Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
I know there’s an end point, but damn I want it to be here already.
My phone dings with a text, and my gut immediately sinks. I know what that message is without having to check it.
Rossi: Sorry, Mitch is pushing lunch back :(
Me: Okay, tomorrow then.
Rossi: Just try and stop me
Turns out I don’t need to, because his dad cockblocks us with a business lunch off-site, and he wants me to join him. Then the day after, as I walk into the stationery closet, he’s walking out with a slight shake of his head. As the door swings closed, I spot Whitney over his shoulder.
It’s all I can do not to groan.
We end up eating lunch together in the staff room, trying to pretend we’re not desperate to tear off each other’s clothes. I’m starting to think the universe is being careful for us, seeing as we lack the self-control.
“Tyson.”
I jolt as Mr. Rossi walks in and immediately panic that I’ve forgotten something. Then he smiles.
“Can I join you two?” He lifts the same leftovers container that we’re both eating out of, and it makes me want to laugh that someone as powerful and well-off as him still brings his lunch to work. From what Rossi has said, his mom is hard to argue with when it comes to food.
The need to laugh doesn’t ease, and maybe it has less to do with the leftovers and more to do with being sandwiched between the two of them.
“Doesn’t Tyson already have to deal with your face for enough hours of the day?” Rossi asks, but his dad pulls out a chair anyway.
“Nonsense. Tyson told me I’m the best boss he’s ever had.”
“Wow.” Rossi throws an amused look my way. “Didn’t realize you were a total suck-up.”
I shrug. “To be fair, you’re my only boss, Mr. Rossi.”
“When are you going to call me Robert?”
“But Gian loves when I call you ‘mister.’”
Rossi chokes on his drink while I smile at him innocently.
Mr. Rossi looks confused for a moment, and I watch as his gaze drops to his food, then moves on to Rossi’s … then mine. Something shifts in his expression.
“Like my wife’s cooking?”
My cheeks heat so fast I’m surprised I don’t pass out. “Yeah, it’s simply divine, ah—” I clear my throat. “Delicious. Really nice.” And oh no, he’s studying me. Too much. Quick, distract! Talk about the weather! Or … Boston traffic? Work? Umm … “So I found some interesting new cryptocurrencies on the market that might be worth looking into. I know the market is flooded with them, but these two in particular look like they could be—”
Rossi’s hand lands on my shoulder. “What did I say about work talk at lunch?” He rolls his eyes at his dad. “I swear, he never turns off.”
Finally, Mr. Rossi drops the suspicious look. “Are there rules about work talk at dinner? Because if you think Isabel’s cooking is divine reheated, I can’t wait to hear your thoughts when it’s fresh.”
I’m nodding and trying so hard not to look at Rossi to see his expression. Does he hate this idea? Is he freaking out? Am I freaking out? I’m pretty sure my red face must clash horribly with this peach shirt.
“Shouldn’t you invite Whitney too?” Rossi says. “Wouldn’t want to be accused of nepotism.”
His dad grimaces. “She’s working with Lawrence, right? I’ll have him extend the same offer to his intern. Problem solved.”
Oooh, problem is far from solved. In fact, it’s basically just now starting. Is this dinner an ambush? A test? Has he worked that I’m the one his son told him about, or is he being nice?
“I like you, Tyson,” he says. “Hopefully this dinner will be the first of many.”
I can only hope so too.
For more reasons than one.
Chapter 12
ROSSI
Come Friday, I’m so desperate for Tyson’s hands, his mouth … any part of him, really. And when we pack up at work for the day and I meet Dad and him near the elevator, Tyson looks like he’s trying not to shit himself.
I smile and punch him in the shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
“This is going to be awkward as fuck,” he mutters so Dad can’t hear.
“For all of us involved.”
“Ready?” Dad asks and holds the elevator door open.
We step on and distance ourselves from each other. It’s a necessary move. Whenever I’m close to Tyson, I want to touch him.
He thinks tonight will be awkward, but the only thing uncomfortable about it will be my pants.
I understand where he’s coming from, I do, and no matter how many times I tell him Dad, Mitch, and Lawrence could hold back their biases, it would be hard for Tyson to have complete trust in that.
The way I figure it, when Tyson gets this full-time position and I’m in grad school, we can see each other every night. It’s obviously too much of an effort and too risky trying at work. This last week, we’ve kept trying and failing to make it happen.