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When We Were Us

Page 10

by M.J. Masucci

Oliver pulled out one of the brown vinyl cushioned chairs for me, gesturing for me to sit. “Oliver?”

“It’s my building,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

“It is? I didn’t see it on your list of properties.”

“Did you see the one we work in on there?”

“No. I just assumed…”

He smirked. I still had so much to learn about his company. I don’t think I even scratched the surface of all the assets he owned. It wasn’t a surprise that he owned this building or the one we worked in.

“You assumed correctly. I own it and several others around the city,” he said nonchalantly.

“Like the building we live in?”

“Of course. How do you think I got the security tapes so quickly?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I muttered, feeling a pang of unease.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured me, his voice softening.

“Aren’t you worried about being up here without security?” I asked, glancing around nervously.

“Not at all. Security is tight in this building. No one passes through without a badge.”

“You did,” I pointed out.

“I own this building and they know it. I don’t need to show a badge.”

I shook my head with a smile. “We forgot drinks,” I said, realizing we hadn't brought anything to drink with our lunch.

“Not a problem. The refrigerator is fully stocked. What can I get you?” Oliver asked, already heading towards the kitchenette.

I thought for a moment. “Beer.”

“Bullshit. You don’t drink at work.”

“We’re not at work. We’re on lunch.”

“What do you want to drink?” he repeated, giving me a playful look.

I sighed. “Water is fine.”

“Sparkling?” Oliver asked.

“Yes. That’s good.”

Oliver reached into the refrigerator and took out two bottles of Pellegrino. I opened the white bag, inhaling the aroma of the contents before I sat down at one of the tables. He joined me.

“These smell wonderful,” I said, my mouth watering.

I handed Oliver his food and took mine, unrolling the tin foil. My roll was soft with the juices of the meat, and I savored the first bite, closing my eyes as I chewed. Oliver dunked his sandwich in the au jus several times before taking his first bite.

“Good?” he asked, watching me with a satisfied smile.

I nodded, unable to speak with my mouth full. The sandwich was everything I had hoped for and more.

“These just get better and better. I wonder if Oscar would give me the recipe,” he said, wiping au jus from his mouth.