His head popped up, and he placed the knife on the corner of the table. "Nice legs."
The comment caused me to lower my hands and yank down the hem of my skirt, even though it was already plenty long enough and no one could see my legs through the table. My defensive response made him smile. It was a great smile. Of course.
I leaned forward and put my elbow on the table and then remembered my mom's admonishment to never put my elbow on the dinner table and pulled it off. I rested my hands on my lap to avoid pushing another piece of silverware to the floor. "Do you eat here often?"
"When I feel like a home cooked meal. Sometimes the high brow restaurants with their tiny, artsy portions just don't cut it. I save those lunches for—"
"Important people and not frazzled reporters looking for tabloid fodder?" My nerves were settling, and I was feeling a bit more myself.
"No not at all. I leave snooty restaurants for snooty people. A lot of people assume that I was always rich and that the guys and I just used a chunk of our trust funds to start a company. But that's not the case." He paused as Kyle lowered the teas in front of us. I ordered a quiche and Trey ordered a burger.
"Up until just two years ago, Zane, Chase and I were sharing a crummy two room apartment and Aidan was living in his sister's garage."
I sipped some tea. "Please continue. I'm far more interested in hearing about your success story than how you run the company. In fact, before Meredith took her father's place at the magazine, I wrote human interest stories."
"I know. I did some quick research on you before Chase walked you into my office. Impressive resume. I read that you won some prestigious journalism awards."
My face dropped to hide the blush.
"It's a shame the magazine is changing its format. They are wasting your talent."
I was never good at accepting compliments, and when they were doubled up, it was extra hard. "You were telling me about starting the company," I interjected quickly for a topic change.
"The four of us grew up together in a crummy neighborhood where there were more empty strip malls than open businesses. Our first money making venture was starting a garage band, which failed after we realized that none of us were musical. Each one of us had our family problems. I grew up with a single mom, and I had to help take care of my younger brother, Quinn. My dad left when I was three so I barely knew him. My mom had to work two jobs to keep shoes on our feet. And at the rate the two of us grew, that wasn't easy. After high school, the guys and I all parted ways, trying to find our paths in life. Only those paths brought us all back together at a friend's wedding. We were all still looking for our futures. The one thing we all had in common was we loved women and sex. Seems like a shallow reason to start a business, but once the ideas started flowing, the thing took off like a rocket. Turned out a lot of other people had the same thing in common with us."
A group of young women came in, laughing and texting and tossing back long, shiny hair. Kyle practically ran across the room to give them menus.
"You mentioned you had a story idea? Something that would benefit all parties? Is it the rags to riches plotline? I love the idea, but I don't think Meredith will bite. And I use the term bite freely when it comes to that woman."
"I agree. From what Chase has told me about her, I don't think she'll bite either. I have another idea, but you need to keep an open mind."
"I always have an open mind." I pulled the notebook out of my bag.
"Just listen first. You won't need notes because this story is going to be about you."
"That's funny."
"I'm not joking." Trey pushed his sleeves back farther, exposing a circle of barbed wire tattooed around his arm. It might have looked barbaric on someone else, but on him, it just looked . . . good. "Let's start with your sex life."
"And we're done here." I slid out of the booth. His fingers wrapped around my arm, there was a firmness to his grasp that should have worried me. Instead, it sent an unexpected surge of heat through me.
"Sit and hear me out. Then, if you hate the idea you can just walk away."
I sat back down. "Fine."
Trey titled his head and looked at me, waiting for me to answer his question.
I fidgeted with the collar on my blouse and noticed, for the hundredth time since I’d met the man, that his eyes were focused on the top button. "At the moment, my sex life is—well, it's non-existent. I was seeing someone for a few years, but we broke up."
"Why is that?"
"Peanut butter sandwiches."
His smooth brow arched up. "Peanut butter sandwiches?"
