Chapter Twenty-Six
Getting onto the Ravenswood lot is much easier this time. As in, no one pulls a weapon on me. The guard tells me that I should take a left at the first intersection and park in a guest spot under Jonathan’s building. He offers, “You have yourself a nice day, ma’am.” Ah, the power of visiting the boss.
I wear my regular shoes into the building and then change once I’m in the elevator. I don’t know about Justin Fox’s club sandwich recommendation yet, but the smell of the fries is almost more than I can take.
When the elevator doors open, I proceed cautiously before checking in with a guard who’s sitting at a desk not five feet away. After checking my driver’s license, he points around the corner where there are four more desks full of women busily typing away at computers.
As I approach them, the closest one asks, “May I help you?”
“I’m Emily Hargrove. I have a lunch appointment with Jonathan,” I tell her.
Jumping to her feet, she declares, “Oh, yes, Mr. Silver is expecting you. Please follow me.”
She leads the way to a corner office not far from her desk and knocks on the door before opening it. After walking in, she announces, “Mr. Silver, Ms. Hargrove is here.”
When I don’t follow her in right away, she turns back to discover what’s keeping me. I’m still several yards behind her trying to navigate the whole shoe situation. After what feels like an hour of taking tiny baby steps, but I’m sure is only really a couple of minutes, Jonathan yells out, “Emily, what’s keeping you?”
Pelvis forward, pelvis forward … I remind myself. When I finally get into Jonathan’s office, he stands up and asks, “Are you hurt?”
For the love of God! I want to chuck his lunch at him at leave, but I remind myself that I’m doing this for him. “Jonathan, how are you?” I ask as nicely as I can muster.
As he steps out from behind his desk to greet me, I look around at his private domain. It’s probably the size of my whole townhouse and has floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the movie lot below. It’s very manly in all its dark leather opulence. Very impressive indeed.
The next sequence of events is so mortifying it will haunt me forever. Jonathan is nearly upon me when his assistant excuses herself. I turn to thank her for showing me the way, and my heel gets stuck in the carpet. When I turn back, I fall headfirst into Jonathan’s arms. Matters are made worse because I scream like I’m being stabbed in a dark alley as gravity has its way with me. Luckily, I dropped the bags of food before launching myself, so our lunch doesn’t get hurt.
Jonathan shoos his assistant away as she returns to lend a hand. “I’ve got her,” he says while helping me back onto my feet. Then he looks down at me. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, I have not been drinking,” I snarl at him as I push him away. Unfortunately, that sends me careening in the opposite direction and I fall into the wall.
“Emily,” Jonathan says as he scoops me up again, “what’s wrong with you?”
I point to Sky’s shoes and explain, “I’m breaking in a new pair of shoes.”
“It looks like they’re breaking you in.” I’d be a lot angrier if he weren’t right. “Where should we eat?” he asks. “We can sit in the living area or around the corner at my meeting table.”
“This is a huge office,” I comment as I peek over his shoulder and see a table that could easily seat ten. Assessing the distance between the living area and the table, I point to a brown leather sofa. “Let’s eat there.”
Jonathan releases my arm and leads the way. “May I offer you a drink?” he asks.
“Water’s good,” I tell him while standing, still afraid to move.
“Take off the damn shoes and get over here,” he orders. “Why are you wearing heels today?”
“Everyone wears heels,” I reply, evading a direct answer.
“You clearly don’t. You can’t even walk in them.”
“The food smells amazing, doesn’t it?” I don’t want to fight with the man, especially as once again, he’s correct.
“I love a good club sandwich,” he tells me. “The Polo Lounge has a great one, too. They put Virginia ham on theirs, along with bacon.”
“I think this one has mesquite grilled chicken.” I could make small talk about food all day long.
“What did you bring for dessert?”
“You didn’t say you wanted dessert.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“No one eats dessert in LA.” I really do enjoy fighting with the man.
“What did you bring?” he persists, obviously not believing me.
“Chocolate mousse cake and a pear galette.” The smile on his face is radiant and causes a hitch in my breathing.
“Let’s start with that,” he suggests excitedly while motioning for me to sit next to him.
“The french fries will get cold,” I complain. “We’d better start with those and then move into dessert.” Then, to further my image as a master of physical comedy, I trip over the coffee table leg and do a header right into his lap. OMG, you can’t take me anywhere.
“Emily, either you drank your breakfast, and I’m talking straight vodka, or you are a klutz.”
“That’s mean,” I tell him with arms and legs akimbo. “Smell my breath, there’s no alcohol on it.” I lean in so he can do just that, but realize too late how intimate a thing that is to do while sprawled across him.
Jonathan stares straight into my eyes and groans as he leans closer. It’s like we’re opposite poles of a magnet being drawn together. His mouth is on mine in seconds and I treat him like an appetizer. I bite and nibble and act like I haven’t been kissed in a year. Truth be told, I think it’s been closer to two.
I don’t know how long we make out like a couple of teenagers high on hormones, but it’s the most wonderful kissing I’ve ever shared with anyone. Everything about Jonathan feels like a fit for me.
“Emily,” he finally says as he pulls back. Uh oh, did he not want to do this? Did I just throw myself at him?
I hurry to scoot over to my own side of the couch and get busy unpacking lunch.
“Emily,” he says again.
“Do you want the galette or the mousse?”
“I want both. I want it all.” Innuendo hangs heavily in the air. Maybe I didn’t just molest the man, after all.
I pull all of the tidy little Styrofoam containers out of the shopping bag and line them up on the table. I hand Jonathan a plastic fork which he accepts. Then I start digging into the food like I’ve just been rescued after a month on a deserted island.
“Emily …” Jonathan says again. “I think we need to discuss something.”
“Really?” I ask with my mouth full of chocolate mousse. I have zero finesse.
“Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?”
“Not particularly,” I tell him. “French fry?” I shove a little white box over to him.
“What do you think about that kiss?” he persists.
Why do we have to talk about it? “It was very nice,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
He’s smiling at me like I’m a mental deficient. “How do you feel about us doing that?”
I feel pretty darn good about it and I’d like to do a lot more of it, but I don’t get a chance to say that because there’s another knock on the door.
“Mr. Silver,” another woman walks in and announces, “your lunch date is here.”
Jonathan looks confused and points to me. “I know. We’ve already started eating.”
“Oh, um, I meant Ms. Lamour is here.”
At that point Lucy storms into Jonathan’s office and walks straight over to him. She practically jumps into his lap. Okay, maybe she just extends her hand, but still, why is she here?
“Jonathan,” Lucy effuses like he’s the King of England about to propose marriage. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Jonathan stands up and puts out his hand, but Lucy takes the opportunity to throw herself into his arms for a hug. Then she looks at me and demands, “Emily, what are you doing here? I told you I was having lunch with Jonathan today.”
I feel like I’m in seventh grade all over again. Insecure, unsure of myself, and for the first time ever with Lucy, I feel lacking. Seeing her with her arms around Jonathan, I’m overwhelmed by the sensation that she is exactly the kind of woman he belongs with. She’s over the top glamorous, and she can walk in high heels without killing anyone.
I jump to my feet and announce, “We were finished anyway.” Then I grab my purse and Sky’s shoes, before practically sprinting to the door.
Jonathan calls, “Where are you going?”
I head back toward the coffee table and take the box of fries before saying, “I’ve got a full day. Enjoy your lunch with Lucy.” Then I run out of the room like someone fired a starter pistol and I’m trying to set a world record in the fifty-yard dash.