Mixed Signals

Lunch

Thankful for Ian's sudden subject change, I tried to think of a good place to eat. "I don't know," I looked at him. "You pick, because I still have no sense if where to eat here."

He looked thoughtful. "There's a great place just down the street. It's where I typically go."

"Lead the way," we stepped off the elevator, clicking through the marble lobby. The cool air bit at my cheeks again, and I pulled my sweater tighter around me.

The place down the street just so happened to be an incredibly fancy restaurant. When we stepped inside, a comfortable warmth wrapped itself around me. It was dimly lit with candles and chandeliers lowered to the faintest setting. It smelled like a bakery, and my stomach rumbled. Instinctively, my hand pressed into it, suppressing the gurgling.

We stood for a moment, until a host beckoned us his way. I followed Ian tentatively, feeling far too underdressed and very, very inadequate. The host led us to a table near the back, heavy with a sensual dimness. Automatically, my stomach did a back flip at the thought of Ian and I being alone like this.

As we sat, the host asked if we'd like any wine. Before I could say no, thank you, Ian ordered a very expensive sounding bottle. Interestingly enough, I didn't protest outwardly. I sat quietly, unsure of how to start conversation. Granted, this beautiful man in front of me had made my acquaintance before I knew he was my boss, but still. I grappled with the uncertainty for a moment, seemingly drowning in words that weren't enough.

"Why did you move to London?" Ian's sexy voice was soft. He sat forward, forearms on the table, hands intertwined in front of him. He was engaged in a conversation we hadn't even started yet. I cocked my head to one side, thinking of a good way to answer his question.

"I felt stuck where I grew up," I started slowly. "I needed to get out of there and go somewhere I could actually be what I want to be, do what I want to do, and have it be all mine."

"And what is it that you want to do, Gemma?" His voice lowered, sending tingles down my spine. He looked up at me through his lashes. His light blue eyes had darkened mysteriously and I felt a pull in my stomach.

I cleared my throat nervously, trying to ignore the physical affects of his tone. "Find... Something, I guess. Just something I've never experienced before. Write a lot, go places, do things."

He leaned back in his seat, smiling lazily, while I let my back stay stiff. A different server can me over, pouring a dark red wine into both of our glasses, and for a moment, the sexual tension I was feeling was gone.

"Are we allowed to drink during work hours?" I asked, unsure if whether or not I should sip the delicious smelling wine like Ian.

"You're very perceptive, you know that?" He set his glass down, examining me. I made my eyes hard, challenging. I felt my left eyebrow pull up, questioning.

"That didn't answer my question, Ian," I accused.

He grinned. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I usually have a glass, that's all."

"I'm good, thanks," I pushed the wine away from me, feeling Ian's gaze still. I met his eyes yet again, and the tension came back.

Eventually, chatting here and there, we ordered our meals and ate. Ian payed for everything, again. I didn't say anything, knowing the bill was probably way too big for me to cover. We headed back to work, and once we were both in our spaces, I felt his eyes on me for the rest of the day. Just like before we went to lunch, I ignored his staring, focused on my work.

When it was time to go, I packed up, saving a goodbye to Ian. He was on the phone, so he just waved and smiled back. His face then took on the concerned expression he had been wearing before. I took the elevator down and hailed a taxi. Just as I got in, I heard a yell behind me. I stopped myself from shutting the door, Ian practically jogging to catch up. I grinned at him. Catching his breath, he climbed into the taxi beside me.

"A little obsessed, are we?" I raised my eyebrow jokingly.

"How can I not be?" He came back, winking.

I laughed at him and gave the driver the address. We chit chatted, mostly about random things, my stomach quivering at the close proximity between us. He was warm and smelled faintly like wine, spearmint, and cigarettes. When he would laugh, it was like a flame- warm, mesmerizing, inviting. Whole. Happy. I could go on.

The interior of the cab, I realized, was polar opposite of the weather. The sky was dim, gray clouds heavy overhead, the chill making the air smell like static and rain. Our journey outside was short, and the lobby of the apartment building warmed us quickly. We made it to our floor soon enough, me passing Ian to get to mine and Elle's flat.

"Good night, Gemma," he smiled amusedly as he unlocked his door.

"Night, Ian," I replied, copying his tonality and heading inside.

As I shut the door, my best friend stood in front of me, eagerly anticipating my explanation.

"Elle," I sighed, leaning against the door dreamily. "He is perfect."