Page 40 of Best Served Hot

She’d been where I was. I had to fight the urge to reach out and give her a hug.

“Now I hear from him occasionally, sucking up to me, asking me to do an advertisement for one of his products or talk about a client.” Her laugh rang like the tinkling of bells. “It’s the best. Ten out of ten, highly recommend.”

I followed her to the next place with more pep in my step, dazzled by the thought of Mr. Decker or Emerson Leigh someday sucking up to me. All through our next meals of steamed rice rolls and Southern cuisine and an encore Ethiopian meal we could only eat half of because our stomachs were about to explode, all through the photos we took and videos we shared.

14

I was still riding high well into the workweek. Not just because of how well Jada and I had gotten along and how we’d traded numbers, how I thought we might actually become real friends and not just social media “friends,” but because of the boost our collaboration had given my page. Thousands of new followers. Lots of new engagement.

“I’m ready for you, West,” I murmured at my desk to my computer screen, where I was scrolling through the West African restaurant’s menu. I’d finally get to eat there tonight. That was definitely why I was feeling those excited tingles in my stomach. Yup. The only reason.

I took a few calls for Mr. Decker—he was, for a change of pace, up in the Hudson Valley today on an anniversary getaway with his wife—and got back to considering the menu. Right now my top choices were all meat-related, and we’d want to get some vegetables to balance them—

The office door sailed open, Emerson Leigh’s bright laugh floating through a moment before the girl herself did. I fixed a smile on my face, but she was looking over her shoulder, talking to someone behind her. I sat up straighter, hoping she hadn’t brought Maisie.

But no. It was worse. As the door opened all the way and Emerson Leigh stepped fully inside the office, I could see him: first a slice, the swooshy hair and pressed button-down (a deep rust-red today), then the whole thing, the long legs and broad shoulders and close-lipped smile.

“Oh, hey, Julie,” said Bennett. Like he didn’t expect to see me here.

“Hey, Bennett. Hey, Emerson Leigh,” I said automatically. My stomach lurched as the door clicked shut behind them, trapping us all inside. My shoulders itched as I watched him watch me sitting behind my desk. It felt weird. All the other times we’d been face-to-face, I’d felt equal to him. Sitting across from him at a restaurant table. Burning his kitchen down beside him. Yelling at each other while standing on equal ground.

But this was different. It was like he had power over me here as a guest of my boss’s family. He could ask me to make him some copies or order him some food from downstairs, and I wouldn’t be able to say no. Just ask how many or what kind.

“. . . so he did end up walking down the aisle with his kilt on fire, but nobody felt bad for him since it was really his fault,” Emerson Leigh was saying, but Bennett’s eyes were on me. He stepped forward, bypassing the front table covered with glossy magazines and copies of Mr. Decker’s memoir, through the vacuum of empty carpet, where sometimes I did sit-ups if nothing else was going on, then stopped at my desk, resting his elbows on the ledge surrounding it. I’d always liked that ledge, since it hid the mess of my desk from anyone else in the office and also made for a convenient barrier between myself and some of Mr. Decker’s smellier or handsier guests, but now I found myself wishing it wasn’t there.

Where would he rest his elbows then?

“Are you ready for West tonight?” Bennett said, and something about his tone disarmed me. He might have been looking down on me—literally, since he was standing and I was sitting—but he wasn’t talking down to me. He wasn’t making this awkward.

I tilted my computer screen toward him. “I’ve spent the last hour obsessing over the menu.”

Too late, I realized maybe I shouldn’t have said that in front of my boss’s daughter. She was looking toward me, her eyebrows pinched as if she were annoyed. Hopefully not annoyed enough to go running to her dad about how I was wasting time on the clock.

Bennett said, “I’m very much looking forward to it.” Except he said it not while he was looking at the menu but at me. Which made me feel all flustered. Even though he obviously wasn’t talking about seeing me but eating at the restaurant.

Right?

Emerson Leigh gave us a cheery laugh, her arms crossed over her designer sweatshirt. “From what you were just telling me about it, the food sounds so good. Hopefully, soon I’ll be able to go with you! I wish menus were organized by color; I’m supposed to reintroduce green into my diet soon.”

“I’ve always liked green,” said Bennett. Still looking at me. And my green blouse. Okay, now he was definitely messing with me.

I went to roll my eyes, only to find out that my eyes wouldn’t roll. I stared down into my lap instead, unable to raise them. Because if our eyes met?

I thought they might spark.

“Hey Ben, you know what?” Emerson Leigh said. “Julie makes the best coffee.”

Aaaand now I was crashing down to earth. Back in my place. “I don’t know if I’d say that,” I murmured. “I just stick in the K-Cup and hit the buttons.”

“Oh, but something about the way she does it is just magical,” Emerson Leigh said to Bennett, speaking over my head. “Ben, do you want some coffee? Julie can go make you some.”

My cheeks heated. Why did she have to do this right now? What if he said yes, and I had to obediently get up and trot off to the kitchen to bring him coffee like I was his secretary?

“I’m all right, actually,” Bennett said. “But thanks.”

Emerson Leigh scooted forward and finally looked at me. “Julie, Bennett told you that he hates social media, right?”

“I’ve gathered that,” I said dryly.