Page 235 of Terms of Exposure
"It's appreciative." He cut another bite of steak. "I'm appreciating the view. You appreciated the food. Fair's fair."
"Those aren't the same thing."
"They're exactly the same thing." His eyes dropped to my mouth as I took another bite. "You're enjoying your meal. I'm enjoying watching you enjoy your meal. Everyone wins."
The intensity of his gaze made it difficult to swallow.
"You're impossible," I managed.
"You like it."
I didn't dignify that with a response—mostly because he was right.
The conversation drifted as we worked through our plates—lighter topics, easier ones. Tessa's betting pool. The look on Dorothy's face when we'd walked into HR.
I scraped the last of the brown butter from my plate, mourning the end of the meal.
"That was incredible."
"Better than the first time?"
"Much better."
The memory still carried weight, but it no longer crushed me.
Now it was just a chapter of our story.
Damien's hand rested over mine across the table. I turned my palm up, lacing my fingers through his.
"I'd ask if you wanted dessert, but the—"
"Their tiramisu is absolute shit," I said, cutting him off with a laugh.
He leaned forward. "Right?"
"It was so dry!" I stage-whispered.
"How does that even happen?"
"I've got no idea," he laughed. "Don't mention it to Rosie. She'll drown you in her 'world famous' version for weeks."
The waiter reappeared, clearing our plates.
"Can I interest you in dessert this evening? The tiramisu is particularly excellent."
I glanced at Damien. He glanced at me—face going red with the effort of not laughing.
"No thank you," he managed. "But please pass my compliments to the chef. Everything was exceptional."
"Of course, Mr. Holt. Enjoy your evening."
He vanished into the sea of flowers.
"Ready?" Damien asked, turning towards me.
Ready to leave.
To go home.
