to eat. Madden chuckles lightly as he watches me search for the list of options.
“Do you trust me?” he asks teasingly.
My eyes snap up to the broad smile on his handsome face, and I can’t help but join him. Grinning, I repeat, “I have faith you’ll make a good selection.”
“I always do.”
After he rattles off what we’ll be having for dinner, he raises his crystal glass, indicating a toast. I lift mine to clink against his, still unable to wipe this goofy grin off my face. I can’t deny I enjoy the man’s company.
“Here’s to the best business meeting I’ve had in ages—I can only imagine how sensational our dates will be—and to you, Blake Martin, for trusting me to always make the right choice for you.”
Stunned and speechless, I take a big gulp of the chilled wine and wonder how in the hell I’m going to get through the rest of this dinner.
Surprisingly, throughout the rest of the meal, we discuss the video game project in great detail during a relaxed but professional conversation. Madden admits he wanted nothing to do with the acquisition, that it was all his brother’s great idea to expand Decker Enterprises into the world of gaming. I learn the company’s primary ventures are in developing new technology for security fiber optics, and that it was first started by their father nearly forty years ago. When he suffered a heart attack six years prior, Madden took over the company much earlier than he’d expected to. I’m not sure how old he is, and quite honestly, I’m afraid to ask, but my guess would be early-to-mid-thirties. We almost make it through the discussion without him asking me any questions that make me feel uncomfortable. Almost.
As my taste buds relish the best slice of cheesecake ever, he asks, “What did you do before going to work for JDT Graphics?”
The question in and of itself seems like a normal, ordinary thing to ask someone, and I’m sure he’s simply asking out of common curiosity; however, for me, nothing about my past is either normal or ordinary.
“I, uh…I was in school,” I reply, the uneasiness in my voice clear as day.
Setting his fork down on the table, he smiles sympathetically at me. “I know you’re young, Blake. It doesn’t concern me that you don’t have any experience in the field, especially after our conversation here this evening. It’s evident you’re sharp and eager to succeed, and that speaks volumes to me.”
Relieved he mistook my nervous tone for fear he won’t think I’m qualified for the job—which I’m truthfully not—I release the worried breath I was holding. “Thank you, Mr. Decker. I am very enthusiastic about proving myself to both Mr. Thompson and you.”
“It’s Madden,” he retorts. “I don’t want to tell you again. Mr. Decker makes me think of my father, or worse, my brother.” For the second time tonight, he mentions his brother with disdain. I’m not sure of the existing dynamic, but there are obviously issues between the two of them.
“Yes, Madden . I apologize.”
“I know this is terribly ill-mannered of me, but I’m going to ask anyway. How old are you, Blake?”
Every time the man says my name, he turns me into a pinball machine—my stomach coils up for a brief second before springing free, releasing a ball of decadent desire to bound freely throughout my body, causing my face to glow brighter than a thousand florescent lights.
“I’m twenty-two,” I answer before placing the last bite of the rich dessert into my mouth, resisting the urge to moan in sugar-filled delight.
He blinks twice at my reply, but no other expression crosses his face; it’s almost as if he’s calculating something in his head. I’m still unsure if I should ask him the same question, as much as I want to know his age. Thankfully, he answers my silent inquiry.
“I’ll be thirty-five next month; that’s not too bad,” he says more to himself than to me. I want to ask too bad for what, but I don’t.
“Do you trust me?” he asks teasingly.
My eyes snap up to the broad smile on his handsome face, and I can’t help but join him. Grinning, I repeat, “I have faith you’ll make a good selection.”
“I always do.”
After he rattles off what we’ll be having for dinner, he raises his crystal glass, indicating a toast. I lift mine to clink against his, still unable to wipe this goofy grin off my face. I can’t deny I enjoy the man’s company.
“Here’s to the best business meeting I’ve had in ages—I can only imagine how sensational our dates will be—and to you, Blake Martin, for trusting me to always make the right choice for you.”
Stunned and speechless, I take a big gulp of the chilled wine and wonder how in the hell I’m going to get through the rest of this dinner.
Surprisingly, throughout the rest of the meal, we discuss the video game project in great detail during a relaxed but professional conversation. Madden admits he wanted nothing to do with the acquisition, that it was all his brother’s great idea to expand Decker Enterprises into the world of gaming. I learn the company’s primary ventures are in developing new technology for security fiber optics, and that it was first started by their father nearly forty years ago. When he suffered a heart attack six years prior, Madden took over the company much earlier than he’d expected to. I’m not sure how old he is, and quite honestly, I’m afraid to ask, but my guess would be early-to-mid-thirties. We almost make it through the discussion without him asking me any questions that make me feel uncomfortable. Almost.
As my taste buds relish the best slice of cheesecake ever, he asks, “What did you do before going to work for JDT Graphics?”
The question in and of itself seems like a normal, ordinary thing to ask someone, and I’m sure he’s simply asking out of common curiosity; however, for me, nothing about my past is either normal or ordinary.
“I, uh…I was in school,” I reply, the uneasiness in my voice clear as day.
Setting his fork down on the table, he smiles sympathetically at me. “I know you’re young, Blake. It doesn’t concern me that you don’t have any experience in the field, especially after our conversation here this evening. It’s evident you’re sharp and eager to succeed, and that speaks volumes to me.”
Relieved he mistook my nervous tone for fear he won’t think I’m qualified for the job—which I’m truthfully not—I release the worried breath I was holding. “Thank you, Mr. Decker. I am very enthusiastic about proving myself to both Mr. Thompson and you.”
“It’s Madden,” he retorts. “I don’t want to tell you again. Mr. Decker makes me think of my father, or worse, my brother.” For the second time tonight, he mentions his brother with disdain. I’m not sure of the existing dynamic, but there are obviously issues between the two of them.
“Yes, Madden . I apologize.”
“I know this is terribly ill-mannered of me, but I’m going to ask anyway. How old are you, Blake?”
Every time the man says my name, he turns me into a pinball machine—my stomach coils up for a brief second before springing free, releasing a ball of decadent desire to bound freely throughout my body, causing my face to glow brighter than a thousand florescent lights.
“I’m twenty-two,” I answer before placing the last bite of the rich dessert into my mouth, resisting the urge to moan in sugar-filled delight.
He blinks twice at my reply, but no other expression crosses his face; it’s almost as if he’s calculating something in his head. I’m still unsure if I should ask him the same question, as much as I want to know his age. Thankfully, he answers my silent inquiry.
“I’ll be thirty-five next month; that’s not too bad,” he says more to himself than to me. I want to ask too bad for what, but I don’t.
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