"Sure," he says.
"Okay. Good." I flit up from my chair and get our glasses, a sudden bout of nerves flooding my system. "Doesn't the food smell delicious?"
"It does."
"It's almost done, too," Bonnie adds. She plates it for us and I grab a seat at the table opposite Victor. He keeps his eyes on his phone, but as I watch, he does the most extraordinary thing.
He turns it on silent and slides it into the pocket of his pants.
He sees me looking. "Anything wrong?"
I shake my head. "No."
The plates appear in front of us and Bonnie says bon appetit. "Thank you," I tell her, and I mean it. "This looks incredible."
She wipes her hands on her apron. "There's parmesan in the fridge and a bottle of red that would work great. Help yourselves."
"Thank you," Victor says.
Bonnie nods again and as she leaves the kitchen, I catch the curve of a smile on her lips. Wine in the fridge, huh?
Victor gets a bottle and uncorks it with a practiced move. The muscles in his forearms flex with each pull on the cork.
Damn shirtsleeves.
"Cecilia?"
"How is your start-up coming along?"
It takes me a moment to gather my wits. But when I do, I launch into a description, and pray he's not deducting this from our monthly mentoring sessions.
"I've spoken to some personal assistants, actually. People I know through work or school. Several are interested in joining. It's flexible, you know? They can sign up to do as many hours as they'd like to in a given week."
He nods. "It's as flexible from the clients perspective as it is from the assistants. That's good, Myers."
"Thank you. The thing I'm struggling with at the moment is web design."
"Tell me."
Victor listens to my problems, drinking from his glass and digging into his food. He looks like he usually does at his business meetings, complete with the furrow in his brow.
He remarks positively on one change and critically on two points. After that, we fall silent, the only sound in the kitchen our cutlery against the plates.
I clear my throat. "My mother is coming to town in a month or two."
"Is she?"
"She doesn't know I'm married."
"Quite a change," Victor says. "Do you plan on telling her?"
"Yes. I don't think I can get around it."
"You could show her the contract. Might make it easier for her to understand."
I laugh. "Yes. And then she'd lose her mind."
"She wouldn't approve?"
"Of me turning marriage into a business arrangement? No. I doubt she would. Although she's… unconventional. She never chose marriage for herself, and I think she never really thought I would, either."
Victor's stopped eating, his gaze on mine. "Your mother never thought you would marry."
I shrug. "She'd say she raised me better than that."
His eyebrows rise. "Your mother sounds intriguing."
"She is. She's nothing like me, you know. She'll decide she's going to try fasting for a week, only to take a month-long culinary course the next. A husband would only have slowed her down, as she loves to say. 'Men for a season, sometimes for a reason, but never a lifetime,'" I quote.
Victor snorts. "And your father?"
"Not in the picture. Mom changed the story a lot when I was growing up. One week she'd say he was a traveling musician, and the next he was fleeing from the mob. Now that I'm older, I think she might not be quite sure who he is."
He shakes his head. "I did not expect this."
That makes me smile. "No, I can see that. I probably strike you as someone with a very proper background."
"Yes. Raised to be an assistant."
"God, I hope no one is raised to be an assistant."
He snorts, returning his gaze to his plate. "You hated it, then?"
"Hated what?"
"Your time working for me. You were counting down the days, Myers."
"I'm back to Myers again," I say. "That happens a lot when we talk about work."
"Force of habit. And don't deflect."
"I'm not," I say, though I am. The gnocchi is delicious, small pillows of heavenly goodness, and he eats them with methodical precision as he waits for my answer. "I didn't hate it all the time. There were days when I loved it."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I got to call a lot of powerful people on your behalf, not to mention say no to a bunch of Exciteur executives when they wanted your time."
"Gatekeeper," he says.