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“Are you wearing that outfit to dinner?” he inquired, eyeing my attire.
“Is it more formal?” I questioned, considering a change.
“Not really. I had Henri secure a table at Diamond Square,” he revealed.
“That is a bit dressy. Maybe I should change unless we come back here before we go to dinner,” I mused, scanning my wardrobe for alternatives.
“You’re dressed fine,” he assured me.
“You sure?” I sought confirmation.
“Positive. I think you look great. Purple suits you,” he complimented, his gaze softening.
“What was that about Henri securing you a table at Diamond Square?” I probed, intrigued.
“I had him make a reservation,” he explained casually.
“That’s not what I mean. You own the damn place. Those people would bend over backward to accommodate the boss,” I pointed out, a hint of amusement in my tone.
“You just love sticking that in my face, don’t you? Eventually, you’ll be their boss too,” he countered, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Good. I plan to make use of that fact by stocking up on those delicious macarons,” I grinned mischievously.
“I feel sorry for Mariah,” he chuckled.
“Who’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“The pastry chef. Macarons are her specialty,” he explained, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Then I must thank her because those things are incredible,” I said appreciatively, reminiscing about the delectable treats.
“You promised to go to the gym and work extra hard,” Oliver reminded me gently, concern etched on his face.
“Afraid I’ll get fat, Fox?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Fat, thin, I don’t care because I love you either way,” he reassured me, sincerity lacing his words.
“Yeah, we’ll see when I gain thirty pounds during a pregnancy,” I quipped, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
“I can deal with it because you’ll be carrying our baby. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll help you lose it,” he responded earnestly, his eyes filled with love.
“Let’s get to the office. I want to get this day over with,” I suggested, eager to shift focus back to our daily routine.
Chapter 12
I reached under the table and dug my nails into Dillon’s hand as it traveled up my leg. Oliver was engaged in conversation with James Ryder, seated on the opposite side. I found myself sandwiched between Dillon and Rick; the older men seemingly unaware of the situation. Dillon let out a yelp, hastily covering it up with a cough.
As he pulled his hand away, I noticed the marks my nails had left on his skin. He rubbed at them, avoiding my gaze as he took a long sip of his scotch. If anything, his alcohol consumption seemed to embolden him. Meanwhile, Rick appeared more interested in the discussion between James and Oliver, leaving Dillon free to persist.
“Why did you do that?” Dillon whispered, his voice laced with confusion.
“Are you kidding me?” I retorted, incredulous.
“No, I’m just being friendly,” he insisted, his tone unconvincing.
“You’re a pervert,” I hissed, irritation evident in my voice.
“Something you two can bring to the conversation?” James interjected, casting a curious glance in our direction.
