She sighs loudly. “Where can I meet you?”
“My place?” I tease.
“That will only end with us naked.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“We’re back from Hawaii. We can’t do that anymore.”
“What are you in the mood for? Thai? Indian? Pizza?” I may not talk to her about leaving specifically, but I have every intention of discussing why being home means we can’t continue our relationship as coworkers during the day and lovers at night.
“How about Thai?” she offers.
“Great. Let’s go to Bangkok Alley. I can pick you up, if you’ll let me.”
“Gabby doesn’t live too far from there. I can walk.”
“Corrine, I understand your desire to distance yourself from me. I may not like it, but I understand. But you still have someone trying to do you harm. Please, at least let me pick you up. Brian will walk you to the door, so you won’t have to worry about being alone with me.” I don’t understand why she wants to distance herself from me, but I will do what I need to so she’s safe.
After a few moments, she relents. “Fine.” She rattles off Gabby’s address.
“We’re on our way. Brian will walk up when we arrive.”
“You’re welcome to walk up. You just can’t stay.”
I’m elated. Two victories tonight—dinner and I can walk to her door. I can win her over. I know I can.
When we arrive, I ring the apartment, and she buzzes me into the building. I bound up the stairs. When she swings the door open, she looks stunning in an understated way—jeans, an Irish wool sweater, and her hair up. I want to nibble that luscious neck.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiles. “What would HR say if they heard that?” There’s a twinkle in her eye.
“You’re worried about HR, now?”
She blushes. “No. I don’t care about them because I’m not going to complain.”
She locks the door, and we walk downstairs. It’s awkward. There’s so much I want to say.
On the drive to dinner, I tell her about the development with the flaw in the solar film and our workaround.
She puts her arms around me. “That’s incredible news! Take that, Jeff Wong.”
It feels good to have her in my arms. I don’t want to let go when she breaks away. “I know. It’s great news, but we need to make sure the fix works, too.”
“I believe in you.”
I know she means that. She’s made her dedication clear every day she’s worked for me. With her, I feel like I can do anything. Why does she want to leave?
Over dinner, we continue our conversation but move on from work to favorite things.
“I love live music,” she tells me.
“I do, too. Who’s your favorite band to see live?”
“My favorite was probably Iggy Pop.”
I put my chopsticks down. “How old are you?”
“I know! He was an icon before I was born. But that man does a fantastic show—four sets, high-voltage action, and great music. My favorite song he performs is “Candy.” I only hope when I’m his age, I have half the energy he does. What about you?”
“There have been so many great shows. U2 did a private party I was at, and it was incredible.”
She shakes her head.
“I know, it sounds a bit pretentious.”
“A bit?”
“I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth, you know. My mom was an awesome single mother. She worked hard, and I learned a lot from her.”
“You’re still close, from what I can tell.”
I nod. “She drives me absolutely crazy. She’s my number-one fan and also my number-one critic. She likes you, though. And she doesn’t typically like my girlfriends.”
“She likes me because I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your assistant, and I put you through to her.”
“Why do you insist on not being my girlfriend?” I ask.
“I don’t want to fight,” she says, just above a whisper.
I stare into her beautiful, caramel-colored eyes. “I don’t want to fight either. Please tell me.”
“Because I’m not staying.”
I reach for her hand. “Come home with me tonight.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? I miss you.” I know she wants to be strong, but she must feel the same pull I do. I know I can convince her.
“I want to, but I think it’s better to tear the Band-Aid off now, rather than later.”
I don’t know quite what she means by that—other than she doesn’t seem to trust me. But I’m not going to debate her. I’m doing all I can to keep her at work, but I also need to convince her to stay with me personally. It has to be her idea. I don’t want to force it on her.
We finish our dinner, and I pay. I don’t want tonight to end. “Do you want to take a walk?” I ask.
“If it’s okay with Brian,” she jokes.
“He’ll be close by,” I assure her. “So, make sure you keep your hands to yourself.”
She smiles and though she hesitates when I offer her my hand, eventually she takes it. We walk in the cold night air.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” I ask. I want to know everything about her—her favorite colors, the places she wants to travel, her passions outside of work...
“I suppose I’ll be home in Houston, married, and possibly with my first child.”
“Your first?”
She nods. “I was an only child. I want at least two, if not three or four kids.”
The idea of kids always makes my pulse race and my stomach flip-flop, but usually it’s because I’m worried that the girl I’m with doesn’t want to use a condom. But I don’t feel like Corrine would trap me
