79- Italian restaurant

I head over to the passenger door and slide in as gracefully as is possible. Immediately after, we are on our way.
I have become quite familiar with his scent and it welcomes me like a returning addict. It’s intoxicating to inhale but does absolutely nothing in calming my nerves. I truly wonder when I will start to fully relax around him. Perhaps my anxiousness is due to the professional authority he has over me or for the fact that we still haven’t clearly established what we are.

Anyway, we continue to drive silently until we come to a stop at the first traffic light. He then sends a glance my way. “How do you want to celebrate?”
The question is too open ended. A couple of things come to mind but the one at the forefront is the both of us alone in the stall of whatever restaurant we are about to head to.
Instead, I respond, “Some nice food will be a good start. And wine. Definitely wine.” At my comment, he chuckles.
The soft sound in the small space fills me with a feverish yearning for him. I am burning all over with a sweet warmth and it makes it a little hard to breathe.
“Do you have any specific cravings?” he asks.
I can’t help but watch the fluid movement of his hands against the steering wheel as he navigates the vehicle. His sleeves are now rolled up to just below his elbows, and the slightly bulging muscles in his forearms are delectable to say the least. Before I can catch myself, I hit my hand against my forehead at my roguish thoughts.
It seems to startle him. “Are you all right?”
I’m startled too, but immediately work up a smile. As naturally as is possible, I slide the hand away from my burning forehead to flip my hair over my shoulder. “I’m fine. I just uh... forgot something at the office.”
“At the office? Do you need us to go back?”
“No, no, no,” I reply. “It’s fine. I’ll just get it tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he says. “And again, where do you want to eat? I’m already en route to an Italian restaurant downtown but I can always reroute if you have a place in mind.”
“I’m not familiar with the city yet,” I reply. “So it’s up to you.” “Alright,” he says, and we continue on our way.

he clink of our glasses pierces through the somewhat quiet ambience of the restaurant. Spuntino, although a high-end restaurant, is small and intimate, with weathered wood and
glowing copper furnishing and a selection of the best Italian dishes that I have had in the city.
I discovered it upon one of my dinner meetings with a client about two years ago, and is the first place that came to mind when I was pondering earlier on in the car on where to bring Blair to.
There is a lit candle before us, softly illuminating our space and the captivating glint in her eyes.
She is stunning, more than words can express and I can’t help but feel the warm effect of this intense attraction simmering through my veins. It especially makes what I have intended to say to her quite difficult, and makes me wonder if perhaps I am deluding myself.
“Thank you,” she says shyly. “For helping me out today. You always somehow end up putting out the fires that I start.”
“It’s my job to put out the fires,” I respond. “Plus, you were already doing pretty well. A little more experience and you will be perfectly fine on your own.”
“Thank you,” she replies, and then after a second of thought, she adds a ‘sir’.
It is unbeknown to her the perfect segue into the talk that I truly want to have with her. “Blair.” She lifts her gaze from her half eaten plate of Arborio rice and pomodoro sauce “Yes, sir?” “When it’s just us together, I don’t think it’s appropriate to call me that.”
She stares at me as she chews slowly, and then lowers her gaze so she can swallow. Then she lifts her glass of wine to her lips.
“Do you want to keep working at FireEye?” I ask her.

At the question, she almost completely spits out the wine.
There’s a slight spill down her chin so I pass a napkin over which she uses to cover her mouth in amusement.
“What?” I ask.
She quickly tries to compose herself. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Ignore me.”
I think back to what I said and can’t really see why she became so amused. So I lean back and wait for her episode of amusement to pass. When it does, I make a face in demand for an explanation.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, finally composed once again. “It’s just the way you started that statement... it sounded as though you were about to blackmail me for something. My reaction is silly, I apologize.”
I can’t help the curve of my lips. “Well, maybe I do want to blackmail you.”
Her smile turns shy. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s hear the details of this blackmail. What do you have against me, and what is the ransom?”
“Let’s make this... thing between us somewhat official,” I say. “How far do you want us to go?” The smile slowly seeps out of her face. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”
“I need to know what your expectations are, so that things can be managed from the start.”
She lifts her glass and empties the wine. “I don’t have any,” she replies. “In fact, I would prefer that we just maintain a professional relationship. We have slipped up twice but I think we can both come to a consensus that it won’t happen again.”
I’m surprised at her response, but also do not fail to notice that she doesn’t properly look me in the eyes. I realize what’s happening. “What are you defensive about?” I ask. “Did I say something offensive?”
Her smile is tight. “Of course not, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir,” I say. “Not while we’re here. Not while we’re like this.” She holds my gaze. “What should I call you then?”
“Don’t you know my name?”
A heavy silence floats between us. “Okay,” she says and adjusts her posture.