My hackles rise instantly. Two minutes of small talk is two minutes too f*****g long. And I don’t like the fact that she wrote “our” dance.
Our.
Like they had some sort of shared experience. Something that meant something to her.
The rational part of my brain tells me that I’m overreacting but the caveman in me is banging his fists against his chest and howling, already desperate to go back to the office just so I can remind Emma who all her dances belong to now.
EMMA: Ruslan? :eyes emoji:
RUSLAN: I’ll see you back in an hour. I expect to find you in my office, panties dropped.
EMMA: Yes sir.
I smile and breathe. That’s a good girl.
The food at Per Se is phenomenal. The company? Less so.
Adrik and I spend the first hour lobbing questions back and forth. It’s typical business small
