“Okay… so what is it you actually do?”
His nostrils flare and he sort of huffs as if my question is annoying. “Think of it this way. If someone breaks part of a contract, or if there’s a dispute over the terms of a contract, our clients come to us to get us to try to enforce the contract. It could be that someone is in breach of a business deal, someone is suing a company for something, maybe a CEO was terminated and contesting the directive of the contract they signed in such an event. It never ceases to amaze me the number of reasons people can get in conflict with one another.”
I nod. “Sounds interesting,” I say, not because I actually think it does but because I’m a polite person. Sitting behind a desk and staring at legalese all day sounds miserable to me.
“It can be. I prefer the days I’m in court over the days I’m poring over contracts to find one loophole I can use for my client’s benefit.”
“Is that because you’re argumentative?” The words leave my mouth before I think better of them.
He tilts his head. “Argumentative?”
“Not in a bad way. The impression I get is you’d do well arguing your point in front of other people. Maybe argumentative is the wrong word.”
He frowns. “Perhaps. I’ve never given it much thought.”
We sit in silence for a beat, because I insulted him, but he hasn’t been all warm and fuzzy to me so far. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
I push my chair back and cringe when all the bells on my costume ring. It’s worse when I walk to the restroom. Although I stand by my decision to not be late, I’m slightly embarrassed now, which I think is more due to Andrew’s reaction than my own. Tessa’s going to get a kick outta this one.
After I return to the table, purposely ignoring the way all the other diners glare at me, I retake my seat. My meal is waiting for me while Andrew has started eating his. And he’s getting on me for an elf costume? It’s common etiquette to wait for your date to return before you eat.
Rather than say anything, I smile as I take my seat. “How’s the salmon?”
He finishes chewing. “Excellent. Perfectly done.”
I nod and set my napkin over my red-and-green skirt, then pick up my cutlery and cut into my steak. Red liquid oozes from the meat, and I hold up the piece to inspect it.
“Didn’t you ask for your steak to be cooked medium well?” Andrew asks, surprisingly observant.
I sigh. “Yeah. That’s okay though.”
A line forms between his eyebrows, which I’ve noticed is a sign of his displeasure. I would know—it’s been directed at me several times tonight. “Why would you eat it like that? Just call the server back here and tell them to cook it longer.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother her.” I put the piece of meat in my mouth and chew, stifling my reaction to spit it out.
Andrew looks as though he’s barely suppressing an eye roll but goes back to his own meal. The two of us sit there, paying rapt attention to our meals, eating in silence. Awkwardness crawls over my skin like poison ivy.
I hate awkward moments. I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but I think I hate them more than most. One of those childhood wounds people harbor for years or go to therapy for.
I work up the courage to talk. I’d rather deal with his attitude than this uncomfortableness. “So, how long have you been in the US?”
His body stiffens from what I thought was an innocent question.
“I came as soon as I graduated uni in London to attend law school.” He reaches for his drink and takes another sip. I notice it’s getting low and I wonder if he’ll stick around for a second.
“Did you plan on staying after graduation or was your original plan to return to England?” I sip my wine and sit back, not too interested in my meal.
“You’re full of questions, huh?” His lips press in a thin line. “I wasn’t positive, but I had an idea that I might stay.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans back in his chair. “Event planning isn’t an easy business to get into?”
“No, it’s not. And my company isn’t huge—yet.” I smile at him, but his face doesn’t change from his blank expression. “Mostly I do smaller events—birthday parties, anniversary parties, that kind of thing. And I put together my own events… like the one I did today. My dream is to move into doing larger scale events, but I’m still waiting on my big break.”
He finishes his drink, the ice clinking to the empty glass. “And what exactly would a big break entail in the event planning world?” He picks up his fork and buries his head in his dish.
I frown for a second because he sounds condescending, but I decide to look past it. “Planning an event for a celebrity or someone well-known in the socialite circle and pulling it off. Most of the event planning business is word of mouth. It just takes someone giving me a chance to show I’m capable.”
He nods while he chews but says nothing.
I cut into my steak and fork a piece, bringing it to my mouth. That film of floundering silence coats me again. Andrew looks at his salmon as though it’s personally offended him.
I swallow and decide to take one last stab at a decent conversation. “Will you be traveling home to see your family over the holidays?”
His knife screeches across the plate and he quickly looks around at the other diners before peering across at me. “No, I won’t. I don’t generally do much for the holidays.”
“You don’t do much for holidays?” My tone sounds as if he just told me he kicks puppies for fun. “Oh, I love Christmas. I’m a total Christmas nut.” I smile, hoping some of my cheer will rub off on him.
He looks at my chest and back up to my face. “Wouldn’t have figured.” His sarcastic comment doesn’t do much to salvage this evening. “Let me guess—you already have your Christmas tree up.”
“Trees, plural.” I wink.
“How silly of me to assume you’d only have one.”
“You said you don’t do much for the holidays, but you can’t mean Christmas is included?” I feel as if it’s an innocent enough question, but something passes over his face. It’s quick, almost like a searing flash of pain, but it disappears.
“Not particularly.”
I frown. “How can you not like Christmas? There’s so much to love.” I fork my potato around since it’s the only thing I’m probably going to eat.
“Like what? The influx of tourists into the city so it takes twice as long to get anywhere? The pressure to find someone the perfect gift because if you don’t, then that must mean you don’t care enough about them? The commercialism of the entire holiday?” He gives me a hard glare. “Families pretending that they’re perfect when in fact nothing could be further from the truth?”
I stare at him for a beat because… jeez, this man is like a real-life, living and breathing Scrooge.
“You’re pretty cynical.” My forehead wrinkles and I place my fork down, my appetite gone.
“I’m a realist. Christmas is an entirely commercial affair that puts money in the pockets of large corporations and stockholders, and nothing more.”