Entangled To The CEO

Rainer’s [POV]

Skipping the line never gets old. I got out of my new car at the valet stand and was directed straight up the stairs. A whole herd of people pushed against the velvet ropes, and I saw a few flashbulbs fire off.

I was at the front door of the best new restaurant in San Francisco, and it was opening night. My smile was camera ready, and I shook hands with half a dozen people in the foyer.

Champagne appeared beside me in seconds, and I was assured my table would be ready momentarily.

The whole restaurant was a hum of anxious staff and excited patrons, the newly rich and the eager to be seen. All I could think about was Tasha. I downed my champagne and balanced the empty flute on a passing tray.

Then I pulled out my phone and sent Tasha a message, just to see if she got her invitation to the restaurant opening.

“Expecting someone?” Berger asked. He sidled up next to me in the crowd and tipped back a fresh glass of champagne.

“Just checking to see who else from the office is taking advantage of our invites,” I said. Berger smirked.

“Sure. I’m betting on everyone but Ms. Nichols. How about you?”

“She might surprise you,” I said.

“No, man, you’re the only one who’s surprising me. We have to talk more about this whole digging-in-the-dirt thing you have going on with Tasha.” Berger was serious and seemed to have me cornered.

I didn’t want to do it, but I waved across the room. Anyone was better than Berger and his office gossip.

“I see my brother. Better go say hello. You know how it is.” I slapped Berger on the shoulder and slipped through the tight crowd to my brother’s small table.

Evan gave me a sour smile as yet another excited customer jostled past. He clapped a hand over his teetering wine glass.

“Trying to jump in at the last minute? Not so sure your charm can get you a table tonight. We had to make reservations months ago.” I gave my sister-in-law a peck on the cheek and noticed her pursed lips.

Here they were at the trendiest restaurant, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted a better table and blamed my brother.

“Father mentioned you were having quite an upswing lately,” she said to annoy her husband. My brother scowled.

“Yes, we’re all curious how long you’ll manage to keep this up.” I caught another flute of champagne off a passing tray.

The server paused to let me know my table was ready. Near the front windows, in a spacious spread of large, round tables, a white-gloved waiter beckoned me.

“Gotta run; I’m famished. Good to see you. Say hello to Father.” I could feel Evan’s eyes bore a hole in my back as I walked away.

My sister-in-law was already complaining about my prime table position when her whining was cut off.

“There you are, darling.” Ellison appeared out of nowhere and gave me a graceful kiss on the cheek.

The normal wave of attention that followed her broke on a soft sigh. I could already hear all the tabloid speculation buzzing out over social media.

“I know you’ve got a wonderful table, but how about you join me at mine?”

“And where’s that?” I asked, suspicious. Ellison just laughed and looped an arm through mine.

“The chef’s table, silly.” Within minutes, we met the cream of the kitchen staff and greeted the genius chef himself.

I was starving but posed for a series of photographs with half a dozen people I didn’t know, and always with Ellison hanging on my arm.

Then the chef showed us our seats, more of a raised dais on the edge of the open kitchen, with the entire jealous restaurant behind us.

I was glad when the food began to appear and I didn’t have to think about all the speculative eyes looking in our direction.

The chef was weaving a story with tantalizing appetizers as details when I finally got a message back from Tasha. She’d sent me a picture of a fresh torta from the taco truck in her little neighborhood.

It was balanced precariously on a stack of work folders on her dining room table. I could see the lights of the bay from her window in the background and felt the distance across the dark water between us.

I sent back a snapshot of the tiny, frothy dollop that was my next course and told her how jealous I was of her dinner.

I would have given up my seat at the chef’s table in an instant if I was offered a place on the couch next to her.

At least I recognize the garnish, I wrote. Have a good thyme, Tasha replied. I chuckled out loud and reread the exchange a few more times before tucking away my phone.

I would have felt guilty if Ellison hadn’t been texting directions to her cronies while she raved about the food.

It was next to impossible to concentrate on the delicately structured next course. It was a bird’s nest of infusions, and I didn’t understand which part was edible.

All I could think about was a cold beer and a better view from across the bay. My phone buzzed again, and I dug it out eagerly.

“Uh oh,” Ellison said, checking her phone.

“Looks like my paparazzi are at it again.” Berger sent me the photograph that was making the rounds faster than lightning.

It was me smiling down at my phone with the suggestion that Ellison Ramsey was sending me love notes.

The winning consensus was that we were back in love and on the verge of engagement. Letting the junior execs know we should start planning a bachelor party, was Berger’s comment.

Then I realized he’d sent the photograph to our work group. Tasha was at the top of the list, and she was one of the only ones not to comment.

