In Love With My Boss

Eight

None of us speaks. And this makes me so uncomfortable. I am used to the silent treatment, as it would be something that I constantly get from my mother when I piss her off, a thing that has happened quite a lot along the years, but coming from him, it bothers me very much. It bothers me to the point of wanting to act crazy, just to make him say something, but I keep a hold of myself as best as I can. There are so many things passing through my mind that I would like to tell him, but I am way too proud to start a conversation myself. If he is not uttering any word, neither am I. And I get the vibes that he is approaching the same strategy, expecting me to give in first. Well, I won't.

I constantly waggle in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position, but it's like this chair has spikes included under the thick velvety material. And I can practically feel my blood boiling on the inside. This sensation hasn't left my body ever since he laid his eyes on me earlier. And I guess that my cheeks are matching my dress by now. On the other hand, he seems so damn calm, just like always. I think that he is enjoying this thing very much. Too much. He has that pride in his eyes. Well, I hope you choke on your food Belikov.

We eat a total of nine small courses and drink two bottles of wine in almost complete silence, the only sounds between us being the clinks of the cutlery on the plates. I spend most of my time looking at the little pink hortensias from the center of the table, but I lift my gaze from time to time to look at him expectantly, waiting for him to actually say something, to state his superiority or something, but the only thing I get is a faint proud smile that appears on his lips every time we make eye contact. He's doing this s**t on purpose too, as he can see that this thing is annoying the s**t out of me. But to hell if I am going to give in. I can give the silent treatment too for as long as he wishes.

And the time passes so f*****g slowly. It's like the time is on his side and it keeps on expanding forever, just to mock on me some more. But for how many things I have done to him, I guess that I deserve this s**t. And he doesn't waste the occasion of paying me back big time.

The food here is not that spectacular either, as you would expect from such a fancy restaurant. One of the first plates contains oysters. I have never eaten any and so help me God if I am ever going to put one in my mouth again. They feel so slimy in my mouth and are slippery and they taste like you would lick on a mossy rock. But I am not the only one who pushes her plate away. He didn't even touch them and he was right to do so. Why is all this exquisite food so damn tasteless? Or am I the broken one and I am not able to appreciate this supposedly wonderful food? Maybe so many years of eating junk food is messing with your tongue.

Then, the waiter brings us some caviar. I play for some time with my food and finally take a bite, then pull a face in disgust. I give up. Where can I order a cheeseburger and some fries, please?

'You don't like the food here?' he finally says something. Wow, good job Rose! You resisted long enough! But hell, I began to think that we were playing into a mute movie by now. And no, I f*****g hate it. What on earth was in my head when I made this appointment? Couldn't I make him go to a Subway or else?

'Oh, no. It's just that I am not that hungry.'

In fact, I am starving because this man over here interrupted my movie night with Lissa. I really miss all our snacks. I bet that by now she has already feasted on my gummy bears while watching Gilmore Girls without me. Now I have to catch up on my own. I hate watching TV shows alone. I need someone around to laugh at my jokes.

Next, the waiter brings us some foie gras. I have always heard people talk about it and they were all saying that it is wonderful. So I have to try it now that I have the chance, right? I take a bite and I struggle to stop my gag reflex. I swallow it without even chewing it and I almost choke. Belikov doesn't say anything this time, just watches me struggle to breathe normally again. I have to drink some more wine to get rid of that sensation in my neck. Why do people even eat these things? I am a simple girl with simple needs: I see junk food, I eat it. Simple as that. I don't need all this exquisite food. And right now, I would kill for some pizza. Would I get some tomato sauce too if I kill him?

The only thing I really enjoy is the last plate brought. It is a nice assortment of desserts and they are wonderful. That, and the wine. These are the only things making my dinner quite bearable. We have just finished our second bottle and I am feeling a little lightheaded.

I cleared my plate really fast, this being the only real food I had in hours. And after this, my eyes just keep on slipping towards his still full plate. He just ate a piece or two before setting it aside. How can he ignore all that goodness laying around?

His eyes meet mine. 'If you want some more, you can take.' ups, I got busted.

I shake my head. 'No, I shouldn't.' I don't want to devour his plate too, even though I would surely like to. I usually impress guys with the big amounts of food that I eat on the second date. Not that this would be anything near a date, but still.

'Why not? I am not going to eat them anyway. That's not the kind of dessert that I am into.' he says and looks at me into that provoking way, just like this morning, making my blood flow once more. Oh my God, now he starts to drop hints? Not good.

'Okay, I'll just take one.' I pretend that I didn't get what he was implying and turn the conversation into the direction of the sweets again, getting to a safe ground, so that I wouldn't have to hear any more subtle pick-up lines or whatever these are.

