Page 91 of Hate to Love You
“There’s just a lot of people here,” she whispers.
“Well, yes,” I chuckle sarcastically. “It has great reviews. And, of course, three Michelin stars.”
“Here you are,” Cassandra smiles, batting her lashes at me. “I’ll have someone alert Mr. Caruso that you’re here, Mr. Antonov.”
“Thank you,” I say, swallowing hard, and hoping that Abby didn’t catch the girl’s lingering stare, or the suggestive way she said my name.
“You know,” Abby says, as I pull out her chair. “When you said you got a table here, I guess I thought that you were going to do that celebrity thing.”
“That celebrity thing?”
“You know, where they have a private room, or they shut down the restaurant for an hour for you to eat in private without all these people staring at you?”
I grin. And not just from her comment, but from the fact that as I push in her chair, I catch my rebellious assistant pulling at her tight black skirt.
“Considering that this place already has a five-month waiting list, that would be incredibly selfish of me.”
Abby rolls her eyes.
“Somehow I doubt that would stop you.”
“That’s true,” I wink at her as I take my seat. “But forgive me, I thought you liked people staring at you, Abby? I mean, why else would you wear skirts that short?”
She glares at me, but then slowly a devious little grin spreads across her pretty face.
“Maybe because I know it bothers you.”
Holy fuck.
The room suddenly feels warmer, and I instinctively have to adjust my shirt collar.
“I just can’t help myself,” she continues. “I guess I just enjoy torturing you, Mr. Antonov.”
However, the tone in which she says my name matches the exact way that Cassandra had said it, which tells me that she did pick up on the fact that there was at least a carnal history between us.
…And it bothered her.
“Oh, no, Miss Wayne, not in the slightest,” I smile darkly, locking eyes with her. “I do love some good torture. I’ll just have to be sure to return the favor.”
And once again, I watch in real time as the power dynamic shifts, and her momentary arrogance shatters on the table before me. Her eyes find mine and once again I’m reminded of the real reason, I decided to bring her to lunch: To understand her. And her motivations.
Typically, when it comes to my employees, especially my female employees, it’s not hard to figure out what they’re after, because it’s usually just me. Or at least the part of me that is partially bulging between my legs as I stare back at Abby’s deep brown eyes, now sheepishly peaking at me over the top of her menu.
At first I tried to tell myself that I’m only struggling to read her like the others because I’ve harbored a buried physical attraction to this woman for longer than I can remember. But every day that I spend with her, picking up the tiny fragments of her cues and personality, I’m learning that’s not the case.
It feels as if Abby and I are locked in a chess match. On the surface we’re both deflecting and downplaying our true intentions. We’re both playing a strategic long game to discover our opponent’s weakness…while burying our own.
I’m having difficulty reading Abby because she's deliberately difficult to read. And I find that incredibly intriguing.
After all, what dark secrets could an assistant really have?
I wasn’t sure, but I was determined to find out.
As we wait for Alberto, I cleverly begin to grill Abby about her life. I ask about her childhood, education, and even her past relationships, trying to get her to tell me as much about it in as much detail as possible.
“Hello there!” A young male waiter says, stepping up to the table with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”
“Excuse me,” I hold up my hand. “What is this? What are you doing?”