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"You're not sure of much today, are you?" His observation, delivered with a wry smile, elicited a reluctant chuckle from me.
"No, I guess not." I conceded, my admission tinged with self-deprecation.
"What were you getting to eat before I asked you to lunch?" His question, a gentle prompt, nudged me back on track.
"A turkey wrap at the deli next door."
"A turkey wrap it is. Anything to drink?"
"Water."
Oliver furiously typed on his phone before he placed his hand firmly on my back and led me to the open elevator. I didn’t know what I should say, so I kept silent. He looked up at me and smiled.
“You’re not very talkative.”
The fact that I was intimidated by his presence had much to do with it. I didn’t understand why he was interested in me.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. Why do you want to have lunch with me?”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Why not? Don’t you think you’re worthy of someone asking you to lunch?”
I tried not to squeak when I answered. “Of course, but you’re Oliver Fox.”
He chuckled. “So I am. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m not exactly in your league. You run a corporation. I don’t know where I want my career to go.”
He held up his finger. “Correction, I own a corporation. What are you doing now?”
I caught his gaze. “I work in public relations. I’m not sure I want to continue for long.”
“It’s not satisfying?”
“My boss is not the nicest person. I’ve spent the last two weeks as a glorified gopher.”
Oliver stifled a laugh. “A rodent?”
“No. You know, go for this and go for that. I thought I would be doing more.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m finding myself. I might want to do something different. My roommate Sadie works in marketing, and she loves it. Maybe I should try it.”
“I have openings at my company if you want to apply. I’m sure we can find a spot for you.”
The elevator dinged on the top floor of the building. Oliver held the door and let me step out into the opulent offices of Fox Asset Corporation. The place was filled with tons of glass and dark marble floors. The front reception desk was curved and made of rich mahogany wood, topped with a slab of granite as dark as the floors.
Oliver led me through the offices until we got to his on the corner of the floor. It was massive and had a wall of bookcases with tons of books. Every square inch of shelves was filled with books. Oliver had a long conference table with high-backed leather chairs on one side of his office. On the other was a sitting area with a contemporary white leather sectional bigger than my apartment's.
Next to that was a smaller round glass table with four white cushioned elegant dining chairs. Oliver’s desk was of carved wood, at least six feet long and four feet wide. On it sat three oversized monitors, stacks of folders, and a lone keyboard and mouse.
To say I was in awe was an understatement. Was this how a billionaire lived, surrounded by expensive and elegant things?
“Your desk is beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s antique. I need space to work.”
He shut the heavy wooden door behind me and ushered me to the couch.