"Yes. When I was ten, my mom got a job working nights, so she put my older sister, Jean, in charge of making our school lunches. Well, Jean was sixteen, so a big chunk of her morning was taken up with the flat iron and mascara bottle. The only thing she had time for was to slap peanut butter on a piece of bread. For that entire school year, I trudged to the cafeteria with my crappy peanut butter sandwich. That's what it felt like with Mark, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch every damn day."
"Perfect."
"Glad you think so, but I still can't look at a jar of peanut butter."
Trey's laugh was the kind that could warm you on a cold night or cheer you up after a bad day. "No, I mean perfect for the story. Let me ask you something—Georgie. If you could have a superpower what would it be?"
I had no idea where the heck the conversation was heading. "Flying, that would be nice. Then I could just fly over the traffic on the freeway."
"So, if you had that superpower, you would use it?"
"Of course."
"Then why don't you use the superpower you already have?"
I stopped halfway on sipping my tea. "I can't fly."
"That's not the superpower I'm talking about."
Kyle halted the strange conversation with our food. He put the food in front of us and walked away before I could ask for some pepper. I tried to get his attention, but he had sped off too fast back in the direction of the crowded, giggling girl table. I waved at him several times as he crossed the dining area, but he never looked my direction.
"Take off those glasses," Trey said plainly.
"Excuse me? I don't have x-ray vision. I need them to see."
"Just trust me."
"Sure but I just need some pepper." I waved my arm to get Kyle's attention. It seemed the kid walked around with invisible blinders on.
"Georgie," Trey said more forcefully. "Take off those big glasses. And unbutton the top button on that blouse."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Just do it." His ordering me around should have riled me, but he managed to do it with enough charisma that I found myself following his directions.
I took off my glasses and then, with much more hesitation, I discretely reached up and undid the top button. My blouse was already stretched tight across my breasts, breasts that I'd spent my entire teen years trying to diminish in size. But to no avail. It seemed I was still guilty of trying to restrain them. The blouse parted, exposing my cleavage. I was sure I heard a low groan come from Trey's side of the table, but I eventually dismissed the notion as just the clamor in the restaurant.
Before I could rest my back against the seat, Kyle swept across the room and nearly fell over our table as he asked if I needed something. I knew his eyes were riveted to my cleavage, but I ignored it as a typical school boy reaction. "Pepper please."
He raced off enthusiastically.
Trey poured ketchup on his plate and didn't look up as he spoke. Damn, he had long lashes. "You're welcome."
"For what?"
"For showing you how to use your superpower to get pepper for your quiche."
Kyle returned with an actual pepper grinder. Like a waiter in a fine restaurant, he stood over me with his pepper. "Just tell me when."
Trey was completely entertained as he watched.
I put up my hand. "That's good. Thank you, Kyle." I smiled sweetly at him. He stumbled backwards a few steps, the pepper grinder gripped tightly in his fingers.
I shot an annoyed eyebrow twist at my lunch mate. "If you think having big breasts is a superpower, then you should try being a painfully shy thirteen-year-old running the mile in P.E. and having the entire boys' soccer team stop their game to watch."
"I'm not talking about your breasts." He stopped to admire my cleavage for a second. "Although, they are spectacular. I'm talking about you, all of you. You are beautiful and smart, but it seems you're trying hard to just be smart. The glasses, the top button, the hair up like my mom's Aunt Terry."
"You, sir, are an asshole." I put down my fork, my appetite for quiche suddenly diminished. I pulled out my phone to call for an Uber ride back to the Plaything parking lot.
"I won't argue with that." Trey reached across and placed his hand gently on my arm. It should have irritated me, but somehow, his touch felt genuinely kind. My mind momentarily drifted to the idea of that same hand smoothing over my skin.
"Wait, Georgie. I'm not trying to be an asshole. I guess I'm not doing this right. Eat your quiche and listen to my story pitch. Then I'll drive you back to your car."
I picked up the fork but didn't do much more than pick at the quiche. I listened fully but pretended that I was only paying half-hearted attention.