“You drove all the way here because you thought I was having regrets?” I ask. It’s a little extreme, but flattering all the same.
“Yeah . . . well, not completely. I also wanted to take you to lunch.” He smiles and lifts my hand to his lips.
We step off the elevator and walk outside. I should have brought my jacket. I shiver and Hardin looks over to me.
“I have a jacket in my car. We can grab it, then walk around the corner to Brio—it’s really good.” We walk to his car and he pulls a black leather jacket out of his trunk, which makes me laugh. He must have an entire wardrobe in there. Ever since I met him he’s been pulling clothes out of that trunk.
The jacket is surprisingly warm and smells like Hardin. It engulfs me, of course, so I shake my arms to push the sleeves up.
“Thank you.” I kiss him on his jaw.
“It looks good on you—perfect fit.”
He takes my hand as we walk down the sidewalk; we earn a few strange glances from the businessmen and -women on the streets. Sometimes I forget how different we appear on the outside. We are polar opposites in almost every way, but somehow it works for us.
Brio is a small but quaint Italian place. The floor is covered in beautiful multicolored tiles and the ceiling is a mural of heaven, with chubby smiling cherubs waiting outside white gates, and a pair of angels—one white and one black—locked in an embrace beyond them. The white angel seems to be trying to pull the other through the gates to the other side.
“Tess?” Hardin says and pulls me by the sleeve.
“Coming,” I mumble and we walk to the table, which is set in the back of the restaurant. Hardin sits in the chair right next to me instead of across, pulling his chair closer and resting his elbows on the table. He orders for both of us, but I don’t mind since he’s been here before.
“So you and Mr. Vance are really close, then?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say that. But we know each other well enough.” He shrugs.
“You seemed to really get along, I like seeing you that way.”
The hint of a smile tugs at his lips and he puts his hand on my thigh. “Do you now?”
“Yes, I like to see you happy.” I feel like there is more behind his and Mr. Vance’s relationship than he is telling me, but for now I am not going to push it.
“I am happy. Happier than I thought I would be . . . ever,” he adds.
“What has gotten into you? You’re getting soft on me,” I tease and he chuckles.
“I can knock over a few tables, bloody a few noses to remind you,” he says and I push my shoulder into his.
“No, thanks.” I giggle.
Our food arrives and I thank the waitress. The food looks amazing, and I inhale the great aromas before taking a bite. Hardin ordered us some sort of ravioli, and it’s delicious.
“Good, huh?” he brags and fills his mouth with food. I nod and do the same.
After we’re finished, Hardin and I bicker about who is going to pay for lunch, but he ends up winning.
“You can pay me back later.” He winks behind the waitress’s back.
When we walk back to VP, Hardin follows me inside. “You’re coming up?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I wanted to see your office, then I will go. Promise.”
“Deal,” I tell him and we step onto the elevator. When we reach the top floor I give him his jacket back and he shrugs it on. My eyes widen at how hot he looks in the leather.
“Hey, it’s you again.” The guy in the navy suit says as we walk down the hall.
“And it’s you again.” I smile.
His eyes dart to Hardin, who introduces himself.
“Nice to meet you. My name is Trevor; I work in finance.” He give a little wave, then says, “Well, see you around,” and walks away.
When we walk into my office Hardin grabs my wrist and turns me to face him. “What the hell was that?” he spits out.
Is he joking? I look down at my wrist in his hand and take that as a no. His grip isn’t tight, but it holds me in place.
“What?”
“That guy?”
“What about him? I just met him this morning in the elevator.” I pull my wrist away.
“It didn’t seem like you just met; the two of you were just flirting in front of me.”
I can’t help it, but I let out a laugh that’s more like a bark. “What? You’re insane if you think that was flirting. I was being polite and so was he. Why would I flirt with him?” I try to keep my voice down. Causing a scene will not be good for me.
“Why wouldn’t you? He was nice and clean-cut, suit and all,” Hardin says.
I realize that he seems more hurt and worried than angry. My instincts tell me to cuss him out and tell him to get the hell out, but I decide to take a different approach. Just like when he was breaking things at his father’s house.
“Is that what you think? That I want someone like him, someone unlike you?” I ask in a gentle voice.
Hardin opens his eyes wide, taken aback. I know he expected me to blow up at him, but this change of pace slows him down and he contemplates what to say next. “I don’t know . . . maybe.” His eyes meet mine.
“Well, you’re wrong, as usual.” I smile. I need to talk to him about this later, but my need to make sure he knows he has nothing to worry about overpowers my need to correct him.
“I am sorry if you think I was flirting with him, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you,” I assure him. His eyes soften and I bring my hand up to his cheek. How can one person be so strong yet so weak?