Page 94 of Miss Understanding

The older gentleman shrugged. “Not a problem. You two have a good night.”

We both stood there, gazes locked, while he drove off. “Let’s go back inside,” I finally managed.

Taking her hand, I led her into my house and straight into the kitchen. I needed a moment to try to sort out my thoughts. Time to figure out what I would say. “Are you hungry?” She’d only picked at her food at the dinner earlier.

She nodded. “I could eat, but I should probably change out of my dress first.”

“You can change into one of my T-shirts and boxers. And leave some things over here going forward if you’d like.”

Her eyes widened at the significance of my words. I found no regret in saying them.

“Okay. I’ll be back down in a minute.”

As soon as she was out of sight, I expelled a long breath and braced myself against the counter, closing my eyes. I needed to figure out what I wanted to say. Obviously, I wasn’t a wing-it kind of guy given the way I prepared meticulously for a trial or deposition. I left no stone unturned and went over every detail. Everything was prepared, every word I said, every action I took—I even went so far as to school my facial expressions. Yet, this—this was different. It was personal. It was emotional. And I was completely without a script or the confidence I could win it.

She came back down the stairs in nothing but my T-shirt and boxers, making my heart race. Lord, she was beautiful.

“I have a frozen pizza. Or I can order something.”

“Pizza is good.”

It would be for her. Because she wouldn’t care that I was offering her a mere four-dollar box pizza. She didn’t put on airs or expect gourmet simply because I had money. Instead, she was simply appreciative. I could learn something from her attitude.

I busied myself with putting the pizza in the oven, then turned to see her sitting on the counter.

As if she couldn’t stand avoiding the subject any longer, she waded in. “I know you said you don’t have time for a relationship.”

“Honestly, I’ve never taken the time to have one. As you said tonight at the party, my work is my priority.” I was terrified of the type of demands a girlfriend would put on me. I had no idea what I’d have to give up in order to make someone else happy.

“I don’t want to feel like you’re embarrassed to be with me.”

Shock jolted through me. Then it sank in. It was my words and the way I was hiding our relationship that had made her feel that way. Taking her hands, I kissed the inside of each of her palms, then her lips.

“I could never feel embarrassed by you. I was proud to be there with you tonight. I admire what you said to Stephen in the conference room and the way you can be so at ease, whether we’re at a fancy dinner or simply bowling with my family. You think I give a fuck about your title? I don’t. You’re the hardest working, most genuine, incredible person I’ve ever known. Hell, if anything, you’re the one getting the short end of the stick with me.”

I hesitated before going into the next part.

She beat me to it. “But…”

My sigh filled the air. “But until you are no longer my assistant, can we keep this thing from the people at the firm? Would you be okay with me being your boyfriend here but no more than your boss in the office?” There was no good way of explaining all of the whys without her taking it personally. In my mind, I wanted both my named partnership and the girl. Was it too much to ask?

She pulled me into her embrace with her legs, put her arms around me, and rubbed my back. “I had no idea you felt that way about me.” Then she pulled back. “And obviously, I’m not in a hurry to tell everyone at work. Maybe I’m being oversensitive to things tonight.”

“Why do you say that?” Perhaps if I could get to the bottom of what had triggered her feelings tonight, I could work to resolve it.

“Stephen hit a nerve. He talked to me about following my passions. I’m not.”

It didn’t surprise me she would come to this realization because anyone who knew her understood her calling was food and cooking. But what did bother me was that she’d talked to Stephen about it instead of me. Then again, it wasn’t as though I’d afforded her the opportunity. That, however, was about to change. “You want to be a chef?”

“More than anything. But the responsible thing is to finish my degree.”

“You’re close. How many classes remaining?”

“Two more classes next quarter.”

“A chef with a business degree isn’t a bad thing. Especially if you ever want to open your own catering business. So you’ll finish school by summer. Then what?” Although I had some ideas, I wanted her to trust I would listen and not try to influence her decisions.

“Maybe I could go work at a restaurant part-time. Take culinary courses.”