Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  “Well, you’re right. I should be on a horse. It’s one of my happy places. Grew up on a ranch outside of Austin. And after another glass of wine my Texas twang will come right on out. In terms of the boots, you can’t knock ’em until you try ’em. Once you wear a pair in, about the only thing more comfortable is flip flops.”

  I stare at the worn brown leather on his feet. “I like that you’re so comfortable in casual clothes.” Some men—my uncle, for example—are lost when it comes to dressing in anything other than a suit. I’ve seen my uncle in pressed shorts and black dress socks on a weekend summer afternoon.

  He sips his wine. “Yeah, I guess I do tend to be pretty casual. You’ve got to remember, though, I started as a coder, and no one cares what programmers wear. And, as we grew, other casual tech leaders gained prominence. You know, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg. My company is successful. I have yet to find an investor or board member or client with more interest in what I’m wearing than in what I can do for them. But for years up here in New York, I did try to temper my accent.”

  “I don’t think there’s any reason to hide your natural accent.” My cheeks burn as I stare at him. It’s like we are the only two people in the room, but we are not, and I don’t want to be rude, so I turn to Anna. “Don’t you both agree?”

  Anna grins, a knowing, teasing look directed at me, while Jackson responds. “I can see why you’d hide it at first. My Virginia accent isn’t quite as noticeable as a Texas accent, but it still stands out. I kind of keep it in check too.” Jackson swirls the wine in his glass. “But now, you’ve made it. I would think you could speak with any accent you chose.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But now it’s habit.” Sam shifts and taps his wine glass lightly to mine. “So, where are you from? Somewhere I’m guessing there was no accent to hide.”

  “Connecticut.”

  “I coulda pegged that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re clean cut, elegant.”

  “You think this outfit is elegant?” That thought makes me laugh. Elegant is the last thing I’m feeling.

  Anna breaks into the conversation. “Oh, Olivia, he has you so pegged. You’re the most elegant woman I know. I always feel like I’m a hippie chick next to you.”

  “Bohemian is your style. That doesn’t make me elegant.”

  She grins and points at me. “No. You make you elegant. You don’t even realize you do it. Even when you dress down, you’re put together. Everything fits. That sweater you’re wearing fits you perfectly at the hips. Your hair might be in a ponytail, but you don’t have a single stray hair out of place. And even though you aren’t wearing make-up, you have a natural glow. You could have just finished a photo shoot.”

  I sip my wine while listening to Anna’s heated diatribe. “It sounds like you’ve thought a lot about this.”

  Anna laughs. “I have!”

  Jackson picks up Anna’s hand and lays a gentle kiss on it. “You each have a distinct sense of style. Both of you are beautiful.” His hand slides below the table, and Anna’s cheeks flush.

  Sam holds up his wine glass. “I’ll toast to that. To the two most beautiful, stunning women I’ve seen in quite a long time.”

  “Now I can hear the Texas twang coming out. I guess that means the BS starts flowing too,” I tease.

  “Oh, no. Honesty. Ply me with alcohol, and you get honest Sam.”

  We stare at each other, grinning. This time it’s Jackson who chooses to break into the conversation. “So, Olivia, I don’t think I’ve heard much about your trip to Prague. You traveled all around, right? Any favorite places?”

  Everyone directs their attention to me. “Yes, I loved Prague. But my favorite place?” I gaze up to the ceiling while I mentally run through all the places I went. “I kind of love Edinburgh most. But, in all fairness, that’s the only place I went for holiday, not work. And, you know, when you’re in a place for work, I don’t think you give it a fair go. And I traveled so much for business, all the places kind of blend together at a certain point, you know?”

  Sam leans back in his chair, positioning himself so he’s close to me yet can see me entirely, even my socked feet. “I completely get that. I’ve been on so many dog and pony shows through the years.” He twirls the rich red liquid in his glass. “Where all did you go? And when was this?”

  Anna jumps in. “Oh, she just got back. She was away for almost two years.”

  “Why Prague?” He doesn’t sound surprised, more curious, like it’s a question he’s been wondering for a while. It’s on my resume. I doubt seriously the CEO ever sees the interns’ resumes, though.

