There’s only one thing standing in the way of that, and it’s what happened after we became aware of the waiter’s presence at our table for two.

Roman detached from me, though it happened more slowly than I would have expected. I would have expected that he’d jerk away, mortified at being caught doing something like that with something like me, but it was a slow slide of his arm from my waist and he only ended up half a step away. What he didn’t do was throw the waiter out of the room and sweep me up in his arms and take me to the master bedroom. Judging from the bulge in the front of his pants, this wasn’t an easy decision. Still, he’s given no hint that it was a difficult one, except...you know. The bulge.

“Beautiful,” he repeats. In his mouth, the word sounds like a three star review out of five. Fine enough, but no home run.

I force myself to look back into his eyes, even though doing that is like staring into the sun. “Gorgeous,” I offer. Another bite of steak sends my entire mind sinking into the sensations. The peppercorn sauce is perfectly salted. The steak itself has a texture I can only describe as transcendent. And all at once it hits me that I need to take a moment.

I stand up so abruptly that Roman startles, putting his glass down on the table and jumping up after me, genuine concern in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“I have a call—” I cut the words off at the pass. There is no call. How could there be a call if my boss is sitting right here at the table with me? The fact of him is making it hard to get oxygen through my veins to my brain. On top of that, there’s the wine. “Where’s the...” I cast around the suite, aware that I am looking more and more like an idiot by the second. This isn’t a fucking restaurant. The bathroom won’t be hidden down some secret passageway that looks like you might emerge from it with a job as a dishwasher. I know where it is, even. There’s a small hallway, more of an alcove, really, off the main room where we’re seated. The alcove has a single door. That’s where it is.

“The restroom.” It’s not even a complete sentence, but it’s the only answer I have for Romans’ bewildered look. Then I get the hell away from the table before anything else can happen.

In the bathroom, I lock the door behind me, then test it to make sure it’s in place. My hands tremble on the knob, and they keep trembling when I lean over the sink and peer at myself in the mirror.