Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“I’ve never had the time, frankly,” I said, putting on a la-di-da kind of voice.
To my gratified surprise, Joseph burst out laughing. Then two things happened in a confusing blur. The limo slowed to a stop, and I could see the iconic sign for Saint L’O, which I’d walked by many, many times, wondering if I would ever get to eat there. And Joseph took hold of my face, turned it away from the window and toward him, and, putting his other hand on the back of my neck so that I whimpered up into his mouth, he kissed me, very hard and very long.
When he finally broke the kiss, he looked into my eyes deeply and without speaking, as if trying to decide something. Then, abruptly, the driver opened the door, and Joseph let go of my face. I turned and took the offered hand to climb out of the limo.
My lips still felt strange, bruised even, as Joseph led me into the gorgeous dining room. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over white linen tablecloths and gilded place settings. The ambient chatter was punctuated by the delicate clink of silverware and wineglasses.
Joseph nodded to the maître d’, as if they knew each other so well that words of welcome weren’t required. He guided me to a secluded table, pulling out my chair before taking his seat across from me. The spell cast by the kiss in the limo seemed to hover around both of us, and my whole body felt hot as my boss’ gaze raked over my body.
“Yes,” he said, making me realize neither of us had spoken a word since the kiss. “You look very lovely indeed tonight, Ingrid.”
I felt my brow crease hard, and I swallowed. I tried to stop the impulse, but I couldn’t help it; I shifted in my seat, victim of a perverse-feeling urge, to remind myself of what had befallen me down there, all because of the man sitting across from me. The feeling of soreness, of bareness, and above all of helpless need nearly made me sob.
The smile on Joseph’s face told me had caught every millimeter of my body’s movement, and understood it perfectly. I felt my mouth twist to the side in frustration. If I wanted to play the game, I definitely needed to show more defiance.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice entirely neutral. “You already said that.”
His eyebrows went up, and then his eyes narrowed. I felt my pulse quicken at this slight indication of displeasure. He seemed about to say something sharp, but the waiter’s arrival interrupted our conversation, such as it was.
Joseph looked up at the man in the spotless white jacket. “The chef’s tasting menu, for two,” he said before the waiter could say anything.
“Ah,” the man replied. “With the wine pairings?”
“Of course,” Joseph said with a smile.
I hardly even knew what a tasting menu was, or what it meant to have wine pairings with it.
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said. He glided away toward the kitchen.
Joseph turned back toward me, his face serene, as if the warning expression of a few moments before had never been there at all.
“I think,” he said, “we should get to know each other a little better.”
My lips parted. I blinked in what probably looked like comic-book level surprise. Joseph continued as if he hadn’t just changed, well, not really the subject as much as the game itself.
“Did you grow up in this area?” he asked. “I grew up on the East Coast, so when Selecta moved me here ten years ago it took a while to get used to.”
CHAPTER 16
Ingrid
I contemplated his question, not sure how to get my head around the idea that Joseph Alden had actually taken an interest in my background. His asking such a mundane thing, about my upbringing, somehow seemed in the moment even more surprising than his having invited me to have dinner at the most expensive restaurant in the city.
The dimly lit restaurant hummed with the murmurs of well-dressed patrons, the clinking of cutlery against fine china, and the scent of exquisite cuisine that seemed to promise an evening of indulgence—to patrons who were allowed to wear underwear, who didn’t have bruises on their backsides from their master’s punishments, who hadn’t knelt naked in the corner office to kiss the cocks of junior executives.
And I sat across from the man whose very presence seemed to command the room despite the seclusion of our shadowed table. I didn’t think I was imagining that several other diners had already turned to look at us, as if his presence represented something special. A little flash of heat came into my cheeks at the idea that they would tell their friends that they’d seen Joseph Alden with his new girl at Saint L’O.