I bit into a little eclair and I was munching when I saw that he is watching me with a little smile on his face.

'Did something happen?' I ask after I swallow. Do I look funny or something?

He doesn't respond, he just raises his hand and brings it slowly to my face, placing his palm on my cheek, tracing a little line with his thumb on the corner of my lips and goes further, brushes my bottom lip, getting to the middle of it and parting my lips. I simply freeze. God that felt so good. I can feel the skin on my cheek prickle under his touch. And with his thumb walking on my lip, I couldn't stop thinking about taking it into my mouth and bite it, and not in a hurtful way. What the f**k is wrong with me? I haven't had these kinds of thoughts around men before.

It seems that I had some chocolate there. He brings his hand back, placing his thumb into his mouth and licks the chocolate, moving his lips extremely slow. The whole time he does that, he is looking at me. I gulp, suddenly feeling very thirsty. Damn this man. Why does he have to be this f*****g hot all the f*****g time? I break eye contact and glue my eyes to the plate in front of me, hoping that my cheeks aren't too red.

'Yes, Sir?' the waiter is again here.

'We would like the check. Miss Hathaway here is going to pay.' at that, my face just drops.

I am going to what? I look at him bewildered, but he doesn't move a muscle. What am I going to pay the bill with? I barely have enough money with me to take a cab back home.

The waiter complies and returns with a little leather book and places it in front of me. 'Cash or card?' he asks.

I open it and read the total three times, convincing myself that there is no comma in between the numbers, even though it should. 3680$. What!? How? I feel sick. Would they let me wash the dishes in return? Hell, I might wash them for a whole year in order to pay for this f*****g dinner. The total is less than double my salary. What have we eaten here, gold? The food might have tasted good at least, but it was just crap. Rich people and their fancy foods. Then I read the prices. No wonder that thing we drank was that old. Only one bottle of wine costs 1500$. What does it contain, the blood of Jesus?

Oh, now I get it. He ordered this wine on purpose. And the bastard didn't stop at one bottle.

'Miss, cash or card?' the waiter asks again. I raise my head and just look at him, blinking rapidly, not being able to speak.

'Leave us a second.' Belikov says and the boy leaves.

I simply look at him, my eyes squinted. He is barely holding himself from smiling. Yeah, that's really funny, you bastard.

'I don't have the money to pay for this.' I mumble.

'I could pay.' he says. Oh, you could, don't you? 'But there is something I want in return.'

My blood turns cold; my facial expression is now harsh. This motherfucker! What? He wants me to f**k him or something? Well, I'd sell one of my kidneys or I'll wash the dishes for the rest of my life in this damned restaurant before I will let him lay one of his f*****g hands on me. I start to bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I feel the coppery taste of blood.

'No.' I say.

'No?'

Are you deaf? 'No.'

'But you don't even know what I want in return.'

'I have a wild guess.' I say disgusted and squinting my eyes at him some more. I have never felt so diminished in my entire life. What is he thinking? That I am that kind of girl that will f**k everyone who takes her- I am not going to let him treat me like this.

I push my chair backward and just as I am about to rise, he speaks. 'I just want you to stop.'

'Stop what?' I say crossing my arms.

'All these little things you do. The Starbucks coffee, your glittery notebook, the necklace, this dinner. You have to stop doing things like this.'

Do I really have any other choice? I take a deep breath and exhale completely.

'Fine, I'll stop.'

No, in fact, I am not. I plan on doing something else on Monday. Just to get some revenge for today. I'll think about something later. Maybe it will involve something that will produce him some pain.

'Perfect.' he says and takes the check from me. 'Oh, and something else.' of course there has to be something else. And of course, he adds it after I have already agreed. I am so ready to slap him right now. I look at him with a fake smile.

'What?' I ask, my voice rising with an octave.

'Your clothes. Do something about them.'

'Why? What does everybody have something with the way I dress at work?' to be honest, I don't like them either; they make me look neglectful with myself; I bought these too big office clothes just to mess with him, but this doesn't matter now; I am trying to prove something else here. 'I am doing my job just fine, right? Why does it matter how I dress?'

'You are doing your job just fine, Miss Hathaway. But I think that the clothes you wear are doing you no justice. For example, this dress you are wearing now does.' he says as he looks at my body, and it feels like there are flames into his eyes, as my skin gets warmer just by him looking at me that way. God, why does he have this effect on me? He shouldn't.

'Fine. I'll wear something else.' I eye him hateful again.

After he pays we head for the exit doors. All I want is to get away from this man as soon as possible. I simply can't suffer him in this moment. But he keeps on being a gentleman till the end. And this thing only makes me more angrier. He lets me walk in front of him, he holds my door and as we get outside, when he sees me brushing my skin as the cold air is pricking my skin, he offers me his coat.