"That's what makes me an awesome businessman."
"And full of shit," she fired back without missing a beat.
I groaned dramatically, dragging a hand over my face. How many buttons of mine could she press in under ten minutes? At this point, I was pretty sure she had a cheat sheet somewhere titled How to Make Richard Lose His Cool in Record Time.
"You need a job," I said, deciding to push forward before I lost my momentum. I straightened up, leaning on the back of the couch. "After the wedding, you can head the Numero accounting department. You're overqualified for anything less anyway. I spoke to your boss."
Her eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. "You want me to work for you?"
I had to choose my words carefully, or I'd be back at square one—maybe even square negative one.
"Well," I started slowly, "not directly under me. But technically, yes." I tried for casual, as though this wasn't a big deal, as though I hadn't rehearsed this whole pitch in my head during the drive over. I sighed, dropping the pretenses. "Nita, come on. Take the job. It's yours."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch, her gaze drifting to the window where late afternoon light was streaming in. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind. This wasn't a woman who made impulsive decisions—no, she weighed everything, measured it twice, then waited just long enough to make a man sweat.
Finally, she looked back at me, her lips tugging into a slow, sly smile. "Fine. But on one condition."
I braced myself, trying to appear calm and collected. "And what condition would that be?" I asked.
"Name it," I said. With Nita, this could go anywhere.
"Dinner. Tonight."
I frowned, caught completely off guard. That was it? After all the tension, the back-and-forth sparring, dinner was the demand?
"That's it?" I asked, squinting at her as though she were trying to trick me with one of those riddles that had no good answer.
"Yes," she said sweetly, and that sweetness was suspicious. Then she added, "But I pick the place."
And there it was. The trap.
*****
An hour later, I was standing outside a shack that looked like it had been built during the last century and stubbornly refused to die. A crooked neon sign blinked Mama L's Burgers in uneven intervals. The glow made the place look both sketchy and oddly charming, as though a health inspector's nightmare and a foodie's secret gem had birthed this establishment together.
"This is where you want to eat?" I asked incredulously.
Nita was already ahead of me, strolling up to the counter, chatting with the cashier. She looked far too pleased with herself.
"Let's put it this way," she said when she was done. "Every time you offend me, I will think of ways to make you suffer."
I groaned under my breath. "So this is punishment?"
"Exactly." Her grin widened, and damn it if I didn't feel a tug in my chest at how much fun she was having at my expense.
The place was packed—so packed that the crowd spilled into the street. Plastic chairs and tables lined the cracked pavement outside, all occupied by families, groups of teenagers, couples on casual dates. I stood out like a sore thumb, my dark suit screaming wrong address in every possible language. Heads turned, some amused, others curious, but Nita seemed completely unfazed.
When our order finally came, we were handed two burgers so large and greasy they needed double wrappers to survive. I stared at mine in disbelief, tilting it as oil dripped perilously close to my shoes. "There's no way this is safe for human consumption," I muttered.
Nita, on the other hand, bit into hers with absolute delight, moaning dramatically as though she'd just tasted heaven itself. She closed her eyes, savoring it. "God, I've missed this," she said between mouthfuls, sauce already smearing the corner of her lips.
I watched her—watched the way she ate without restraint, without pretense.
I couldn't look away.
"Well?" she prompted, her mouth still full, a smear of sauce glistening at the corner of her lips. She didn't even try to be elegant about it, and somehow, that made her look more real, more alive than I'd ever seen her.
I sighed dramatically, bracing myself. Then, with the gravitas of a condemned man, I took a cautious bite. The bun collapsed in my hands, grease coated my tongue, and flavors I couldn't quite categorize assaulted my senses all at once. I chewed slowly, half-expecting my arteries to clog on the spot.
"See?" she said, her eyes lighting up as she leaned closer. "Nice, isn't it?" She looked smug.
I swallowed, forcing down the lump of food with as much dignity as I could muster. "It's… edible."
*****
The next morning, reality returned. My schedule was already a battlefield, my inbox looked like a war zone, and I hadn't even had my coffee yet. Skipping half of yesterday to indulge in greasy burgers and Nita's infuriating charm had been reckless, and now I was paying the price.
Still… I couldn't bring myself to regret it. I'd had an amazing time last night. Against all odds, she seemed to be warming up to me—or at least thawing slightly. There was still a wall around her, a fortress she kept meticulously intact, but I had the faintest feeling she might one day let me glimpse what was inside. That thought was intoxicating enough to carry me through my exhaustion.
I woke up this morning lighter than I'd felt in weeks. I'd even caught myself smiling at the mirror while shaving—a rare, almost embarrassing thing. On my way into the building, I'd shocked the receptionist by actually greeting her. Who knew greasy food and one woman's laughter could reset a man's entire mood?
My bliss didn't last. Sam, my COO, barged into my office, his arms loaded with documents stacked so high I couldn't see his face at first. The pile landed on my desk.