by AC Netzel
Vivian’s cell phone vibrates on her desk. She quickly glances at the text and rolls her eyes. “I’m very sorry; I have to make a quick phone call. It won’t take more than a minute. My son …,” she drifts off, shaking her head.
“Of course, go right ahead,” Ben says.
Vivian stands and walks over to the corner of her office, making her call to Justin. Ben turns to me and initiates some small talk. “You made a lot of very good points, Julia.”
“You seem surprised.”
“No, not surprised. Impressed. I’m just glad you’re on my side.”
“Not in all things,” I tease.
He frowns.
“You do support the wrong baseball team,” I explain.
“I am but a humble misguided baseball fan.” He holds his hand over his heart and bows his head.
“There’s nothing humble about your team.” I realize this is my chance to feel him out so I go for it. “Is your girlfriend a baseball fan too?”
It feels like time has come to a screeching halt while I await his answer. I don’t know why it matters to me, but it does. It shouldn’t make a difference since I have sworn off men, but I’m curious nonetheless.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. No problem there.”
I play it cool. Hmm…I wonder who that clingy brunette chatterbox was I saw him with at the Cheese Shop.
“Well, if you’re in the market for one, keep away from the Mets girls. They’re not interested in your kind.”
“Thanks for the advice.” He laughs. “I suppose your boyfriend is a Mets fan.”
“Nope, no boyfriend.”
“How is it possible you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“I have no interest in having one.” I shrug matter-of-factly.
“I understand that.” He nods with a tight smile.
“Oh, you don’t want a boyfriend either?”
“You’re quick, Julia. Very clever.” He shakes his head, grinning.
I can’t help but smile. Once you get past the idiot part of him, he seems pretty nice. He frowns, then cocks his head looking at me while pointing to his teeth with an apologetic look. What?
“Err. There’s something…in your teeth,” he whispers.
“Oh?” I turn my face away from him and glide my tongue over my teeth. Damn you, spinach salad. Damn you. I remove the offending piece of spinach and turn back to him.
“Thanks.” I blush. That took a little zip out of my step. I’m mortified.
“No problem.” He smiles politely.
Dammit, just when things were lightening up, I get spinach teeth. It probably looked like mold. Gross. Come on fire alarms...give a girl a break and go off now so I can get the hell out of here.
I politely smile back at him. I look up and Vivian is seated in her chair, her elbows resting on the desk with her chin resting on her fisted hands. Her eyes are darting between the two of us with a smirk on her face. When the hell did she get back here?
“Are the two of you done?” she asks, peering over her glasses.
“Yes, of course,” I mumble.
“Good, let’s get back to publishing, shall we?” She cocks her head, her brow arched.
I nod.
~o0o~
I’m sitting at my desk, thinking back to earlier this afternoon. The meeting with Vivian and Ben went well…with the exception of the spinach in my teeth debacle. Oh, and Vivian waiting for the blatant flirting going on right in front of her nose to stop. It’s hard to stay professional when you have those dimples begging you to look at them. I’m going to have to work harder at that.
My head comes out from the clouds when my cell phone vibrates. It’s a text from Allie inviting me to go out for dinner and drinks with some of her work friends. Allie always invites me to these gatherings. Who knew accountants could be such a bunch of number crunching lushes? I decline her offer, knowing it’s Allie’s thinly veiled attempt to fix me up with one of her accountant friends. Besides, I know it’ll end up being a late night. I want to go home and catch up on the newest edition of Hollywood Chatter, my favorite gossip magazine.
Looks like it’s dinner for one tonight. I hate cooking for one person; it’s such a waste of time. Oh screw it, I’ll pick up something at the deli across the street and bring it home with me. It’s either that or a bowl of corn flakes. I’m too tired to cook.
“I’ll be going Vivian, unless there’s something else you need?” I ask as I peek into her office.
“No, I’m good. Have a good night,” she answers, never taking her eyes off of her computer screen.
