“You should have the emotional intelligence of a ninety-year-old. Is that right?”
He throws his head back and laughs out loud. “Should being the operative word.” His eyes dance with delight. “And what would your emotional intelligence be at?”
“Hmm.” I frown as I think. “Emotionally I think I would be about age thirty.”
“Physically?” He smirks.
“Oh God, eighteen.” I laugh. “I’m not very experienced at all.”
His eyes hold mine, and I feel the burn from his gaze.
“What would your physical experience be at?” I whisper.
“I’m more of a show than tell kind of person.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Happy to give you a demonstration, though.”
I giggle as the cab pulls to a stop. “I bet you are.” We climb out of the cab, and two minutes later Jameson pulls me by the hand into a restaurant named Babbo. It kind of looks like a mini English pub from the outside, all quaint and cute, but when we walk through the door, it’s a lot bigger than it seems. The space is dark and moody, and gold light fixtures add to the ambience. Fresh flowers are in giant vases everywhere, and it feels super romantic.
“Hello, Mr. Miles.” The man at the desk smiles. “Your table is this way, sir.” Jameson takes my hand and leads me through to the corner of the restaurant; the waiter pulls out my chair.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like something to drink to start?”
“Yes.” Jameson peruses the wine menu. “Red?” he asks me.
“Whatever.” I shrug with a nervous smile.
“We’ll have a bottle of Henschke.”
“Yes, sir; which one?”
“Hill of Roses, please,” he replies as he closes the menu. The waiter disappears, leaving us alone.
“I’m guessing that you know your wine?” I ask.
He pours us both a glass of water. “I only go to restaurants that stock the wine I like. So yes, I suppose I know wine.”
“Ah. I see.” I smirk. “One of those.”
He smiles. “Perhaps.”
Our eyes linger on each other’s faces for a moment.
“I can’t believe you’re the frigging CEO.”
He chuckles and rests his face on his hand. “I thought you wanted a date with Jim tonight?”
“I did . . . I mean, I do.”
“Well, why are we talking about CEOs?”
I smile softly. “I don’t know.”
The waiter returns and opens the bottle of wine and pours a little in a glass. Jameson tastes it. “That’s fine.” The waiter fills our glasses and disappears.
Jameson holds his glass up, and I softly clink it with mine and take a sip and taste the rich, velvety flavor. “Hmm.” I nod. “I’m impressed.”
“I have excellent taste.” He smiles before falling serious again. “In all things.”