I slowly pull the ribbon apart and lift open the lid to the box. It's a pair of teardrop-shaped emerald earrings; they're incredibly dainty, yet they look so gorgeous. I audibly gasp as soon as I lay eyes on them; they are just amazing.
"They call Seattle 'The Emerald City,' not because they get emeralds there but because it's green all year round. I just thought I would get you something to let you know I was thinking about you." The last part of his statement makes my heart melt; a face-splitting grin spreads across my face, and I can't help it. He could have gotten me a bobblehead, and it probably would have gotten the same reaction from me just as long as he said that along with it.
"Wow, that's, um, that's so sweet of you. Thank you, Mr. Whitlock. I really love them." I suddenly feel like an asshole; here I am with all this money in my bank account thanks to him when he's thinking about me while away on business. Maybe I've made a rushed judgment about him.
"You know, love, you don't have to call me Mr. Whitlock," he tells me after I close the box and carefully place it into my bag. "You can call me Rhodes, but I love it when you call me sir." My stomach flips as every syllable of his statement flirts. I blush at his words, but at least I don't have to be so formal with him.
"Okay, thank you, Rhodes." I definitely could have called him sir instead of Rhodes, but I feel the small urge to be cheeky. He doesn't seem to mind as we pull up into a parking lot outside a bank of restaurants by the River Thames. He pushes the button in the center console that turns the car off and climbs out of his seat. I'm about to follow suit when I try my handle, but it won't budge. Rhodes is around my side of the car two seconds later and effortlessly swings open my door and extends his hand for me to help me climb out. Did he seriously have a child lock on my side of the car?
I'm surprised when not only does he not release my hand as we walk towards the bank of fancy-looking restaurants, but he intertwines our fingers together so we are interlocked. I am reminded of the rule in the contract: all PDA will be initiated by him, and my comment about how I have to comply with his actions. And of course, I do, holding his hand and walking beside him as he approaches one of the restaurants with several tables outside overlooking the river.
Our hands are broken apart once a neatly dressed waitress leads us to a table outside, and we sit down opposite one another. She hands us our menus and makes herself scarce, hurrying off to another table nearby. I take the menu and examine it closely; perhaps he will let me order for myself this time, even though it wasn't terrible the last time he did it.
For a moment, we are silent, and it's a comfortable silence I would like to sit in forever. Here I am, out for a nice lunch with a handsome guy on a beautiful afternoon in London. There are no contracts, no NDAs, just two people out on a date. I shake myself out of those thoughts as I place my menu down and look out to the view of the river to my right. Remember the things he said in his contract; remember what you signed up for. You're on show right now; he's parading you in public. Don't fall for his games.