Page 68 of Only the Devil
Maybe that’s why I like him. He’s observant.
“The car’s outside.” Phillip’s deep voice rumbles through the room, and Jake cocks his head slowly.
“I’m going to dinner tonight with Mr. Sterling,” I offer as explanation.
“Phillip,” my boss corrects, his tone smooth but firm. “You’re on my executive team. You need to act like it. I’ll head down to the car. You won’t be long?”
“I’ll come with you.”
I lift my backpack, which holds my laptop, and pass it to Jake. “Would you mind bringing this home?”
He takes the strap, his fingers brushing over mine. I can feel Phillip’s gaze on us, patiently waiting. The tension in the room is palpable, which is ridiculous.
Phillip is having an affair with Ms. Weaver. At least, that’s what everyone in the office suspects according to Ned. Gilda doesn’t buy it, and Toby says he thinks they used to be an item, and the past tense is what throws everyone.
Jake steps close, blocking my view of Phillip. Then his mouth is on mine—hard, unexpected. Our teeth brush. When he pulls back, it’s his possessiveness that startles me, demonstrated by both his palm on my hip and his steady, hot gaze.
“See you back at our place.” He shifts, turning to address our boss. “Have a good dinner.”
“We’re discussing the position,” I say, probably unnecessarily. It’s not like I owe Jake a reason for a business dinner, but still, it feels like an explanation is the right thing to give.
Phillip waits, extending an arm, gesturing for me to join him, the implication clear–the car is waiting.
Head down, I lead the way out of the office. It’s not until I’m almost to the elevator that I glance back and see Jake pull my office door closed and proceed down the corridor.
That’s good. Riding down in the elevator with Jake would be tense, although there’s no reason for tension. In the elevator’s reflection, I catch myself rubbing my neck like I have an itchy rash and lower my hand, instead gripping the leather clutch I brought specifically for this dinner.
Phillip’s attention is on his phone, but when the elevator doors slide open, he puts the phone away in an interior suit coat pocket. Why don’t women’s business suit jackets have handy little interior pockets?
“Have you tried Bilancia?”
“No.” Jake and I tend to stay within walking distance, but Phillip Sterling also chooses restaurants with dress codes.
“Are you good with Italian?”
“Of course. Who isn’t?” I smile, feeling grateful that whatever weirdness upstairs has evaporated.
“We have reservations at Fin, a sushi restaurant, as well. Which would you prefer?”
“I’m not picky—I’m like a universal adapter when it comes to food. Italian, sushi, I eat almost anything.”
A driver stands by a black sedan, the car parked in front of the building, which is actually a no-parking zone, reserved for the fire department, but the driver hasn’t parked. He’s picking us up. No wonder Phillip didn’t want to leave the driver waiting long.
I slide into the backseat, immediately noting the leather’s chemical smell and the driver’s cologne. I dig my nails into my palms, a grounding technique that works when I can’t plug in my earbuds, and something I don’t normally need to do, but my toes are crammed in heels, and I’m dressed like a fraud.
Phillip comes around to the far side, phone in hand once again as he enters the car.
“I’m in the mood for Italian,” he says, pressing on his phone. I assume he’s sending a message to his assistant. The gang says he’s old school and does very little himself.
“How long have you and Jake been together?” he asks when he’s done tapping on his phone.
“Not that long,” I answer, choosing a purposefully vague, honest answer because I don’t remember if Ms. Weaver asked the same question. If she did, what did I tell her? Shit, I should have prepared a spreadsheet of our cover story details. Jake would probably laugh at me for wanting to version-control our fake relationship, but inconsistencies are how you get caught.
“You’re living together.”
I side-eye him, because it doesn’t sound like a question, and sure enough, his expression is one of judgment.
“Must be serious,” he adds.
