Madeline’s cheeks grew pink. Ben was growing increasingly agitated. He removed the napkin from his lap and balled it on the table beside his plate.
Fiona continued, “So I found this little assistant in the back, asked if her duties extended to oral, and shoved her at Ben. She took one look at him and nodded, pulling him into an empty broom closet. I don’t know what happened next; all I know is that when he emerged fifteen minutes later, there was a smile on his face.”
The table erupted in soft laughter. A lump lodged in my throat and I had to take a drink of water to get my windpipe working again.
Fiona’s story demonstrated that Ben was in an entirely different category of men. He’d lived and worked all over the world, and apparently got blow jobs from assistants at the drop of a hat. Did he even remember her name? Was that what I was to him? A plaything to take the edge off? That was exactly why I wasn’t cut out for this. Sex meant more to me. There was no way to separate the physical connection from the emotional in my mind. Ellie was right. I never should’ve slept with him. But I also knew if he asked me to bed again, I probably wouldn’t say no. Part of me wished I was stronger; part of me was dreaming up ways to get him alone later.
Fiona carried over a large bag filled with wrapped gifts, taking each one out and placing them in front of Ben.
He smiled and tried to act humbled, opening each one and thanking the giver. An Hermes scarf, Cartier watch, Balenciaga satchel, men’s grooming kit—some luxury brand I didn’t recognize but was surely out of my price range.
I did get him something, or rather made him something. It was in poor taste to show up to a birthday party empty-handed, but there was no way I was going to embarrass myself by whipping out a homemade gift among this extravagance. It would stay tucked in my purse. Thank you very much.
Fiona packed the gifts back in the bag and asked the restaurant if a concierge could have them delivered to the hotel. It was amazing to see she was actually capable of making her own arrangements.
After dinner, coffee was poured but there was no dessert. What was a birthday party without cake? Ben looked bored to tears. I needed to rescue him. I leaned in closer. “No cake on your birthday? That’s practically a crime.”
He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to have cake.”
“Allowed?” I wasn’t gluten free, all organic, diary free, or vegan. I liked food. I often ate too much of it. Sue me. “We need cake.” I pushed my chair back from the table and grabbed my handbag. “Thank you for dinner,” I said to Fiona. Then I grabbed Ben’s hand. “Come on.”
His eyes widened and darted up to mine, and after a second of hesitation he rose to his feet. “Fiona.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek.
She smiled, fake as all get out. “Off so soon?”
He shrugged. “Yes, if that’s okay with you all.” He directed the question to the table.
Everyone nodded and smiled, no one willing to disagree with him.
Genius.
Fiona couldn’t say anything. Everyone else had already agreed. I could’ve kissed him. But I would save that for later.
Once we were safely outside the restaurant, Ben gripped my hand, lacing his fingers between mine, his mouth twitching in a smile. “Phew. Thank you for rescuing me.”
I beamed up at him, feeling like an utter genius, and squeezed his hand.
We ventured to the bar/restaurant inside the lobby of our hotel, slid into a secluded booth, and ordered two glasses of fizzy champagne.
When the server came back, I ordered the biggest slice of chocolate cake they had.
“Really?” Ben grinned at me. “Sure you can handle all that, sweetheart?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Bring it on.”
When the server delivered the cake, it was with a little Parisian smirk. It was towering off the plate.
“I didn’t expect it to be so large,” I commented.
Ben’s eyebrows raised suggestively. He handed me a spoon. “Ladies first.”
I was about to argue that it was his birthday and he should do the honors, but his stern expression left no room for discussion. I accepted the proffered spoon and dug into the dense cake. My favorite bite, the little triangle piece right from the tip. Ben’s eyes followed my movements, watching as my mouth closed around the spoon.
“Mmm,” I moaned, dropping my head back. His eyes widened and he visibly swallowed.
Ben dug in, joining me in chocolate bliss. “I haven’t had cake in . . . years.” He took a bite and his eyes slipped closed as he chewed. “Holy shit.”
I laughed. These calories were sooo worth it. So was watching Ben’s expression. He clearly enjoyed himself. Ben leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms and observing me. I took another bite, licking the chocolate frosting from my spoon. As my tongue darted out, his breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling systematically. I liked that I was having an effect on him. Lord knows he affected me. My entire body hummed in arousal when he was near. And forget it when he swept that deep hazel gaze fringed with dark lashes over my curves. I mentally parted my knees, ready and waiting.
“Hope it’s been a good birthday.” I lifted my champagne glass and clinked it against his.
“It is now.”
I smiled at the compliment, glad I’d had the courage to save him. “I got you something, well,
“You made me something? What is it?”
“It’s nothing big; I just felt dumb giving it to you at the restaurant.”
He leaned back in his seat, studying me. “I like that you waited.” Ben’s gaze followed my movement as I reached into my purse to retrieve the gift.
I handed him a flat package wrapped in brown paper, suddenly feeling like an idiot.
Ben looked down at the gift, his eyes wide and filled with disbelief. “You made this for me?”
I nodded sheepishly.
“I’ve never gotten a homemade gift.” He held it with reverence as if it were something priceless and important, rather than a CD—a playlist I’d burned just for him.
“It’s nothing. Open it.” Homemade gifts and cards were pretty much the norm in my family. Growing up, we didn’t have much extra money and we tended to get creative.
Ben tore away the paper and smiled when he saw the silver disk with my messy writing scrawled in black marker:
“Thank you, this is awesome. The best gift I got all night.” His smile was genuine for the first time tonight, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners.
My heart pounded in a strange rhythm, knowing he was watching me. These simple acts—the cake, the homemade gift—I don’t know why, but he acted as if these gestures meant more to him than the thousand-dollar dinner and extravagant gifts he had just received.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured. Why my voice had gone all husky and low, I didn’t know.
“Let’s get out of here.” His tone left little room for argument. But wasn’t this what I wanted? I wanted to feel desired and sexy, to lose myself in this man.
The glass of fizzy champagne had gone straight to my head, and I clutched Ben’s arms as we made our way to the elevator. He was unusually quiet and intense, and I wondered what was going on inside his head.
Once inside the elevator, Ben left no doubt where we were headed. He punched the button for his floor then turned to face me, caging me in with his arms against the wall. He dipped his head to inhale the scent of my neck, sending a rush of pleasure tingling down my body.
“Come upstairs with me,” he growled, his warm breath washing over the curve of my jaw. My pulse drummed in my throat where his lips hovered.
I didn’t answer—couldn’t. My body wanted this. My brain wasn’t so sure. Whatever was between him and Fiona was a definite concern. Once he was done with me, it would be like a Taylor Swift song—heartbreak city. No amount of ice cream or vodka would cheer me up. Would I lose my job, too?
Ben pulled back and met my eyes, his fingertips grazing the thinking lines etched into my forehead. “Hey,”
