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“I’m not thinking anything.” I spear another spring roll. “Just enjoying dinner with my…” What are we now? I already called him boyfriend in my head, but not…
“Your what?” His dimples resurface, barely there.
“Pain in the ass dinner companion.”
He snorts. “I’d prefer boyfriend.”
“I do, too.”
“What about husband?” The rasp in his voice drags over my skin like a caress. “How do you like that?”
Elliot bursts back through the doors to our table with another plate. “Try this.”
Brandon doesn’t even look at it. “Not interested.”
“It’s a new take on?—”
“Elliot.”
“Just one bite.” Elliot sets down what looks like some kind of pasta dish. “Tell me what you think.”
“I think…” Brandon snatches the fork and takes a bite. “You’re being annoying.”
“Well?”
Brandon swallows. “Pan wasn’t hot enough. You’ve got uneven caramelization. And whoever made this sauce broke it—probably rushed the emulsion.”
“What else?”
“The herb oil’s slightly burnt. Amateur mistake.” Brandon takes another bite. “But the concept works. Switch the tarragon for basil, add some acid, and you should be?—”
Elliot claps Brandon’s shoulder. “Now, about that sous chef position?—”
“No.”
“Brandon. Come?—”
“I said no.”
I reach across the table, my fingers brushing his wrist. “Brandon.”
“We’re not doing this.” He pulls back like I’ve burned him. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Elliot, we’re trying to have dinner.”
Elliot crosses his arms. “You’re wasting your talent pushing papers for Elijah.”
“Fuck off,” Brandon says.
“Make me.”
Brandon stands so fast it’s a miracle the chair doesn’t topple over. “I need some air.”
“Wait.” But he’s already walking away, leaving me with Elliot and a table full of half-eaten food.
Elliot sighs. “That went well.”
“You pushed too hard.”
“Someone has to.” He picks up Brandon’s discarded napkin. “He’s miserable in that office. You know it. I know it. Hell, even Elijah knows it.”