  I brush off the Prague question because I’m not proud of the answer. My uncle set me up with the job. Instead, I choose to answer the where question. “Let’s see. My list.” I start counting on my fingers. “Paris, London, Dublin, Budapest, Berlin, Madrid, Lisbon, Barcelona, Rome, Moscow, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Vienna.” I know I’m leaving some out, but at a certain point, it sounds too pompous.

  “You did a regular European tour, huh?”

  “Yeah. It was kind of nonstop.” I tap my short, polished nails against the wine glass. “Sometimes it was new business, sometimes existing clients. Sometimes meeting with other people within our agency. The agency I worked in is part of a worldwide conglomerate.”

  We all continue talking, swapping stories about trips we’ve taken.

  The oven buzzer rings. Anna jumps up, and I follow her to help. Jackson clears away the charcuterie while Sam opens another bottle of wine. As I put the salad bowl down in the middle of the table, Sam hovers near my side, and a current runs between us. In a hushed voice, not quite a whisper, he says, “When we go out on our date, I want to hear a lot more.”

  His lips are so close I’m tempted to brush mine against his. He tilts his head down, his blues closer to mine than they’ve ever been, our bodies almost touching.

  Jackson walks around the corner, oven mitts on, carrying the lasagna. Sam and I break apart like two kids caught in a kissing game. Anna brushes past Jackson with a hot plate to set down on the table.

  Sam pulls my chair back for me to sit down. Ever so briefly, after pushing the seat under me, he squeezes my shoulder. A tender caress. A quick moment that once again takes my breath away and leaves me tingling and warm.

  The melted cheese on the lasagna bubbles. Marinara sauce drips over the sides of the thick, white casserole dish. Like a good hostess, Anna suggests we start with the salad while the lasagna settles. She stands and spoons salad into bowls for each of us.

  Jackson holds a glass up. “To spending time with friends, old and new. And may we spend much more time together in the future.”

  We all clink glasses, and I watch Sam as I sip my wine. He returns my gaze. A warmth permeates my body. His knee rubs against mine. I have an urge to stroke his thigh, but I refrain. Instead, I relish each time we innocently brush up against one another. His attention makes me feel beautiful and wanted. The conversation flows easily between business and personal interests and stories from our past. He’s the perfect gentleman and mixes with my friends with ease. This might be the best non-date I’ve ever had.

  Five bottles of wine are empty, and it’s almost midnight before I notice the time. Anna and Jackson live in Chelsea, which isn’t exactly close to my apartment in the upper east side. I could stay in their guest room, but I’d much rather wake up in my own bed and have a lazy Sunday morning with a bagel, coffee, and the New York Times.

  “Guys, I’ve got to call it a night,” I announce.

  Anna squeals, “Noooooo. We’ve still got another bottle of wine to drink. And I have a new card game I didn’t even get a chance to pull out.”

  “Sorry, babe. You guys continue.” I stumble as I go to get my pocketbook out of the coat closet. Yes, I’ve definitely had enough. As I catch myself on the doorframe, Sam comes up behind me and places his hand on my elbow, and that tingling sensation filters down my arm.

>   “I’ve got you. I’m gonna head out too.” Sam texts as we wait for the elevator after saying our goodbyes. When the elevator door opens, he rests his arm on my lower back. Electricity zaps between us. I risk glances up at him, and when he’s not on his phone, he returns my gaze.

  A sleek, black Tesla S waits outside the building. Sam guides me to the car and opens the door. “A car for the lady.”

  I hesitate on the sidewalk, uncertain why he’s offering this car. “I can take a cab.”

  “I insist.” He holds the door and waits.

  “What about you?”

