Page 55 of Open for Negotiation
He didn’t ask me to come back for him, but I know he hasn’t eaten dinner, and probably hasn’t consumed anything other than coffee all day long.
So, I’m riding the elevator up to our floor to make sure that he’s taking care of himself, with a bag of takeout Italian food in one hand and a bottle of chilled white wine in the other. He needs a break and I’m going to force his hand on the matter.
The office is quiet and the main lights have been shut off, so there is only a soft, warm glow coming from the hall lights that are still on and a few random computer screens that weren’t shut down properly, that also managed to survive the ordeal. It makes the entire building seem spooky, in a way, but peaceful in another. I’m not used to walking through the maze of cubicles without hearing the chatter of coworkers or the buzzing of computers turning on, or even the printers humming. I can hear my heels thump thumping on the carpet and it matches the rhythm of my heart.
I hope I’m not making the wrong choice by coming back without letting him know first, but I knew he’d tell me he was fine and it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to avoid that completely and essentially ambush him with care so he has no choice but to let me take care of him.
I can hear him on the phone when I arrive at his office door that is set slightly ajar. The overhead light is turned off but there is light streaming out from his desk lamp.
“I’m opening it now,” I hear him say. “All right, I’ll take a look at this and if I don’t see any issues, I’ll sign it and send it back.” He pauses to listen to a response on the phone. “Yeah, all right.”
He doesn’t say goodbye, not that I can hear at least, and he hangs up the phone. He sounds so tired, so done with the day.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I almost chicken out. I almost decide that I can’t take the rejection if he turns me away, but the badass I’m trying to be overtakes the anxiety ridden girl inside of me, and I knock on the door before pushing it open.
“Max?”
He’s rubbing his eyes under the black-rimmed glasses he’s wearing, and his head pops up in surprise. “Scarlett? What are you doing here?” He checks his watch then stands to greet me.
“You were working so late and I know you probably haven’t eaten dinner so…” I hold up the bag of food.
“Is there Alfredo in there?” he asks, rounding the desk toward me.
“What do you think I am? A monster? Of course there is.” I smile.
He closes the distance between us and cups my face in both of his large hands. The relief that washes over me is instantaneous, like when you have been walking in the hot sun all day long and you finally step into a cool shower, or that feeling of slipping into freshly washed sheets on newly shaven legs. It just feels right.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he tells me and kisses my lips ever so softly.
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. I wanted to see you. It was purely selfish on my part.” I smile against his lips and kiss him again.
We stand like this for a while, my hands full of wine and food, but arms wrapped around one another, enjoying and basking in the connection that is growing stronger and stronger between us every day.
He eventually pulls away and stares down at me. He’s so tall that I have to tip my head back to see his face.
“This could be dangerous,” he tells me as he slides his hand up and down my back.
“What could be?”
“Getting used to you coming here when I’m working late… getting used to you taking care of me.” He presses his lips to my forehead and holds them there for a moment then pulls away. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
His words knock me off my axis for a minute and that fluttery feeling makes its home in my chest. I like this man. I like this man a lot, and he feels the same way. Hearing confirmation of that, no matter how many times, will never cease to make me feel like I’m floating.
I unpack the food and we sit across from one another at his desk with open containers of pasta and bread between us.
“This looks incredible,” he exclaims as he opens up his packet of silverware. “I haven’t eaten yet today.”
“Max, it’s nearly nine o’clock. You should have eaten a long time ago.” I shake my head and tear off a piece of a breadstick.
“I know, but with everything going on, I just didn’t have an appetite.”
As badly as I want to ask him for more information about everything happening, that’s not what he needs right now, so I go the other direction.
“I have an idea.”
“Hit me with it.”
“Let’s not talk about work the rest of the night. I know it’s all-consuming right now and you’re in damage control mode, but just for a little bit, let’s shut that side of your brain off.” I dip another bite of breadstick into some Alfredo sauce and offer it up to feed to him, which he happily accepts, eating from my hand.
