"I hope this is good enough." I mumbled, looking over my pantsuit I had thrown on. I had a million of these things, but being a journalist, you kind of have to.
Today was Wednesday and more importantly, the day with my lunch with Tom Brady. He agreed to go to lunch and stipulated that it must be at this place he said is the absolute best.
Hair up or down? I decided on down and grabbed my purse, walking out to my car and driving off. This place wasn't even fifteen minutes from my house, the perks of living in Boston. Though, I will say that traffic could make an easy five minute drive into an hour one on a bad day. Thankfully, that day wasn't today.
I rolled up to the restaurant called the East Side, nice name. As soon as I pulled up, a man walked up in a white button up and black pants.
"May I park your car miss Russo?" I looked at the man strangely and laughed. "Why would I let you park my car? And how do you name my name creep?" I shot back, about to roll the window up.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you! I'm the valet and Mr. Brady informed us we were having you today." I looked at him dumbfounded before turning red, I can't believe I just made an absolute fool of myself.
"Ah, ah that makes more sense." I shut off the car, handing him my keys and nodded to him, not even making eye contact I was so ashamed. This place was much more fancier than I ever had imagined a simple lunch to be at.
I walked through the white marble doors to the open restaurant that had window walls that looked right onto the ocean, geez what a place.
"Miss Russo, right this way." I looked at a man who was already walking to a table and I hurried to catch up to him. He walked through the restaurant and out to the patio, right over the water. Tom was sitting at the table, looking over the menu when he saw me and smiled.
"You made it." He said as I sat down, taking the menu.
"Something to start you off?" I smiled at the waiter and replied, "water please."
I looked at Tom as the waiter walked away and god damn forgot how gorgeous he was. "I did make it, though I didn't expect our lunch to be here at such a fancy place." He laughed and leaned back. "Yeah I know, I usually don't like places that are so high scale like this, but when it comes to food, I only put the best in me. Have to eat the best to play the best." This man did anything to play football and to be healthy to do it, and that included high price dining.
"I can respect that. Have you ordered yet?" I asked, looking at the menu when my eyes widened. "Holy smokes." These prices here are ridiculous! Fifty dollars for a lobster tail? One hundred just for a steak? Are you KIDDING me?
I laughed nervously, looking for the least expensive item, which just so happened to be the water at the measly price of five dollars.
The waiter walked over, Tom handing him his menu. "The usual Tom?" He asked and nodded. "And for you miss?" I looked up at the waiter as he handed me my water and I smiled.
"Um, actually this will be it, thank you." He gave me a startled look, but started to walk away when Tom spoke up. "No, she'll have something. Nora aren't you hungry?" He asked and I looked at him awkwardly. "I mean yeah, but I just can't..." I paused and looked at him, then the waiter. "Can't what?" He asked. I leaned in. "I can't... afford this."
He nodded and then spoke up. "Give me an extra order of my regular." The waiter nodded and walked off and I looked at him in disbelief. "Mr. Brady I can't possibly have you pay for my lunch.' He smiled, shaking his hand. "First off, please, call me Tom. Second off, my treat."
"Okay, Tom, we are here on a professional lunch to talk the possibilities of a good contract between you and the magazine I work for. Also, if were not careful, others might think it a date and publish it wrongly." He smiled at me, taking a sip from his water.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/92157857-288-k903315.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
Underneath It All
RomanceIt all started with a ten minute interview for a magazine article. Nora Russo, a small town magazine writer and journalist gone big, is sent on the job to interview the so-called 'greatest of all time' for an article. It starts with the generic ques...