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“I like little butts, and I cannot lie?”
She giggles, and I smile.
“See?” I say. “So knowledgeable. I knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize how much.”
She looks up at me, and our gazes lock.
I open my mouth to say something, but at that moment the Uber draws up in front of us, and she moves to open the passenger door. Mumbling to myself, I walk around it and get in the other side, and soon we’re heading off into the light traffic, back to the hotel.
Hallie looks out of the window, lost in thought. I study her profile, looking at her long lashes and the curve of her lips, desire stirring inside me as I imagine kissing her. Jesus, I’m weak. I’m a weak, weak man. I can’t make a move on her. Do I want to lose my job? Frustrated, I turn away and look out of the window, too. Why did she have to work for me? Why couldn’t she have been one of Elora’s friends I met socially, someone not connected to my work? But then she wouldn’t be so passionate about the same things I am, which is what I love about her.
We don’t speak all the way back to the hotel.
When we arrive, we thank the driver, get out, and walk into the main building. I glance at my phone.
“It’s just gone nine,” Hallie says.
I slide my phone back into my suit pocket. “Are you tired? Want to call it a night?” I curse myself as soon as the words are out. I shouldn’t offer her the option of staying.
She hesitates and looks across the foyer. I wait, my pulse picking up, too much of a gentleman to retract the words. Like me, I think she’s fighting with herself. We both know we should say goodnight now and part ways. Any moment we spend together that isn’t strictly business is dangerous.
One of us needs to be professional and end this now. I’m the man; it should be me. I should say, ‘Well it’s been a great evening, thanks so much for coming with me, see you tomorrow.’ Now, Fraser. Say the words. Turn around and walk away.
Hallie’s gaze comes back to me, her chocolate-brown eyes huge and hopeful, and I’m lost.
“Shall we have a nightcap?” she suggests.
No. Nope. No, thank you. Not interested. Not thirsty. Not in the mood. I’m so tired! I need my beauty sleep. Goodnight!
God, I’m so weak. “Sure,” I say, and together we walk across the foyer into the bar.
The sun has set, and the view through the large windows is fantastic. The horizon still bears a reddish-purple tinge, but the almost-full moon hangs in the sky, casting a shimmering silver path on the Pacific Ocean.
The place is half-full, mainly with couples and one larger group of young people over to the side. A few business people sit alone, reading or watching the rugby playing on the large-screen TV.
We go up to the bar and study the choice of bottles on display.
“I fancy another cocktail,” she says mischievously.
“Yeah, okay, we’ll just have the one.” I collect a menu, and as the bartender comes up, we both choose one—an Espresso Martini for Hallie, and a Whiskey Sour for me.
We chat about the evening while the bartender makes them, keeping the conversation light, then collect our glasses and cross the room to a spare table tucked in the corner of the room. We sit opposite each other, placing our jackets over the backs of the chairs, then sip the cocktails.
It’s quiet over here, away from the noisier group on the other side of the room. Hallie keeps her gaze on her cocktail, while I swirl the whiskey, sugar, and lemon concoction over the ice.
We talk for a while about the presentation, about the view, both doing our best, I think, to avoid anything personal. But eventually, she lifts her gaze to mine, and we study each other for a long time.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I tell her, a tad desperately. “I should be saying g-goodnight and heading off to my hotel room.”
“I know. Me too.” She clears her throat. “So,” she says, “the ball tomorrow. I’m a bit nervous. I haven’t been to a black-tie event before.”
“Are you looking forward to wearing your dress?”
“I’m looking forward to you seeing it.” She smiles. “It’s very pretty.”
“I’m sure you’ll look amazing in it.”
Is that the kind of thing a manager would say to an employee? Would I say it to Louise, or Cait? I don’t think so. Fraser, rein it in. Act professional.