get our drink order, saving me from asking something stupid like How exactly will I know?.
Madden glances over the wine list and then over at me. “Do you trust me?” I know he’s referring to the wine selection, but something in his tone makes it feel like it’s a loaded question.
Assuming it wouldn’t be very respectful or courteous if I scream no , I respond, “I have faith you’ll make a good selection.”
“I always do,” he murmurs under his breath with a sly grin. He reads something off of the list to the server, who smiles and commends his choice. The young man leaves the room, and we both sit there staring at each other.
“Other than my ability to select a good wine, you don’t trust me?” he probes.
“I don’t know you to trust you.”
“So if you got to know me better, you could trust me?”
Damn, I really wish I wouldn’t’ve made that comment about asking questions he wants answers to in the car. I think for a minute before carefully answering him. “I don’t trust people easily. I’ve learned the hard way in my short life the image most people portray is just what they want you to think of them, not who they really are.”
“Do you trust the person who did that to your lip?” he asks outright.
Instinctively, I suck in the battered corner of my lip, senselessly hoping to hide it even though he’s already seen it, and stare at him blankly. His question completely catches me off-guard.
“Don’t do that to it. It’ll only make it worse,” he scolds as he reaches across the table and tugs gently to free my bottom lip with his thumb. “Now answer my question.”
Wincing at the pain when he touches the wounded area, I shake my head and whisper, “No.”
“ No , you won’t answer my question, or no, you don’t trust the person who did it?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I recite the story I told Jae this morning. “I did it to myself this weekend when I was hanging a picture in my living room. I dropped the frame and it hit me in the mouth.”
“I don’t like to be lied to, Blake,” he grumbles, his eyes fierce. “Tell me you won’t answer the question before you lie to me. I’m far from perfect, but if there’s one thing that pisses me off, it’s dishonesty. You might as well spit in my face as far I’m concerned.”
His fiery passion alerts me—not that he’s going to hurt me, but that someone close to him broke his trust before, and it affected him greatly. Unsure of how to respond, I simply nod and whisper, “Yes, sir.”
“Fuuuccckkk,” he growls lowly and closes his eyes, obviously trying to calm himself down. Then I remember his warning not to call him Sir again from the meeting, and I want to kick myself. I’m not trying to offend him; manners have been instilled in me since childhood, and I said it without thinking.
“I’m sorry…I-I forgot what you said earlier…” I stumble over my excuse.
Opening his eyes, his expression is softer, but I can tell he’s still a bit distraught. “Tell me what happened to your lip.”
I swallow hard, fearful he’s going to think I’m a mental freak if I tell him the truth, but I do it anyway. For some inexplicable reason, I really don’t want him upset with me, and it’s more than just for business purposes.
“I bit through my lip while I was having a bad dream,” I admit quietly, staring at my glass of water.
“Look at me, Blake,” he instructs sternly. Obligingly, I lift my gaze to his, and he smiles sincerely at me. “Thank you for telling me the truth. No more lies, okay?”
“You’re welcome, and okay.”
The server comes to the rescue once again, bringing the bottle of wine. He goes through some long, drawn out process of uncorking the bottle and allowing Madden to sample it before pouring us each a glass.
“Would you like to hear about our specials, or are you both ready to order?” he inquires.
Looking around the table, I realize we don’t even have menus; I have no idea what I want
Madden glances over the wine list and then over at me. “Do you trust me?” I know he’s referring to the wine selection, but something in his tone makes it feel like it’s a loaded question.
Assuming it wouldn’t be very respectful or courteous if I scream no , I respond, “I have faith you’ll make a good selection.”
“I always do,” he murmurs under his breath with a sly grin. He reads something off of the list to the server, who smiles and commends his choice. The young man leaves the room, and we both sit there staring at each other.
“Other than my ability to select a good wine, you don’t trust me?” he probes.
“I don’t know you to trust you.”
“So if you got to know me better, you could trust me?”
Damn, I really wish I wouldn’t’ve made that comment about asking questions he wants answers to in the car. I think for a minute before carefully answering him. “I don’t trust people easily. I’ve learned the hard way in my short life the image most people portray is just what they want you to think of them, not who they really are.”
“Do you trust the person who did that to your lip?” he asks outright.
Instinctively, I suck in the battered corner of my lip, senselessly hoping to hide it even though he’s already seen it, and stare at him blankly. His question completely catches me off-guard.
“Don’t do that to it. It’ll only make it worse,” he scolds as he reaches across the table and tugs gently to free my bottom lip with his thumb. “Now answer my question.”
Wincing at the pain when he touches the wounded area, I shake my head and whisper, “No.”
“ No , you won’t answer my question, or no, you don’t trust the person who did it?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I recite the story I told Jae this morning. “I did it to myself this weekend when I was hanging a picture in my living room. I dropped the frame and it hit me in the mouth.”
“I don’t like to be lied to, Blake,” he grumbles, his eyes fierce. “Tell me you won’t answer the question before you lie to me. I’m far from perfect, but if there’s one thing that pisses me off, it’s dishonesty. You might as well spit in my face as far I’m concerned.”
His fiery passion alerts me—not that he’s going to hurt me, but that someone close to him broke his trust before, and it affected him greatly. Unsure of how to respond, I simply nod and whisper, “Yes, sir.”
“Fuuuccckkk,” he growls lowly and closes his eyes, obviously trying to calm himself down. Then I remember his warning not to call him Sir again from the meeting, and I want to kick myself. I’m not trying to offend him; manners have been instilled in me since childhood, and I said it without thinking.
“I’m sorry…I-I forgot what you said earlier…” I stumble over my excuse.
Opening his eyes, his expression is softer, but I can tell he’s still a bit distraught. “Tell me what happened to your lip.”
I swallow hard, fearful he’s going to think I’m a mental freak if I tell him the truth, but I do it anyway. For some inexplicable reason, I really don’t want him upset with me, and it’s more than just for business purposes.
“I bit through my lip while I was having a bad dream,” I admit quietly, staring at my glass of water.
“Look at me, Blake,” he instructs sternly. Obligingly, I lift my gaze to his, and he smiles sincerely at me. “Thank you for telling me the truth. No more lies, okay?”
“You’re welcome, and okay.”
The server comes to the rescue once again, bringing the bottle of wine. He goes through some long, drawn out process of uncorking the bottle and allowing Madden to sample it before pouring us each a glass.
“Would you like to hear about our specials, or are you both ready to order?” he inquires.
Looking around the table, I realize we don’t even have menus; I have no idea what I want
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