“I don’t typically have work meetings so early in the morning, but there was an issue with a prototype that had to be resolved immediately.”
“I understand.”
Do I, though? No, not really. I only half know what a prototype is.
And a prototype ofwhat?Robots? Is he making robots?
Prototype sounds robotic.
“How was the drive in? Did Thomas talk your ear off?” I frown, and he laughs. “I’m joking. He isn’t a man of many words.”
I laugh nervously. “Yeah, I got that.”
“Anyway, I was hoping we could have breakfast, chat, and if things go well, we can move into the conference room to discuss things further.”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
There is a knock on the door, and a man dressed in a chef coat and hat with the black and white pants walks in, pushing a cart.
A cloche-covered plate is put down in front of either of us, then a carafe of coffee and pitcher of orange juice in the middle.
The chef removes my cloche, then Mr. Stone’s with practiced movements.
“Voici votre omelette aux fines herbes, monsieurs.” The chef brings his attention to Mr. Stone. “Vous faut-il autre chose, monsieur?”
“Non, merci.”
The chef nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
“You speak French?”
He shrugs. “A little. I visit Europe often. It’s where a lot of our sales come from, so I know a bit of most of the languages there.”
“That’s… wow.”
He gestures to my plate. “Hopefully it’s okay.”
“It looks and smells delicious.”
“I hope its flavor meets your expectations.”
I refuse to tell him I don’t have expectations—that leads to disappointment. And anything is better than stale cereal and plain pasta.
I try not to eat like a pig because the food is so good I think I’m dreaming. I have never had such silky smooth eggs before, and with so much flavor. I didn’t think eggs could taste like this. I polish off the food on my plate before going for coffee, which I pour carefully so as to not spill it. Mr. Stone’s cup is already half gone, and there are a few bites of his food left.
I feel awkward about eating all my food, but I shouldn’t. I know that. It’s just food. Just eating. We all do it.
“So,” I begin casually, bringing my mug to my lips for a sip. Even the coffee is delicious. Black coffee is my go-to because it’s cheap. I don’t love it though. This coffee? It makes meenjoyit black. It’s smooth with underlying tastes I can’t pinpoint but is decadent all the same. “You said we should talk?”
He gives me a salacious grin, and something tells me I’m not prepared for this conversation.
Chapter Six
Harmon
I see his restraint all through breakfast. Not everyone would notice it, but I can. He’s trying his best to be polite and well-behaved—another sign that he’s trainable and would be ideal for this position. So, I ignore the little voice in my head that’s telling me this is a bad idea—for reasons I can’t figure out—and prepare my speech in my head.
“So, you said we should talk?”