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By what I hear next, it’s obvious that they have more than a legal one. “Your boss. Ms. Vanacore has someone working for her? And a guy?” He sounds angrier at this fact of things now, not the fact that he’s not getting to talk to the woman of the hour. “What’s your name?”
My defenses are immediately up. “I don’t need to tell you that. You do need to tell me yours, though. If you expect me to pass anything on to my boss.”
The young man growls. “Fin. Just Fin. That’s all I’m going to tell you because that’s all your boss needs to know.”
“One N or two?” I ask, really not liking this kid.
“One.”
I scribble this down on a stray piece of sticky note. “And may I please take down a note as to why you’re calling her?”
“Not unless you give me a name,” he snaps back. He definitely sounds like a jilted lover or something. Not your typical client, no matter the reasons they might be calling. It sounds too tender and prickly to be strictly business.
“Tommy,” I reply, thoroughly done dealing with this kid.
“Well, Tommy the Wonderful, tell Vanacore that Fin has time for her and that if she doesn’t want me to go somewhere else, she better pick me up.”
I don’t even want to know what he means in this case, or in any case to do with Ms. Vanacore and him. I shudder silently, but Ms. Vanacore comes to my rescue. She comes through the door to our shared office right then, right before I have to contemplate taking down that awkward, charged memo.
“Why don’t you tell her yourself,” I say, finding the button that will transfer the call from my line back to my boss’. “She’s just stepped back into the office.” Without waiting for a response from Fin just Fin, I push the button and transfer the call. I get up from my desk, definitely ready to go to lunch.
As I go to walk past her, Ms. Vanacore raises her eyebrows. “A boy named Fin called, he’s on the other line for you. He has something to tell you about his time.”
As I say this, Vanacore looks at first nervous and agitated, then unconcerned. “Oh, he can sit there for a while, that boy.” She straightens up her posture, puts on a glowing smile. “Was wondering if you’d like to go out to lunch. You’ve done such a good job this first week, I thought I might reward you for—”
I hate to burst this bubble, but I’ve already made plans with Melissa. I wouldn’t really call them “plans” but I went out of my way to order her to accompany me, so if I’m going to be a good boss, I have to turn down mine. “Sorry, Ms. Vanacore, but I’ve already made plans. Besides. I don’t think Fin should be kept waiting. He sounds high maintenance, that boy.”
With that, I hurry past. I hurry out the door, unable to shake the feeling of being stared at by her as I do. Her eyes are burning holes in my pants, in the back of them as I go. I feel desire and resentment in the stare, but quickly move to put the door in between her and me.
I hurry to the cafeteria, realizing that the food actually smells good down here today. Something like spicy pizza or curry or something. The moment the elevator goes down to the cafeteria floor, which is the same as the private bar, as well as the exercise and relaxation areas, I get off. I also spot Melissa, who is just coming in through one of the big main doors.
She blushes deeply the moment she sees me but comes quickly to my side.
“I’m here, sir,” she murmurs, as we get in line for one of the many “theme” stations, each stationed by what’s probably no less than a five star, classically-trained cook. “Just like you asked,” she adds, as she guides me into a line that serves both French and Italian cuisines. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to order your lunch for you today.” I don’t mind one bit. Most of the food is food I’ve never heard of before.
I tell her so, suddenly feeling like we’re not in a cafeteria anymore. We’re not at work. We might as well be at a restaurant on a date. At least, that’s what my rapidly beating heart begins to tell me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Melissa
It’s fun, picking Tommy’s lunch out for him. It’s also fun getting to order it in French, my second language. I’ve never had so much fun or felt so sexy or cool while speaking French before. The way Tommy looks at me as I order for both of us is pure magic. Pure adorableness distilled.
I’ve ordered him a classic French dish. A Cassoulet, a comforting, savory stew made out of beans, and roast duck. There are whole actual pieces of roast duck in it, not just shredded pieces. In addition to this, I’ve ordered him a side of bread and roasted Camembert cheese. For dessert, I’ve gotten him a small chocolate cake. A personal size.
