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“Look inside the door of your car,” she said. “It’ll tell you where it was made. Why is food any less important?”
I nodded. “Good point.”
Everything was organized and displayed in a more artful fashion than mere shelves and piles.
I checked my watch as we started down the food aisles.
“Somewhere important to be?” Nicole asked with obvious sarcasm.
“I have to get back to Gary.”
She waited for a shopper to pass by. “Maybe they didn’t teach you this at USC, but a company is more than spreadsheets and numbers; it’s people.” She spun, but only got two steps before turning back to me again. “Now show your people the respect they deserve, and stop checking your watch like you can’t wait to get out of here.”
I took off my watch and slid it into my jacket pocket. “Happy?”
“I’m always happy,” she said before waving to an associate. “Maisy, I’d like you to meet our new boss, Mr. B.” Nicole’s pleasant smile was back in place.
I introduced myself, while filing away that “I’m always happy” comment. It didn’t ring true for me.
As we continued through the store, it struck me that the supermarket closest to my place had aisles barely wide enough for two carts to pass each other. These were much more spacious, and the shelving wasn’t all straight-line monotony either. Curves had been integrated into some of the displays. The sheer variety of mustards we passed was way beyond what I was used to.
Nicole was in her element here, and it was a joy to watch her explain. She was animated, engaged, and more than just knowledgeable—she was happy to talk about the store. This was the girl I’d spied on the beach in Barbados, before everything had gone wrong for her. Coming into the store had transformed her, or maybe it was because we’d gotten past our argument outside the car.
I found myself paying less attention to what she was saying, and more attention to the way she said it—her animated hands, her genuine smile as she met the associates and introduced them. And, watching her boobs bounce and her ass sway with her energetic walk wasn’t bad either. This was miles better than time with Gary.
So much was emanating from her visually that I missed most of the words.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I hadn’t caught the question. I shrugged and gave myself a mental slap for letting her distract me.
“For the tasting?”
“I’m sorry. Tasting?”
We’d just passed through the buffet section of the deli where customers—or rather guests—were scooping up food, and Nicole started up the stairs to the mezzanine seating area she’d pointed out.
“Yes, the food rotation,” she said. “That’s one of your responsibilities.”
A tasting wasn’t one of the responsibilities on your average CEO’s task list.
Following her up the stairs, with her ass right in front of me, I lost my concentration. This wasn’t me. It was something about her that made it impossible for me to compartmentalize the way I normally could. I’d always been able to keep preoccupation with a woman’s body parts to after business hours.
“Can you explain that again?” I asked.
“I told you, we change up the offerings in the deli periodically, and you do a taste test to pick the ones we add.”
It sounded like something I didn’t want to fuck up. “Maybe you should do that,” I told her.
She stopped me at the top of the stairs. “This is your job. Chef Bob would be insulted if you refused.”
“We can’t have that,” I said sarcastically.
She poked me in the chest. “You better believe it. He’s the best we have. And besides, it’s all great. Whatever you pick will please the guests.”
We reached the seating area, where a section had been roped off. Over a dozen smiling associates with store shirts surrounded the long table. We began another round of introductions, with name tags for backup, before Nicole ushered me to the center of one side, opposite Chef Bob.
The group sat when I did, and hushed as Bob stood.