  He points left as another identical black Tesla pulls up behind this one. A man in a suit stands by the streetlamp watching. I notice his expressionless face for a brief moment before Sam’s body blocks my view. He brushes a kiss on my cheek as he asks me about my plans for tomorrow. The soft kiss sends every part of me fluttering, and I agree to see him tomorrow as I tilt my head up, asking for more. Under the streetlight, his smoky-blues are dark, and he hesitates for only a second before he dips down and places his lips on mine. A soft, demure, tantalizing kiss. He toys with my hair for a moment then whispers his promise, so close his breath brushes my ear. “Tomorrow.” I slide into the back seat, and he closes the car door and taps the top of the car twice. Warmth surrounds me the entire ride home.

  Chapter 7

  Olivia

  At our girls’ brunch earlier today, Anna pulled it out of me that Sam asked me out for tonight. Within minutes, Delilah had nail appointments booked for all of us, a blow-out for me, and she returned to my apartment with me so she could help select my first date outfit. Yes, my nerves are sending my insides tumbling, but overall, thanks to my friend’s support, I’m feeling prepared and attractive.

  At 5:55 p.m., I gather my pocketbook and phone and head to the lobby. Meeting him outside feels gracious, and it avoids him seeing my apartment. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my apartment, but I know I’m going to be moving at some point, so I haven’t yet put forth any effort into decorating since returning. Anna left the furniture when she moved out. I just moved my stuff back into the closet.

  The place doesn’t feel like me yet. It’s more representative of my pre-Prague self. A girl with a roommate. First apartment after college. The apartment I was preparing to leave before I found out about Damien’s cheating ways and then catapulted across the ocean.

  As I push open the glass door, there in the circular drive in front of the lobby sits the black Tesla from last night. Sam is leaning against the side of the car, waiting.

  A brisk wind blows a few stray leaves down the street. A pedestrian pulls her coat closed tight as she hustles past us on the sidewalk. Overhead, a cloud-free sky forecasts a rain-free evening.

  Wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a navy crewneck sweater below a tan suede car coat, casual Sam looks as delectable today as he did last night. His tousled hair shifts in the breeze, and I have an urge to reach up and run my fingers through it.

  He told me to dress casually, which is a description I always find to be a touch ambiguous. I send a mental thank you to Delilah for helping to pull together my outfit. I’m in a brown suede mini skirt, matching tall heeled boots, and a winter white sweater. I have a short Barbour jacket in my arms to block the wind in case it gets chilly later.

  After catching the time, he squints and says, “I was waiting so I wouldn’t be too early. I was about to go in and buzz you.”

  I giggle then cringe at the nervous, schoolgirl sound. “Oh, I didn’t want you to have to do that. I thought I’d wait outside for you.”

  He brushes a kiss across my cheek in greeting. Once again, my skin comes alive with his touch. Ever the gentleman, he opens the back passenger door for me. A different driver from yesterday sits behind the wheel. Sam walks around the car and joins me in the back seat.

  He leans toward me and reaches for my hand, running his fingers through mine as if we’ve held hands a thousand times in the past. An energy pulses between us. “Olivia, I’d like you to meet Wes. He works with me, and he’s going to be driving us around tonight.”

  “Nice to meet you, Wes.”

  Wes turns his head so he can see me and nods in a formal way. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Ma’am? He has a rather strong southern accent, and it makes me wonder if Sam relocated him from Texas. Sam’s hand caresses mine, and all thoughts of Wes the driver fly away.

  “I brainstormed a hundred good first date ideas the other night with my buddy.” Sam’s smoky gray-blue eyes shine under the streetlight through the car window, and his smirk is subtle enough that only one dimple shows.

  “Yeah? Am I in for a great treat tonight?” I ask, feeling unsure because he looks like he’s about to tell a joke.

  “Well, now, I hope you have a great time tonight. An unforgettable time. But let’s just say that tonight I stuck with what I feel comfortable with. I have a couple of pages of ideas written down for later on when we’ve been dating a while. You know, for when I’m trying to spice things up and surprise you.”

  He squeezes my hand and grins. He’s too perfect. Oh, my. The electrical tingle from his touch wars with vexing apprehension. For when we’ve been dating a while. Is he for real? I want his words to be genuine, but how many guys open up right from the start? Players. Players will say whatever you want to hear. Damien greeted me after work that first day with, “Hello, beautiful.”

