Black Ties and White Lies(37)

“Because you seem to have forgotten our earlier conversation. The one where I said that we probably shouldn't, you know, kiss and stuff since you know, we’re pretending to like each other and all.”

He looks over his shoulder. “I thought I made it clear this afternoon that I wasn’t pretending.”

My mouth snaps shut. I have no idea what’s happening anymore. I went from kind of wondering if Beck was into me to him full blown admitting that he was attracted to me.

Silverware clatters as he reaches into a drawer to his left. He’s silent as he places a plate in front of me. The dish looks like it came from a fancy restaurant, not made by him in the comfort of his own home. There’s what looks to be perfectly cooked salmon with some kind of glaze drizzled over it paired with green beans that look to be the perfect amount of charred and seasoned. I can smell the garlic, my stomach growling in anticipation.

Beck places another plate next to me, properly putting silverware next to both our plates. I should thank him but I’m too busy working through the sudden shift between us in my head.

He doesn’t take a seat next to me. Instead, he steps out of the kitchen and disappears for a few moments. When he returns, he carries a bottle of white wine in one hand and two glasses in his other.

Without words, he sets the glasses down in front of him. He works with expertise to open the bottle of wine, his forearm muscles rippling the entire time. He doesn’t ask me if I want any, pouring two hefty glasses and pushing them across the counter so one sits in front of my plate and the other in front of his.

“I probably shouldn’t drink this much wine before my first day,” I admit, trying to break the tension in the room. It doesn’t help much. I’m still throbbing between my legs, and it doesn’t seem in his nature to relent in whatever crusade he’s begun.

Beck stabs the salmon with his fork, pulling off a perfect flaky bite. He places it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “I know the boss.” He shrugs. “Something tells me he won’t care if you start the day with a wine headache.” He takes a big bite of the green beans. “Plus, that boss has a new assistant who will be grabbing him coffee to start the day. Nothing cures a wine headache like a cup of normal coffee.”

The way he emphasizes “normal” is clearly a jab at my coffee order. Rolling my eyes at him, I hold my fork in the air and point it at him. “Don’t knock my order until you try it.”

“I’ll be sticking with my usual.” He takes another bite of his food, almost halfway through his piece of salmon when I haven’t even taken my first bite.

I spear some salmon onto my fork, brushing the piece through the sauce he has on top before popping it into my mouth. A moan falls from my throat immediately, my eyes rolling back in my head with how delicious it is.

“I never imagined the first time I made you moan that I wouldn’t even be touching you.”

“This is delicious.” I shovel a large bite into my mouth, opening wide to fit salmon and green beans at the same time.

“My roasted chicken was delicious as well, but you didn’t seem to want anything to do with it last night.”

It takes a moment for me to finish chewing before I swallow. I wash the bite down with the wine, the sweetness of it pairing deliciously with the dish. Part of me wants to ask Beck how much the bottle of wine costs, but I decide against it. It’s probably better I don’t know. It’s too delicious and I don’t want to crush my dreams by knowing this glass of wine costs a pretty penny.

“One, I didn’t know you’d made food. And two, I just needed some space from you. You’ve only got yourself to blame for that.”

He raises his eyebrows, his wine glass perched in front of his lips. “Tell me why I should blame myself for you not getting to enjoy my roasted chicken?”

“Because you’re the one who has been all over the place. You come to my office all business as you offer to hire me as an assistant and then ask me to be your fake fiancée.”

“I distinctly remember how red you turned when we decided you’d never mutter Carter’s name again,” he interrupts.

That same blush creeps up my cheeks as I remember how abrupt his words had been in the conference room. “Okay well maybe not all business. But then last night, right there”—I point to the refrigerator—“it felt like you wanted to kiss me. But then you made me feel…” I sigh, not knowing what word to use. “I don’t know, silly, I guess? When you told me I was in the way I just felt silly. It made me feel like I’d misread the situation or something. So yeah, I didn’t want your roast chicken.”

“You didn’t misread the situation. I stopped because I’d remembered how you’d been the one to tell me we couldn’t kiss.”

“What a gentleman,” I quip. “Did that same sentiment not last until today?”

His laugh is low and rumbly, sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, Margo, I’m no gentleman. I kissed you today because you basically begged me to. I only have so much restraint. You may have once told me that you didn’t want us to kiss, but you asked me in that dressing room. Who am I to say no?”

We both focus on clearing our plates. I’m quite shocked by how tasty the food is. When Beck had told me he cooked, I didn’t think it would be this good. Is there anything this man can’t do?