How could I casually tell her it was all wrong? Ellison seemed to think it was all right, even though she knew full well I hadn’t been smiling at a message from her.

She smiled and flirted her way through the entire night and seemed very surprised when I told her limo driver to take me home.

“I’d invite you in, but I barely have furniture,” I said.

“Rainer, don’t be silly. You can come to stay with me,” Ellison said. Her driver held the door open and gestured for me to get back inside. I shook my head.

“Since when do you turn in so early? Isn’t there some gallery that needs attending, or a late-night exclusive concert?” Ellison pouted.

“There is. Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

“Thanks for a wonderful, ah, meal,” I said.

“Goodnight.” I commended myself for letting her down easy. There was no way she could have missed those hints.

I slept well, thinking that I was free and clear once again no matter what social media said.

Then I woke up to a screaming saw. Sledgehammers hit the walls of my living room, and I scrambled downstairs in a panic.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” A dapper interior designer introduced himself as Raphael.

“Ellison Ramsey sent me over, and I just had to get started right away. Of course, we’ll discuss color schemes and styles, but first, we need to fix the flow of the first floor.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, tugging on my dress pants.

“Ms. Ramsey’s gift to you the full interior design treatment. And when I told her there had to be renovations, she told me to send you her way. The darling says you can stay with her until we’re finished here. Isn’t she just an angel?” Raphael clapped his hands and strode off, giving orders.

“No, wait. There’s been a mistake,” I said.

“This isn’t a gift; she referred you to me. And I’ll be living here throughout all the renovations.”

Raphael and the crew were right to look at me like I was insane, but I wasn’t about to let Ellison railroad me into being her doll.

She had never been good at not getting her way, but this was insane.

After a few meetings, a social media storm, and Ellison thought I really was going to be her fiance. I wanted to scream.

It was a relief to drive away, though it took all the way to the bridge until the ringing in my ears stopped.

And it wasn’t just the sledgehammers. Raphael had hounded me for color palettes and had repeatedly screeched that I needed a vision board.

I was glad to get the San Francisco Bay between me and my new zoo. The community garden was just what I needed. Until I saw Tasha.Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“Fun night last night?” she asked.

“Should I be expecting some big announcement soon?” I flinched.

Of course, Tasha had seen the photograph of me at the restaurant opening. But, how could she, of all people, think that photograph meant Ellison and I were getting engaged?

“There’s no announcement,” I said.

“Why do people assume that?” Tasha gathered up a flat of parsley plants.

“Because everyone likes when the big-time playboy settles down. Gives everyone hope,” she said. I tugged the flat of plants out of her hands.

“I was looking at your message in the photograph, you know.” Tasha’s hands fell to her sides.

For one moment, her eyes held mine and then she strode off towards the garden.

She knew the smile I had on my face in that photograph, the smile everyone thought meant I was in love, was actually for her.

So, naturally, she refused to talk about it.

“You know what gives me hope?” I asked.

Tasha dropped down next to the first garden row but glanced up at me.

“No. What?” she asked, cautiously.

“Preschoolers planting herbs,” I said.

“The chef’s food last night was spectacular, but nothing beats that moment when kids realize you can eat things straight from the garden.”

“That reminds me,” Tasha muttered, “make sure to update the poisonous plant’s image index.” I waited until she’d made a note on her phone.

“Aren’t you happy?” I asked.

“I’m happy.” Tasha’s gaze fluttered to mine again.

“Sitting in the dirt at 10 a. m. makes you happy?” I laughed but stabbed my trowel into the dirt harder than was necessary.

“Yes. Why is that so surprising?”

“Because you’re this flashy, social scene, a fashionable billionaire who everyone is keeping tabs on. You just spent last night at the most exclusive restaurant opening. And you seriously want me to believe that this is where you’d rather be?” Tasha pushed her fists into the dirt but kept her eyes on me.

“What happened to the insanely rich exec in his penthouse office suite?” I planted the first parsley.

“I think you got us confused at the end there,” I said.

“I never said I wanted to be the big boss man. That’s you.” Tasha swiped her hair out of her eyes.

“But this is all part of the show, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong; the campaign is working, but, come on. Tell me the truth. Aren’t you ready to get back to your big-money life?” I felt a surge of jealousy.

“Is this all Mr. Salt-of-the-Earth talking? My big-money life? What about you? You could have been at the restaurant opening last night. You should have come.”

“I thought you were jealous of my food truck torta,” Tasha said. I nodded.

“I definitely would have skipped the whole suit song-and-dance if you’d invited me over,” I admitted.

Tasha stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees in an abrupt manner.

“I told Stan that I would check in with him this morning. I’ll just make the call from my car.”