Page 98 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The menu does, too, and suddenly I'm staring into familiar green eyes that still make my knees weak.

Alex.

In a perfectly pressed suit, his salt-and-peppered hair tousled in that indescribably sexy way, he looks exactly like he did that first night at the gala.

Powerful. Gorgeous. Slightly intimidating.

Especially when he leans back, his broad shoulders settling into a straight line. “Ah, I see I’ve come to the right place.”

I swallow. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Well, I—“ He stops and stares at my face. "You've got a little something..." His gaze scrapes across my body. "Everywhere."

"It's a new look," I manage, my voice surprisingly steady considering my heart's doing the macarena. "Very avant-garde. Making waves in the culinary fashion world."

"Clearly." His eyes sweep me over, taking in every sauce splatter and flour smudge. "Though I have to admit, it's better than champagne."

Around us, the restaurant bustles with Christmas energy.

Families laugh over plates of pasta. Singles find comfort in perfect risotto. Couples share intimate moments over tiramisu.

But suddenly all I can focus on is the way Alex's tie matches my favorite shade of green and how his fingers tap against the menu like he's nervous.

Alexander Drake doesn't do nervous.

"I should..." I gesture at the wine bottle in the cart to my left, though I've completely forgotten which table needed it.

"You should sit," he says quietly. "We need to talk."

"I'm working."

"You're hiding." He leans forward, those green eyes seeing too much. "Behind sauce and service and every wall you've built since that walking testicle Roberto made you think you had to choose between love and success."

"How did you?—"

"I did my homework." His jaw tightens. "Finally. Though meeting him in person really drove it home."

"You met Roberto?"

"At the Apex Club. Right after reading your last blog post." His brows lower. "He won't be joining Drake Enterprises'accounting department, by the way. Apparently, my opinions on his... equipment were not well received."

Despite everything, I laugh. The sound brings a crooked smile to Alex’s face.

"Sit," he says again, softer this time. "Please."

"I'm a mess."

"You're perfect."

“I’m tired. And sweaty. And unemployed.”

“Well, that depends.” He stares. “Do you see yourself making a habit of serving Christmas meals at your family’s restaurant? Or are you ready to get back into the field of transforming fucked-up companies just like mine?”

I have no choice but to sit this time. I can barely stand. I settle onto the other side of the booth. “I’m sorry—what?"

"I want to hire you back, Mackenzie.”

“But Alex—" My voice rises, and I glance around us—at the restaurant and its humming holiday life. Someone's child laughs at a neighboring table. Mrs. Shu raises her wine glass in a silent toast. Through the windows, Seattle's snow continues falling.

---