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He continued to work on his hair while I moved around him and pulled out a pink bra and panty set. When he saw it, Oliver focused on me.
“Are you going to watch me get dressed?”
"I should sit in the living room. I’m giving up on my hair," he declared.
“You can stay if you want.”
He smirked. “That’s not a good idea and you know why.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
He went to sit on the couch, and just to be a brat, I left the door open while I dressed. From his vantage point, he could partially see me, but when I looked at him, he was typing something into his phone.
"Typical," I muttered under my breath, sliding into my clothes with an air of defiance.
Vlad was waiting for us downstairs when we exited my building. Traffic was still light since it was before 9:00 AM on a Sunday morning. I snuggled up against Oliver’s shoulder as we drove to his place, the city slowly waking up around us. He kissed the top of my head, his touch warm and comforting, and put his arm around me.
When we arrived at his building, he took me upstairs. A man was standing in the kitchen wearing chef’s whites, and I detected the aroma of cinnamon wafting through the air. Oliver nodded at the man as he led me out to the patio, the anticipation of what awaited us stirring in my chest.
The rectangular teak table had two places set with China, silverware, and glasses, the morning sunlight casting a golden hue over everything. The oversized umbrella had been opened to shade us while we ate, creating an intimate oasis amidst the urban chaos. A large pitcher of blood orange juice sat in a silver platter with raised sides, glistening with condensation like dewdrops on a summer morning.
Oliver pulled out my seat for me, a gesture that felt both chivalrous and endearing. After I was comfortable, he sat down next to me, his eyes gleaming with a hint of excitement. A few seconds later, a woman wearing a black uniform came to the table, her demeanor poised and professional. She placed a bowl of fruit salad and a plate with cinnamon buns and danish on the table with a practiced flourish, adding to the allure of the scene before us.
"Cinnamon buns? You?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.
"You think I don’t eat simply?" Oliver replied with a playful grin.
"Oliver, this is hardly simple. You have a chef and a waitress serving us," I pointed out, gesturing to the attentive staff.
"Would you rather I send them home and cook for you?" he quipped, a hint of challenge in his tone.
"If I asked, would you?" I countered, curiosity dancing in my eyes.
"Are you challenging me? I can cook," he declared, his competitive spirit coming to the surface.
"I’m sure you can, but since your chef is here, let him do his magic," I conceded, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Would you like some juice?" Oliver offered, changing the subject smoothly.
I smirked, unable to resist. "Is it fresh squeezed?"
"Absolutely, and I have the pulp strained because I dislike it," he assured me, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Can I have some ice? I like my drinks cold," I requested, playfully pushing the boundaries.
"I’m sure it can be arranged," he replied, his tone indulgent as he signaled for the waitress to fulfill my request.
We had a leisurely breakfast. The coffee was an exotic blend, and the cinnamon buns were homemade as were the danish. The chef himself brought out a mushroom and cheese frittata and served us. It was delicious. I couldn’t stop myself from touching Oliver. Every so often, I stroked his arm or hand.
"Are you trying to seduce me again?" Oliver's asked, his voice smooth as silk.
"Not at all," I replied, a playful glint in my eyes as I met his gaze. "Your skin is so soft and so tan. You’re always in the office. How are you that tan?" I couldn't help but ask, my curiosity piqued.
"I have a boat and a house on Long Island. I spend time there on the weekends. I can work from anywhere, really," he explained, a hint of wanderlust in his tone.
"You know what they say about all work and no play?" I teased, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.
"I do play, but not as often as I would like. Now that I have a playmate, I might have to make changes," Oliver countered, his eyes dancing with mischief.
