My voice is merely a murmur when I tell him, “You do always get what you want, don’t you?”
“Right now, I want to fuck you on this table. So you tell me, Sophie.”
My heart slams, the heat rising and flooding every inch of my body.
The nerves intensify until Madox nods his head toward someone over my shoulder.
“I sent in the order on my way here,” Madox says and waits for my reaction until I nod in understanding, peeking at the waiter as he makes his way over with our first dishes.
Right now, I wish I had something to give Madox. A gift of some kind. I don’t know what I could give a man like him, someone who has everything. I want to try too though. If he’s trying, I’m going to try with everything I have.
The young man is professional as he sets our food down in front of us. Bone white china plates with a fennel and leek citrus salad beautifully arranged on the dishes. As the waiter explains the first course, a silent lady in black dress pants and a gorgeous white blouse pours the paired wine, some Chenin Blanc.
It’s all beautiful and decadent, but I couldn’t name half the ingredients if someone told me they’d pay me a million dollars cash right now to tell me what I was eating.
Once we’re alone again, I thank Madox and change the subject to something that isn’t going to get me fucked on this table. “I like it when you order in advance, although then I can’t hide behind the menu.” With a flirtatious smile, I take a bite and savor the sweetness of the expensive dinner.
He smirks at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing. And he goes with it. Giving me a moment to breathe and come down from the high I was just on, remembering what this man across from me is capable of.
There’s tension between us, but it’s the good kind.
“Good, isn’t it?” Madox asks, lifting the glass of wine to his lips, but not drinking until I answer him. I have to cover my mouth and finish swallowing when he smiles at me like that. Because when he does, I smile too.
He chuckles into his glass when I nod, and as he sips I tell him it’s all delicious.
“The lobster risotto is next. I think that will be your favorite.”
Letting my fingers slip down the stem of the glass I ask him, “Will there be another glass as well?” and he nods. Shit. These places always give you so much wine and so little food.
“I have to work tonight,” I tell him, voicing the concern that’s keeping me on edge.
The light in Madox’s eyes, that fire dims slightly, but it’s back just as quickly as it left. “I could have it all wrapped up to go if you’d prefer.”
“No, no, I just can’t drink …much.” Lifting the glass to my lips and deciding this will be my only glass until the presentation is done tonight, I tell Madox offhandedly, “I’m a little too carefree when I drink.”
“What’s wrong with being carefree?” he questions, although it’s meant to be playful.
“Well, last night for one,” I answer him honestly. It’s not healthy to do what we do. “I probably shouldn’t have slept with you.” An anxiousness comes over me, this feeling of dread.
“Why is that?” he asks, sitting up straighter and placing his hands on the table. His fingers are interlaced as his thumbs roll over one another. I imagine this is how he looks at business meetings. Intimidating.
“Well that makes me kind of easy, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘easy.’ You’ve never been easy to hold on to.”
I start to say it would have been better between the two of us back then if he’d been open with me like this, but it feels like the start of a fight and that’s the last thing I want.
Habits are hard to break and when I left three years ago, I spent a lot of time with self-help books. Lord knows I needed it. I’m trying to break the habit of picking fights with him. Toward the end, I think I’d pick a fight just to see if he would ever tell me to stay.
He never did.
I already wish I hadn’t brought up this topic. It’s begging to be spoken from the tip of my tongue though. I want to know what he wants. For years I’ve wanted to know what I mean to him.
It feels so obvious to me right now, but is it so wrong that I want to hear it? And even worse, that I’m afraid of what he’ll say.
“Thank you for inviting me out. I needed it after today,” I say to change the subject, feeling a cowardly chill run down my spine at the mere idea that Madox will tell me I’m an old friend, or friend with benefits, or something like that if I were to ask him.