“That’s a random question. Any particular reason?”
“Just something that came to mind. It’s silly. Forget I even asked. You can plead the Fifth.”
Leaning back in the leather conference chair, he steeples his hands and holds them up to his mouth. He eyes me with a quizzical look, which makes me feel uneasy. As his mouth quirks up on the side, I see a dimple on his cheek, which surprises me with how sexy I find it.
“This,” he states easily. “I can honestly say, there is nothing I’d rather do than be an attorney.” He drops his hands to the armrests and swivels toward me. “The work challenges me, and being in charge is a good place to be.” That cavalier smile of his is enchanting. “Plus, I really enjoy helping people. I got into law to further public good and change the way the world is run. My cases haven’t all been easy, but I’ve never taken a case I didn’t believe in.”
Of all the answers he could have given, his is the very best.
“What about you?” He leans in, his tone deep and hushed. “What would Amy Morgana do if she never had to work?”
I raise a shoulder. “Funny you ask since I’ve never worked a day in my life. Making chocolate is my passion. How can I claim it’s work when I’m having so much fun, doing it?”
Those eyes. The caramel hue of his sinful gaze is looking at me like I just gave him the answer to the most interesting question. His tongue darts out and licks his lips as he smiles slowly.
With a swallow, I divert my attention to the table and remember the gift I brought him in my bag. I reach in my tote and grab a narrow box. “Before I forget, this is for you.”
He accepts the mauve-and-white box, adjusting it so he can read the words engraved in navy script on the top.
“Amy Morgana Chocolatier. You brought me dinner and dessert?”
“Again, it’s part of my thank-you.”
“I’ll savor these.”
I lift my chopsticks and go back to eating, trying to hide my blush from the way he glances over at me every few seconds and grins.
We finish our meals, and there’s this looming feeling of our night coming to an end, no matter how much I don’t want it to. Our conversation has flowed so easily, and the hour has flown by.
I start to clean up our mess and throw our trash in the bag that I brought it in when he stands.
“Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I got it.” I reach for the last container and tie the bag, tossing it in a nearby trashcan. Next, I grab my tote, looking toward the door, and hope I remember the way back to the lobby.
Sebastian must sense my unease because he offers, “I’ll walk out with you. Just let me get my things from my office.”
He leads me out of the conference room and into an office with Sebastian’s name on a gold placard. When I enter, I instantly feel like I’m in a no-bullshit zone.
Bookshelves filled with legal books line the far wall with his dark cherry wood desk in front of it. Everything on the desk has its place, all angled toward a leather chair like little soldiers, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of dust anywhere. The plant in the corner doesn’t have one leaf that’s turning color, and the view out the window of the city is to die for.
While it’s impressive and regal, none of it compares to the personal touches that make the office warm and welcoming. His law degree from University of Pennsylvania that sits in the corner is framed, but an old hat with a P on the front of it hangs off the side.
A photo of who I assume are his parents sits in a frame next to it with him in the middle. His father, a man with tan skin and a wide smile, stands beside Sebastian, who has his arm around a woman with blonde hair and eyes the same as his. They’re clutching to him with pride as they pose on a dock overlooking the ocean.
I glance to the other side of the room and have to hold in my laughter at a photo of Sebastian with the Phillies mascot, Phillie Phanatic, on the wall.
“Baseball fan?” I ask.
“Absolutely. One of the charities I volunteer for got honored at a game last year, and they let us go on the field.” The way he says it with so much excitement makes me smile.
“Pretty fun day then, I guess.” I try to downplay.
“Just another day at the office.” He grins.
“I suppose you get a lot of perks, working as a high-profile attorney. Are you living out all of your twelve-year-old boy dreams?” I tease.
“Twelve-year-old, nineteen-year-old … hell, even thirty-year-old dreams.”
I laugh as he grabs his stuff, and we head out the door.
We walk down the hallway and make our way to the elevator. Inside the glass enclosure, I feel this searing energy in the air, a prickling that something amazing is about to happen.
It doesn’t though. Instead, the doors open rather quickly, and we are in the main lobby of the building. There’s someone different at the front desk and a security officer by the front doors. We walk toward them and onto the street.
“Well”—I pull my bag up high onto my shoulder—“thank you again for your help. I never would have even considered it not being a legal apartment.”
“I’m glad we could solve the problem easily.”
If I’m not mistaken, I see a hint of indecisiveness with his body language.
I pause, staring into his eyes, seeing if he’ll say anything else. When he doesn’t, I take a deep breath and turn to leave.
I walk away when I hear him say, “Amy?”
My feet spin around so fast that my hair whips in my face.
Sebastian takes a step forward. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” His voice is almost hesitant. “I was going to go out for a drink and would love if you could join me. Totally platonic, of course. I’m not your attorney anymore, but I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to take advantage of a job well done, like you owe me or something.”
I feel my heart instantly pound harder with both nerves and happy sensations flowing through me. “You’ve been nothing but chivalrous, Mr. Blake. And, well, I’d be more than pleased to have a drink with you.”
The cheesy smile that spreads over his face makes him cuter than ever. “Great. I think you’ll love this place.”
Chapter Five
It’s a brisk evening as we walk to the bar. With the beginning of spring, warm days are here, but the nights can still bear a winter chill. Like a true gentleman, Sebastian offers me his coat, and I accept with a shy smile, knowing he has his suit jacket underneath.
Though our conversation flows easily, I start to wonder where we’re going after about fifteen minutes of walking, and I’m surprised when we stop outside McGillin’s Olde Ale House. Beer has been pouring in this tavern since 1860, shortly after the Liberty Bell was cracked.
“I can’t tell if you’re impressed or disappointed,” Sebastian comments as he holds the door open for me to enter.
“Pleasantly surprised,” I chide as I walk by. “I love this place. It has so much charm.”
The brick walls are adorned with paraphernalia of the bar’s history from liquor licenses to old photographs and a sign from the old Wanamaker’s Department Store that used to be nearby.