The promised e-mail appeared in her in-box. Scanning it, Chloe decided to go conservative and easy to prepare, although her mouth watered over lamb sausage on focaccia with chutney. However, she needed to be able to give him a choice of two. She would take the other one.
The executive dining room didn’t let her down. The sandwiches arrived in minutes and were accompanied by beautiful green, leafy salads, fresh fruit, and a bowl of multicolored chips that looked healthy. “Mr. Trainor likes the taro chips,” the young man who slid the tray onto her desk said. “And the chocolate chip cookies.” There was also a carafe of coffee that gave off a heavenly aroma.
She had no idea how to page the office Trainor had gone into, so she followed in his footsteps down the corridor and knocked on the open door. “Lunch is here,” she said, leaning in to see her boss with his hip propped on the low back of a chair as he scanned a piece of paper. A man wearing a boldly striped shirt and brilliant red tie watched him from behind a desk.
Trainor pushed away from the chair. “Phil, I’ll look this over after my meeting.”
Phil nodded. “It’s preliminary, but the numbers seem promising.”
“Agreed.” Trainor folded the paper in half and joined Chloe at the door, falling into step beside her as she walked back toward her desk. “Meetings and reports,” he muttered.
Chloe stopped by her desk. “Turkey and swiss, or roast beef and muenster?” she asked, gesturing toward the sandwiches.
He scooped the entire tray off the desk and headed into his office. “Join me.”
She stared after him. CEOs didn’t carry their own lunch trays or invite their temps to eat lunch with them. She realized that he’d disappeared from view so she jogged forward.
He set the tray on the conference table before pulling a chair out from the corner of the table and looking at her. She stopped again.
“Chloe,” he said, angling the chair with a touch of impatience.
“Oh, right.” She hurried across the expanse of plush carpeting and plunked ungracefully down into the oversize leather chair.
He lowered himself into the chair at right angles to hers and slid the tray so it was in front of him. “You believe in the classics,” he said, lifting the clear plastic lids off the plates.
The scent of balsamic vinaigrette wafting up from the salads made Chloe’s mouth water, but Nathan’s jaw seemed to tighten with distaste. She thought he looked a little queasy. “Do you mind if I have the turkey?” he asked.
“Of course not. I like red meat,” she said, taking the rejected roast beef. She glanced around the huge room, searching for the promised refrigerator. All she saw were bookcases and paneling. “I’ll get you something to drink if you tell me where you keep the beverages.”
“Ah, the hidden kitchenette,” he said, rising again. She started to protest when he held up his hand. “It’s easier to show you.” He walked to a section of paneling. “Third panel from the right. Press the side at about waist height and . . .” The paneling silently slid sideways to reveal the entrance to a small kitchen with dark-green granite countertops accenting elaborately grained wooden cabinets. “And the refrigerator is concealed behind this one,” he said, pressing the largest wooden door so it swung open to reveal neatly arranged cans and bottles. “Evidently, the fact that I might eat or drink in my office must be kept secret. What can I get you?”
“Water, please,” Chloe said, not sure how to react to his oddly whimsical mood. What she really wanted was the coffee, but she would wait until he had some.
He was sorting through the drinks. “Aha! They concealed it behind the Kauffman vodka. Who the hell stocks this thing, anyway?”
Chloe smiled tentatively when he returned to hand her the water. She waited until he was seated and had picked up his sandwich before grabbing her fork.
“Please,” he said, nodding for her to eat.
She plunged the fork into a perfect slice of tomato and brought it to her mouth. The flavor blossomed with a hearty, almost smoky, quality on her tongue. Not one of those vapid, store-bought atrocities. “Mmm,” she said involuntarily.
Trainor nodded, taking the first bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly and swallowed without noticeable pleasure. Then he put the sandwich down and pushed the plate away.
“Is there something wrong with your food?” Chloe asked. “Should I order something else?”
“No.” He picked up the carafe of coffee. “Maybe this will help.”
He must have seen the longing in Chloe’s eyes, because he filled both mugs.
Chloe decided to get this strange interlude back on a business footing. “May I ask what sort of window dressing you need me to do?”
Trainor picked up his mug. “Your function is to be the guarantor of my integrity.”
“The what?” Chloe put down her fork.