His Belt_Part Five by Hannah Ford

Author:Hannah Ford [Ford, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-05T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 4

ABIGAIL

“This doesn’t look like the kind of place that serves breakfast,” I grumble as the host pulls out a chair for me and I slide into it.

Elijah is already seated at the table, his head bowed over an official-looking document. He’s scowling, striking things from it, scribbling things in the margin, his handwriting seemingly indecipherable.

“Are you displeased with my choice of restaurant, Ms. Bennett?” he asks, his voice making it clear that even if I were, there’s nothing I can do about it. He gathers up his papers and slides them into his briefcase.

“The restaurant is fine.” It’s fancy (of course it is) and I look around, taking in the tables filled with patrons who are either businesspeople dressed in smart-looking suits or the kind of hipsters who scream money – guys with spiky hair in leather jackets, beautiful women who speak with French accents and wear jeans so tight and boots so high you wonder how they don’t topple over.

The ceilings are high, there’s a chandelier hanging over us, the waiters are dressed in starched shirts and black pants, and the chef’s name is on the menu.

It’s not that I have a problem with the restaurant. It’s that I know Elijah is trying to send me a message. We’re back on his turf now, back to the buttoned-up Elijah who keeps his emotions in check, the one who has people on all who are able to break into my apartment and gather my things in the middle of the night like it’s a normal occurrence.

Gone is the guy from last night, the one who ran around the room with his soon-to-be nephews and arranged pepperoni in the shape of a smiley face on their pizza because it made them laugh.

Now he’s all business.

“I ordered us both the filet with scrambled and wheat.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” I try, just to annoy him.

“No, you’re not. You ate pepperoni last night.”

Oh. Dammit.

“I realize that our meeting last night was cut short by the arrival of my family,” he says, pulling out a legal pad as the waiter returns to our table, setting down a carafe of coffee and two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I fill my cup with coffee, ignoring the frown Elijah gives me as I add copious amounts of cream and then ask the waiter to bring Splenda. This is probably the kind of place where you’re not supposed to add sugar to the coffee, because it offends the chef or something. I’ve heard about places like that, fancy restaurants where they don’t put salt on the table cause to flavor your food is considered taking away from the way it’s supposed to be enjoyed.

I glance to the side. Sure enough, no salt.

“Yes, among other things,” I say.

“I want to make sure that we outline the parameters of our relationship so that there is no confusion. Number one, you will live with me, provided you are allowed to stay in my bedroom at night.”

“Agreed.”

He makes a note on the pad. “You will accompany me to Ryan’s wedding in two weeks.

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