I walk out of the office toward the elevators. After pushing the call button, I impatiently tap my foot while waiting. I’m starving. Get here already. Finally, an elevator reaches my floor and the doors slide open. It’s like a can of sardines, with tightly packed Wisteria Hill employees crushed in. I hate when it’s this crowded, but waiting for the next elevator is worse. I suck it up and do what I have to do by squeezing myself in. Some of these people I see every day, yet I’ve never bothered to learn their names. Once you know someone’s name, there’s a whole set of responsibilities that come with it, you’re obligated to say good morning, good evening, and make polite chit chat. No thank you. Anonymity allows you the ability to simply nod to someone as a friendly gesture and poof…you’re good to go.
“Julia, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” a familiar voice purrs.
I look to my side and the office leech is standing next to me. “Jake.” I nod. I know the names of maybe ten other people in this entire building and this guy has to be one of them.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.” I look forward, avoiding eye contact.
“Would you like a better night?”
This guy isn’t exactly original when it comes to pick up lines.
“I have dinner plans,” I lie.
“You always say that,” he protests.
Yeah buddy, take the hint.
“What can I say, Jake. I’m a very busy person.”
“Someday you’ll say yes, Julia,” he declares with a cheerful lilt in his voice.
Don’t count on it.
The elevator stops and the doors slide open. I quickly turn my head to Jake. “Well, have a good night.” I barge straight ahead, quickly squeezing my way through the crowd, never looking back or waiting for a response.
Once I’m out of the building, the cool autumn air hits me. It’s chilly but not freezing; I can deal with this. It’s the bitter cold I hate, that bone chilling cold that bites right through you. That’s why I hate winter…unless I’m at the beach. There’s something peaceful about a cold winter morning watching the ocean waves crash.
I cross the street to the Sunshine Deli. Once inside, I stare at the menu board posted on the wall. There are so many choices, too many choices. What do you get when everything sounds good? There’s one thing on the menu I know I’m skipping, spinach salad. Spinach is now on my enemy list.
“Hey, I thought you had dinner plans,” a voice from behind me whines. I turn and it’s Jake. Crap, I hate when I’m caught in a lie. I don’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings, but he’s a major pain in my ass.
“I do,” I answer guiltily.
“Then why are you buying your dinner here?” He looks hurt. Usually I’d just crush a guy like this, but he’s just so pathetic and harmless. I feel bad.
“I... Err,” I stumble on my words.
“Did you order our dinner yet, Julia?” a voice to my side replies. I turn my head and it’s Ben. I smile shyly at him and he smiles back with a subtle nod.
“Uh, not yet. I was waiting for you.” I hook my arm around his.
Jake looks crushed, but he’s putting up a brave front.
“Ben, this is Jake. He works at Wisteria Hill too.”
“Nice to meet you Jake.” He shakes Jake’s hand then turns to me. “Julia, we need to get moving or we’ll be late.”
“Of course,” I agre
e.
Jake’s shoulders noticeably slump. “Well, I’ll be leaving. Ben, it was nice meeting you. Have a good night, Julia,” he says as he turns towards the deli’s door.
“Thanks, same to you too Jake.” I hook my arm tighter around Ben’s. Damn this man smells good. I wonder if I could bottle it. I’d make millions. I could call it the Essence of Ben or Benessence… something like that.
Once Jake leaves and the coast is clear, I unhook my arm from Ben’s. “Thank you,” I say gratefully.
“Was he bothering you? I can have a little man to man chat with him and set him straight.”
“Jake? No, he’s harmless. Just a persistent pain in the ass, that’s all.”
“Dinner alone tonight?” he asks.
“Yes. My roommate is going out with her friends. What are you doing here? Our meeting was hours ago. Stalking me too?” I tease.
“Yes, and I should warn you, I can be as persistent as that pain in the ass who just left,” he teases back. “Actually, I live around here. I was getting a sandwich for myself to take home.”
