs in a deep and rough voice, “Eden.”
My abdomen clenches so hard I shift in my seat and look everywhere but at him.
“Were you heading to the studio when I stopped you?” he asks.
Shit.
I quickly shake my head. “No, I don’t go there anymore.”
“Why?”
Because I need my job.
“Ah…I don’t have time.” I hate lying, but paying the bills is more important than my moral ethics.
“Why are you avoiding looking at me?” he asks.
My eyes snap to his way too handsome face. “I’m not.”
He tilts his head as he fires another question in my direction. “Why did you run after the kiss?”
Ooooh damn.
I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. “It was either run or fuck you right there on the floor.”
“I would’ve been fine with the latter.” Dario’s eyes narrow on my face as if he’s trying to see into my soul. “It’s clear the attraction is mutual, yet you avoid me. Why?”
Because you own the company I work for.
The pressure I’m feeling makes laughter burst over my lips while I try to think of an answer to give him.
“What’s so funny?” Dario asks.
I try to rein in the laughter while shaking my head. “It’s a weird thing I do when I’m in trouble or feel awkward.”
“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t seem like someone who gets awkward,” he states. “Is there another reason?”
I take a sip of my hot chocolate, then mutter, “Can we change the subject?”
“You still owe me an answer,” he reminds me.
Now that I’ve had time to think, I realize I don’t have to lie as I tell him the truth. “I’m avoiding you because I’m not looking for a fling.”
“Who said anything about a fling?” Dario asks.
Annoyed by all the questions and needing to get my ass to work, I grab the paper bag, but before I can get up, Dario grabs hold of my wrist.
