Breathe In (Just Breathe, #1)(67)
“Wow! Hello, beautiful,” he greets along with his typical lean in hug and kiss on the cheek. For some reason, he lingers close, longer than usual.
“Yeah, yeah,” I downplay his response and try to gain control over my raging hormones.
Joe offers me his arm as he leads me to his car waiting at the curb. A driver standing by a luxurious, black Rolls Royce Phantom opens the back right door for us both. Joe ushers me in and follows just shortly after.
I’ve never seen Joe drive, let alone be driven, in a Rolls Royce. I didn’t know he had one. The thought that he might have rented it for the night comes to mind. Would he? I know he could. But, why?
“Where are we going to eat?” I search, wanting to keep my self focused on my mission.
“You’ll see,” Joe replies with a wicked grin. Knowing my car challenge, he instinctually takes my hand just before the car carries us off into the setting sun. “How’s business going this week?”
“Good, thanks. You?”
“Great. Thanks.” He adds, “The suggestion you made was received well by the board. They’re starting to understand the requirement to shift more toward technology for many aspects of the industry as well as the economic need for a more ecological approach.”
“Terrific!” I praise. “Did you mention the carbon footprint reduction concept as well?”
Joe is a very smart businessman, I can tell he’s learned a lot from school as well as from his father. However, I’ve noticed with some of our conversations that he has a tendency to second guess himself.
“They loved it. We’ll be taking action steps at the begin of the next quarter,” he confesses. “My father wants to meet you, by the way.”
“Me? Why?”
“He wants to meet the mind behind my brilliant consultant,” he compliments. “That and I think he’s considering on hiring you for specific consulting work.”
“It’s all you, Joe,” I humbly contend. “I have nothing to do with it.”
“You have more to do with it than you think,” he replies honestly. “We make a great team.”
“It has nothing to do with me. You are trusting your instincts and that’s what gets it done,” I argue.
Joe takes his free hand and tenderly caresses the back of my hand he is now holding on his lap. I feel nervous about the proximity of my hand to his groin, but his left hand is resting on his leg, just under my hand, which helps slightly.
“Have you seen the LA Philharmonic play?” he searches.
“A few times at the Walt Disney Concert Hall and Hollywood Bowl. They’re phenomenal. Why?”
“Which place is better to see them?”
“Either. It just depends on the concert and the atmosphere you want. Why?”
“If I get tickets, will you go with me?”
We’ve done a few activities together, but the way he’s asking is a little peculiar.
“Why don’t I get the tickets?” I offer.
“You pick which venue you want to buy the tickets for and it’s a deal.”
I take the highroad not to battle this one, so I suggest, “I’ll take the Hollywood Bowl. There are a lot of options other than just the LA Philharmonic that I think you’d enjoy.”
Joe smiles with ease and I actually see his body relax more into the seat. “Great. Choose any event for yours. Surprise me.”
“You sure?” I tease.
“Yep. I know we’ve have similar tastes based on your playlist.” Joe’s playful grin returns.
He clearly wants me to remember our last time at Nathan’s.
When Joe helps me out of the car, I’m tremendously pleased with my attire selection for our — night out. However, I’m a little perturbed by his choice. We are dining at one of Beverly Hills’ top restaurants, the Spago; one of Wolfgang Puck’s locations. A wonderful, delectable choice, but a bit higher in price for a date compared to where we normally eat. The place is busy, but Joe and I are seated immediately which leads me to believe that Joe called for reservations.
Arriving at our table, Joe pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. As I lower down, he slides the chair under me. Joe takes his seat with calm confidence, not noticing the hostess who is practically drooling over him.
Joe looks to me and asks, “Have you eaten here before?”
“Once or twice,” I comment, not revealing the truth as I study him, noting that his eyes never veer from me.
The waiter greets us with a bottle of wine in hand, which from my angle it’s Dom Perignon. When the waiter offers, Joe takes a look at the bottle and nods. Next, the waiter pops the cork and fills both of our glasses. “I’ll let Chef Andrews know you are here Mr. Covelli,” the waiter confirms.
“What was that?” I question after the waiter leaves.
“What?”
“The bottle of Dom Perignon that we didn’t order and then the whole I’ll let Chef Andrews know you’re here Mr. Covelli statement,” I reply with a hushed, sarcastic voice. “And, where are the menus?”
Grinning, Joe answers, “I ordered the bottle of wine in advance. Chef Andrews knows my family and we don’t need menus since we’re having whatever the chef decides to prepare for us.”