Page 7 of Tattooed Sweetness
Yet, she is absolutely not my type.
“Have a seat.” Acting like an experienced businesswoman, she points to a seating area in front of the nearly floor-to-ceiling window. “A coffee…?” Caught off guard, she widens her eyes. Looks at me with a guilty look in her eyes that can’t decide between gray and blue.
“I’d love one. Thank you.” Not wanting to torture her further, I leave the jacket on as I sit down on one of the Bauhaus-style chairs, as uncomfortable as they are trendy.
ASenseoportion coffee maker purrs, and China clatters. She only needs a few minutes to place a tray on the tabletop.
“Lots of milk.” She slides a cup over to me. “I knew that much.” Then she points her slender fingers to a jar of paper cones. “Do you take sugar, too?”
“Not anymore. Hard enough to stay in shape nowadays.”Oh my fucking God! What kind of bullshit am I babbling?
Her eyes flit instantly at the fabric of the sweat jacket, hugging my ribcage as tight as a sausage skin.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggest, putting her out of her apparent misery. “Your email listed what you needed to help me with the business plan. It did take me a few late-night office hours—” I slide the folder of documents over to her. “But I think I brought everything with me.”
She sips from her coffee. She prefers her midnight black, as far as I’ve seen, and without sugar. In one fluid motion, she opens the binder and flips through the filed pages. “Income, expenses, private withdrawals…” She accompanies each of her words with a nod. “As well as your order situation.” She runs her index finger along the calendar entries, flipping the paper, the second, third… “You’re booked solid for the next nine and a half months?” The gray of her eyes turns to an astonished baby blue.
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” I explain to her proudly. “I need more capacity…”
“What’s taking her so long?” A man’s voice makes me look up from the worksheets Ms. Lechner and I have spread out on the table.
My gaze moves to her eyes, which are widened in almost childlike amazement. She seems to have forgotten time and space as much as I have about our plans and calculations.
“Really! There she is!” The man comes in, smiles at Ms. Lechner, and measures me with a cool look.
Quickly, I grab my jacket from the back of the chair, which I had taken off in the heat of the moment. I put it on.
My actions seem to somewhat reassure Ms. Lechner’s colleague. He tosses her a tote bag made of glossy black paper with squiggly gold print. “This was left for you downstairs at the reception desk. David wanted to bring it up to you because Ms. Walter is sick, unfortunately. But now he doesn’t dare go in because he’s late.”
She peers into the bag and nods silently. “Tell him,Thank you. No problem, it wasn’t urgent.”
“Great.” Somehow, her colleague doesn’t seem to want to leave. “So, will you join us for lunch, Celine?”
Celine.I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from stretching wide. The name suits the delicate sweetness facing me.
Now she’s pushing up her blouse sleeve. She, too, has taken off her pantsuit jacket in our creative frenzy. With an elegant movement, she glances at a rose gold watch with a timeless leather strap. “What, it’s eleven forty-seven? That late already?”
I check the time display on my phone’s screen as well and do the math. “Fuck!” slips out, earning me an indignant throat-clearing from her colleague. “We’ve been sitting together for over three and a half hours! That didn’t seem that long to me…”
Ms. Lechner—Celine—gives me a questioning look. “Is it…” She hesitates and glances at her watch again. “…OK with you if we call it a day at this point?”
“Sure.” Just as I’m about to pile the sheets together, she reaches out to do the same.
Our fingers touch.
I almost expect an electrostatic shock. But the touch is disappointingly mundane. Finally, I have put everything away in my folder. I accept the noble carrier bag fromChic & Grace, which she pushes over to me.
“If you’d like to change clothes in here—I’ll be out to lunch with my colleagues now, so you’d have privacy here. But to the right, a little way down the hall, are the restrooms, too, if you’d prefer.”
I peek into the bag, recognizing fine, almost black knit. “Awesome,” I comment, tugging at the fabric of her jersey jacket I’m stuck in. “Can I bring your kind loan back next time? Freshly laundered, of course? Or—”
“Please don’t bother,” she interrupts me. “Just put the jacket over the backrest when you leave.” She holds out her hand to me. “See you next week, Mr. Sandtmann.”
“See you next week, Ms. Lechner.”Why are her irises flickering between baby blue and stone gray again as she returns my handshake?“Same time…” Given my morning lateness, I manage a smirk on my face. “…and the same place?”
“Good thing you reminded me!” Already halfway to the door, she turns around once more. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to meet in your parlor. And as for a time…” A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth. “…9:30 a.m.? I think this time of day would be more convenient for you, wouldn’t it?”
“My parlor?” I’m mentally stuck on her first statement.Fuck, can’t you think of a dumber reply?