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“Looks like it.”
“Do you think…” I start, not quite knowing where my question is leading yet.
“Yes?” he asks, raising a perfect arched brow.
“Do you think you’d want to go somewhere else?”
“What did you have in mind?” A sly smile spreads across his lips and I have the urge to invite him back to my place, or into an unoccupied room in the building downstairs, but I refrain.
“I know a little jazz spot not too far from here. Better music. Better drinks. Could be fun.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
“Sounds perfect.”
I bite back the smile that wants to erupt onto my face, and nod my head toward the exit.
“Let’s go before they come back for an encore.” I giggle, feeling my usual sarcasm coming back to me.
“Oh, God.” He chuckles. “Hurry.”
He grabs my hand and leads me across the rooftop in a playful urgency and I have to run in these strappy heels to keep up, laughing all the way. I don’t see anyone I know from the paper, so I don’t feel weird about being hand in hand with this perfectstranger as we leave together. I realize I’m completely wrapped up in him.
Down on the sidewalk, he hails a cab, my hand still in his. I note his confidence and find it extremely sexy. I didn’t know hailing a cab could be so sexy. I watch as a yellow one pulls up to the curb and he opens the door for me, allowing me to slide in first.
“After you,” he says, his voice low.
I internally groan as I brush past him and into the cab, him following behind me. We ride in silence the few blocks to the jazz club. I have only been here a time or two before with friends, but it seemed like the perfect spot to go to for a date, if this is what it is.
We walk through the brass doors of the club and are instantly met with the smooth, yet complex harmonies of jazz music. It’s a world of a difference from the music on the rooftop and I can see the impressive look on Marco’s face as he takes in the atmosphere. The room is filled with tables for two, adorned with candles flickering atop, and an arch-shaped bar sitting in the back center of the room. The lights are dim, casting a warm glow that feels as inviting as the summer sunset.
“Wow,” Marco murmurs. “This place is amazing.”
“Right?” I grab his hand and lead him to the bar, my assertiveness coming back to me, although I can feel inhibitions bubbling at the surface.
I order a ginger paloma and he orders a maple old fashioned. He places cash on the counter before I can even reach into the small clutch in my hand, before taking both our drinks to an empty corner table. He pulls my chair out, and I take a seat and he sits across from me. Again, with that quiet confidence that is hard to find.
He hands me my drink and holds his up in the air. “To new acquaintances,” he says.
“To new acquaintances,” I repeat, clinking my glass to his.
I take a sip, welcoming the strong taste of tequila and sweet notes of grapefruit juice and ginger. The warmth runs down my throat, the liquor already going straight to my head, making me sink into my seat a little more comfortably.
“So, tell me more about your writing,” he says.
I’m surprised he wants to know more. Most men I’ve gone out with only talk about themselves. I gladly take the opportunity he gives me and tell him how I got started in journalism in college, and how it led me to working at the paper. I left out the part about my father being a billionaire CEO, and let my own work be the interesting parts about me.
“Wow. I’m truly impressed. Not many people have your drive or passion,” says Marco before taking a sip of his drink. I can’t help but notice how his lips wrap around the rim of the glass. I swallow hard.
“I’m lucky I found my calling. I just wish…” I look at my drink thoughtfully, thinking about the promotion I missed out on.
“What is it?” he asks, reaching over and squeezing my hand. The way his eyes look at me, I feel like I can tell him anything. Well, almost.
“I really thought tonight would be the night I got a promotion. I was so close.” I hold my fingers up and pinch them together, leaving a sliver of space.
“Sounds like you deserve it. I don’t know what your boss is thinking.”
“It’s not his fault. His mind was elsewhere tonight. He really is a decent boss. He’s made the whole company culture feel like a family, like we’ve all been working as a team.”
I go on to tell him more about the paper and how it’s not run like any paper I know of. He seems intrigued, like he’s hanging on every word, and it just makes me want to keep going. I like the way he looks at me like he’s impressed. It makes me feel like he wants me more than his eyes have already hinted at.