“Oh, I see. Well, enjoy your dinner. Thank you again for saving me.”
“Since neither of us has plans, would you like to have dinner together?”
“I don’t know, Ben.” On one hand, it would be nice to have dinner with him, if only to ogle him for a little while longer. But would it be professional to dine out with him socially? I am editing his book. There must be a line I’m not supposed to cross.
“Come on, Julia. It’s just dinner. We can talk shop. Besides, you owe me for saving you from the clutches of that harmless pain in the ass. My treat. I’ll take you to Emilio’s. Hopefully, it will end better than the last time.”
I’m torn. I want to go and I don’t. I’m not sure what the right answer is.
“We’ll talk shop?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Strictly business. Cross my heart.” He draws an imaginary “X” with his index finger across his chest.
“Okay, strictly business.”
“Shall we?” He extends his arm out toward the front door of the deli. I walk in front of him and we leave.
As we’re walking silently to Emilio’s Café, a half block away, I can’t help but steal glances of Ben. He’s just so handsome and he looks so hot in that black leather jacket. The chilly autumn air has brought some color to his cheeks. There’s an aura about him; the way he walks, so confident and sure of himself. It’s very alluring.
We pass a street vendor selling pretzels and roasted chestnuts. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. “Mmm,” I groan.
“You like pretzels?” Ben asks.
Crud, did I just groan out loud? “Yes. But what I love are the roasted chestnuts. I can’t wait for chestnut season, too bad you can only find them this time of year. They’re a little pricey for what you get, but so worth it.”
“Would you like some now?” he offers, his hand reaching in his back pocket.
“I think I’ll wait for another time. Don’t want to fill up on chestnuts before dinner. There’s still a few more weeks before they’re gone. Thanks for the offer.”
We reach Emilio’s and Ben opens the door for me. I walk through and the place is bustling with patrons. The bar is packed and the dining area looks pretty busy. As we approach the hostess desk, I silently pray we get seated right away before my stomach starts growling and embarrasses the hell out of me.
“Hello Mr. Martin. Great to see you again.” Our hostess seductively smiles, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
Here we go again. Is there a woman on this earth who is not drawn to this man?
“Kimberly, it’s good to see you. I hope all is well with you and your family. Can we have a table for two, please?”
“Of course.” She grabs two menus. “Right this way.”
As we follow her to the table, my mind starts to wander. I know Ben comes from money, it’s obvious by the circles he travels in and the way he dresses, does he own this place? He seems so comfortable here, and they know him by name.
“I come here often,” he whispers to me.
I nod. Sexy as hell, wealthy and a mind reader. He’s the trifecta of a perfect man.
A few feet before we reach our table Ben stops and bends down to pick up a nickel off the floor. Now, I know this guy isn’t hurting for money. He must sense my confusion as he looks at me and smiles.
“My grandfather collected coins as a hobby. When I was a kid, it was the one thing we did together. To this day, whenever I see a coin, I have to pick it up and look.”
“Awe, that’s sweet.” And a little nerdy. Still, he’s sweet to old people. That has to be the superfecta of a perfect man.
We reach our table, sit and the hostess hands us two menus. Once again, I’m lost. There’s too much to choose from. Ben peeks over his menu. “I’d be happy to choose for us again, that’s if you’d don’t mind.”
“That would be fine.” It’ll give me the opportunity to secretly gawk at you while you’re ordering.
“Is there anything you don’t like?” he asks.
“Spinach,” I deadpan.
“Okay, no spinach.” He laughs.
Our server comes to the table looking down at the order pad in her hand. “Would you like to order a drink?” she asks, still staring down, when she looks up to acknowledge us, a big toothy grin appears. “Oh, Mr. Martin. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize it was you. Sangria?”
“Did you like the sangria, Julia?” he asks.
“Yes, it was fine.” Ugh, look at this girl drooling at him. Pathetic.
“Yes, a pitcher of white sangria and two glasses. Thank you, Marcy.”
