Don't Love Me

A Suffocating Booth

By quarter to seven, I’m sitting at the bar in a sleek black dress that Tony borrowed from a friend. My make-up is a simple cat eye with a red lip, and my black pumps have a red sole. Supposedly that’s good.

I’m only there for a minute when I feel someone staring. Turning, I find Mr. Conti, slowly walking towards me like a panther, while he takes me in, top to bottom.

When he’s next to me he says, “You clean up nice.”

“Thank you. You look the same as you always do,” I respond, then quickly slap my hand over my mouth in horror. I’m immediately back tracking, saying, “I mean you always look good, so there was no need to clean up.”

Mr. Conti’s face stays the same, but there is amusement in his eyes. I turn away from him and mumble, “I’m going to need more than one glass.”

Mr. Conti huffs out a laugh and I look at him in surprise. He signals to the waiter and orders a wine for me and a whiskey for himself.

“If I can only have one wine, I should probably save it for when the Losanges are here,” I suggest.

“I have a suggestion. You can have more than one wine, but I would like you to let me order them so I can decide when it’s enough. Would that be okay for you?” he asks.

His expression remains stoic, but his offer is unexpectedly thoughtful, so I agree, “Okay, that’s fine with me, but preferably no more than four.”

“You know your limit, I like that,” he says, nodding in approval. “Anything else you think I should know for tonight?”

I shrug and say, “Nothing I can think of. Is there anything you expect of me?”

He sighs and says, “Jessica really f-cked up with this. It’s my fault for keeping her around this long and I appreciate you helping me out. I will make it clear that you are just an assistant, so you won’t be expected to pretend you’re my date. They probably wouldn’t believe that anyway.”

“Should I be offended by that? Why wouldn’t they believe I could be your date?” I ask, slightly irked.

He looks at me with cold annoyance and says, “They wouldn’t believe it because I never bring a date to anything.”

“Oh,” I say in surprise. “Why?”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question to my boss, but before I can take it back, he says, “I keep my private life private.”

With that, the topic is cut off. I nod and say, “Good. So do I. I’ll eat and keep Mrs. Losange company. And thank you in advance for the really good food.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s not like I’m cooking it,” he points out.

I shrug and say, “I’m thanking you because there is no way I would ever be able to get a reservation here and even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to justify the expense to myself. So, I wouldn’t be having this food if it wasn’t for you, even if you aren’t the one cooking.”

He assesses me for a moment, then nods and says, “You’re welcome. And you’ll be getting a raise now that you’ll be my only assistant, so maybe you can treat yourself every now and again.”

I chuckle and say, “I doubt it. I’m a little bit of a goblin with my money. I like to hide it away in a bank instead of spending it.”

He rolls his eyes and says, “Life is meant to be lived. I’ll have to get you some gift cards. Then you’ll have to treat yourself.”

Before I can respond, his attention is taken by the Losanges, who are entering the restaurant. The host greets them and leads us to the table where Mr. Conti introduces me to Mrs. Losange.

Our table is a booth and, since the Losanges are a couple and want to sit together, that means I’m stuck sitting much too close to my boss than I would ever want to be.

I can tell he doesn’t like our predicament either when he gestures for me to slide into the booth so he can have the outside seat. Of course, a powerful man like Mr. Conti isn’t going to want to be squished into the corner of a booth.

Feeling trapped is an understatement. Mr. Conti always has a large presence, even in the largest of conference rooms. Sitting between him and a wall in a high-backed booth is absolutely suffocating.

I look around the room to see plenty of round tables and very few booths. I realize immediately that Jessica did everything she could think of to make this romantic. And now, here I sat, in the very position she wanted to be. The difference being, that this was the last place I wanted to be.

Mr. Conti was scary in his own right, but what scared me even more was the electricity I felt where our bodies almost touched. Thankfully he was in a full suit, because if our skin touched, I’m sure I would catch fire.

Mrs. Losange asks me a question about work and I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on our conversation. Anything to forget about the large presence beside me.

“Does Mr. Conti speak French,” she asks, innocently.

“No, but he speaks Italian,” I respond politely.

“Ahh, so we can speak openly,” she surmises.

“Yes,” I say, slightly confused about what she might want to say.

She looks between us with a calculating look and says, “You two would make a handsome couple. I can feel the chemistry.”

“No…no. There’s nothing like that between us. He’s just my boss,” I stammer.

She eyes me knowingly and says, “But you feel the chemistry, no? I can feel it from over here. I almost don’t need the wine because of how drunk I’m feeling from it.”

Mrs. Losange had quite a way with words, but I had to shut this down. “Really, he’s just my boss and it would be unprofessional. I’m happy just being his assistant,” I say strongly.

“But he’s so handsome. How can you work with him every day and resist?” she asks.

“I won’t deny he’s handsome, but he’s also cold and aloof. It makes it very easy to be professional. It would be too intimidating to be anything but his assistant. I also really enjoy being an assistant and wouldn’t want to jeopardize that,” I explain.

“What is a wife if not an assistant?” she says, setting women back decades.

“A wife has to love their boss, I don’t have to,” I say, working within the parameters she has set.

“Ahh so it’s love that is the problem. It scares you,” she determines.

I’m about to put up a half-hearted denial in her claim when the waiter comes to take our orders. As soon as he’s gone, I make sure to move the topic to something else and hope she didn’t notice.