We lock eyes, and my heart flips. Fuck, she’s a show stopper for sure.
11
Molly
Owen stands up and grabs another bottle of wine from the rack in his kitchen as we are finishing up dinner together.
“Want some more?” He holds up the bottle.
I really shouldn’t, but for some strange reason I can’t say no to him, no matter how hard my brain screams at me to stop what I’m doing and call a fucking cab to go home.
“Yes,” I respond, and my brain forces me to nod, completely ignoring the rest of my mental breakdown asking me to do the opposite.
“I have a question for you now,” I say as he pours more pinot noir into my wine glass. It makes a glugging sound as it hits the round inside.
“Okay, what is it?” He grins at me with a sparkle in his eyes.
“Why did you come to my office to meet with me this morning? I mean up until then, we were total fucking strangers.”
I can’t help but allow my curiosity to get the better of me in this situation, but I want answers dammit.
“Honestly?” He places the wine bottle on the counter and grins.
“Yeah, duh,” I tease.
“Well,” he crosses one leg over the other and bends his knee as he sits at the barstool across from me, “I saw you in that magazine. Do you know which one I’m talking about? You know…the one with the article on the ten most successful women under thirty years of age?”
I nod, understanding now. “Yes, right I forgot I did that feature,” I shake my head and face palm myself.
“You’re incredible,” he admits.
“I’m glad you can know everything about me by reading a single article,” I joke.
“Hey now, we are getting to know each other, aren’t we?” Owen grins and holds his arms up defensively.
“I guess.” I shrug and smile, looking at the floor. “I like your hardwoods.”
“Did you just say you like my hard wood?” He laughs.
“I mean the floors, asshole!” I roar with laughter and point to the beautiful Brazilian wood in Owen’s kitchen.
“So, is that a no on my other hard wood?” he asks, laughing at his own stupid sexual innuendo quips.
I feel myself blush. “That wood is pretty fucking fantastic, too.”
“Just what I want to hear.” Owen winks, clicking his tongue and pointing at me.
“You sure know how to reel them in, don’t you?” I drone sarcastically, but I’m playful, meaning it all in good fun.
“Absolutely,” he says, full of cocky arrogance.
“Well, I’m glad somebody respects my success as a younger female in the business world,” I say, and sigh dramatically, feeling sorry for myself.
“Why is that?” His features soften.
“My father thinks I’m a fucking joke.” I roll my eyes and cross my legs, taking a huge gulp of my wine.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Parents are the fucking worst sometimes.”