“Very good. I’ll be right back with your drinks, and then I’ll take your dinner orders.” She leaves.
“You’re very popular here,” I note.
“I told you, I come here often.”
“The last time we were here, the server didn’t seem to know you.”
“She’s new. She will soon enough.”
“That explains it. So, you don’t like to cook?”
“I like cooking. I don’t particularly enjoy cooking for one. Sometimes I eat here, sometimes I take it home. Depends on my mood.”
“I don’t like cooking for one either. That’s why I was grabbing a sandwich at the deli.”
“There’s something else we have in common,” he says.
I tilt my head, confused.
“Our shared dislike of cooking for one and love of baseball,” he clarifies.
“Yes, I suppose we do.” I laugh.
Marcy the Drooler returns with our sangria and two glasses. Again, a ridiculous amount of unnecessary fanfare is put into spooning a couple of pieces of fruit in the glass then pouring the sangria. I suspect she’s trying to impress Ben, or spend a little extra time at our table to admire him…and get a bigger tip.
“Are you ready with your dinner order?” she asks Ben. There’s something about this place that apparently makes me the invisible woman, as once again, I’m completely ignored.
“Yes, we’ll have an order of empanadas de pollo, tortilla paisana…” He pauses and looks at me. “Is octopus okay?”
“I come from an Italian family; octopus is a Christmas Eve staple,” I assure him.
“Good.” He directs his attention back at our server. “Pulpo a la gallega, chorizo sidra and two small salads, house dressing, no spinach.” He winks at me.
Marcy takes our menus and leaves.
“Cheers.” Ben raises his glass.
“Cheers.” We clink our glasses and sip our drinks. It’s as light, fruity, and delicious as I remembered.
“So...” Ben says, leaning back in his chair.
“So…” I repeat back.
This is always the awkward part of a date, getting the conversation started. No, wait, this isn’t a date. This is the opposite of a date. I’m going to think of this as dinner with a work colleague, a ridiculously good looking, mind reading, nice to old people, w
ealthy work colleague with dimples. That is after all, what this is…a strictly business dinner. This takes an incredible amount of pressure off the evening.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says.
“You already know about me. We work together, remember?”
“There’s that wit again.” He shakes his head, smiling. “Tell me about Julia, not Miss Conti. I want to hear about you.”
“I thought we were going to talk business.”
“Always so eager to jump right in. I’d like to know a little more about you. Just like you, I like the back story too.”
I hate when my words come back to bite me in the ass.
“Okay. I’m originally from New Jersey.”
“Where in New Jersey?”
“The Shore. Near Seaside Heights.” I take a sip of sangria then tip the glass, plunging two fingers down in a very unladylike fashion to scoop out a few pieces of fruit. I don’t care. I’m not on a date and I’m starving.
“I know the area,” he says, pretending he doesn’t notice my terrible table manners.
“Did you go to the Jersey Shore in the summer too?” I take another sip of sangria and fish out the last piece of fruit. Dammit. Where’s our food?
“I went to the Hamptons. My family owns a house in Amagansett. When I was younger we spent most of our summers there.” He grabs the wooden spoon from the pitcher and spoons more fruit into my glass. That was sweet. I didn’t realize my hunger was that obvious. He probably thinks I’m a slob.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, looking down at my glass full of fruit. “You don’t go to the Hamptons anymore?”
“When I can. I hate fighting the summer traffic to Long Island on the weekends.”
“I hate the traffic too. I have the same issues going to Jersey.”
“Do you go back to the shore at all?” he asks.
“As much as I can. My parents still live there. It’s my home. I could never give up being so close to the ocean.”
“Are your parents close to the beach?”
“Six houses away. It’s not a big town.” I dip my fingers in my glass and pinch a chunk of apple between my index finger and thumb, popping it in my mouth. The fruit is soaked in wine. It’s so freaking good.
“Are you an only child?” he asks.