  We pull up outside the McKittrick Hotel in Chelsea. He climbs out of the car the moment the wheels stop to open my door for me. “I had originally planned for us to take a walk along the High Line. But those boots don’t look like they’re made for walking. We can do that another time.” He winks as he leads me along the sidewalk. He is correct. These boots aren’t made for distance. I do appreciate his thoughtfulness. Damien would never have cared. As a matter of fact, more than once we’d wandered the streets of Manhattan perusing menus, walking for blocks as my feet ached, so he could find a menu he liked.

  I eye the genteel hotel sign. For some reason, the name is familiar to me. Sam leans down to talk to me as he guides me indoors. “I like this place. I like it in winter too, but my favorite is summer, and I don’t know how many more weeks they’ll have it open for summer. When they transform it for winter, it’s like a different place.”

  We step onto the elevator, and I realize we’re going to Gallow Green. It’s a restaurant I’ve read about but have never been to. Other people join us in the elevator, and Sam graciously pulls us to the side to make room. He lightly caresses my hips and pulls me close to him, my back to his front. Again, it feels natural, which is odd. It’s like I’m in this weird state of paradox. I’m excited and nervous, but at the same time, it feels like this is exactly where I belong. I remind myself to take it slow, to learn from the past.

  As the elevator rises, Sam whispers in my ear. I don’t catch what he says, but as I glance up, he brushes his lips to my cheek, and he strokes my hips and along my lower back. My body lights up, electricity zinging through all my body parts.

  The door opens, and the other passengers step forward to the hostess stand. A woman standing to the side of the stand seems to recognize Sam and walks toward us. “Mr. Duke?”

  “Yes. Are you Karen?”

  She’s in black, which seems to be the uniform of the staff here. “Yes. We have your table ready for you, Mr. Duke. Please follow me.”

  We follow her through the restaurant. A table for two rests below a tree filled with twinkling lights and a direct view over the city. No other table resides beneath our shimmering tree. Tall, trimmed bushes have been set around our table, creating a natural privacy screen between us and all the other diners. Before we sit, Sam sends a quick text to someone, then slides his phone into his coat pocket.

  Finished with whatever he needed to take care of, he graciously slides my chair out for me. “I thought we could have dinner while enjoying the night below twinkling lights surrounded by the comfort of heat lamps.”

  “Sounds pe
rfect.”

  “Tell me, what’s your poison? Do you prefer to start with Prosecco, champagne, white, red or a cocktail?”

  “I’m flexible. Whatever you prefer.”

  He rubs his chin as he studies me. “So, you like for me to make the decisions?”

  “Ah, maybe not always.” I grin and cross my legs. “But for tonight?”

  He chuckles a bit at that and turns to the waiter and orders one Southern Pines and one Wild Turkey on the rocks. He looks a bit mischievous as he says, “We’ll start with bourbon to calm my nerves. Then we’ll switch to a nice cab.”

  I pull back and decide to call him on his over-the-top flirtations. “Are you nervous?”

  He smiles just enough that only his right dimple reveals itself once again. “A little bit. I’d like to see you again. I don’t take that many women out on dates.”

  I scoff at that. “I find that hard to believe. You’re gorgeous. Earlier today, my girlfriend told me you’re on the Post’s most wanted bachelor list. And that you make Page Six with some regularity.”

  He sits up straight, and his smile disappears. His chest rises and falls while he studies the canopy of lights. When he speaks, it’s as if he’s made a decision. “Tell you what. I’m gonna focus on the fact you think I’m gorgeous. And I’ll tell you a little secret. I think you’re gorgeous too. The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” My breath catches as he leans over and whispers in my ear, “And I absolutely love this short suede skirt.”

  Both of us glance at my legs. My skirt sits high, exposing a good amount of thigh. At that moment, what I want more than anything is for his hand to rest along my skin. Instead, he adjusts the napkin in his lap.

  “So, Prague. Tell me about it.” His demeanor is more reserved, and I can’t help but notice he has shifted back in his chair, away from me. He sips his water. “What was your favorite place?”