The Dinner

Susan

By the time I stepped into the café to meet Meera for lunch, my mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. Between Elliot’s new office power move and his cryptic dinner invitation, I felt like I was trapped in a game I hadn’t agreed to play.

Meera was already at our usual table, sipping an iced coffee and scrolling through her phone. She looked up as I approached, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the queen of corporate chaos,” she teased, setting her phone down. “What’s the latest drama from Prescott Enterprises?”

I rolled my eyes as I slid into the seat across from her. “You have no idea.”

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Try me.”

I took a sip of water, stalling for time. “Let’s just say... Elliot Prescott is proving to be as infuriating as ever.”

Meera’s eyebrows shot up. “What did he do this time? Don’t tell me he moved your desk to the broom closet.”

“Worse,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “He gave me an office. A private office. Right next to his.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wait...what? Seriously?”

I nodded, groaning. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, he asked me to dinner.”

Meera froze, her eyes wide. “Dinner? Like... a date?”

“Not a date,” I clarified quickly, though even as I said it, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. “He framed it as a professional thing, but it felt... personal.”

A grin spread across her face, and I immediately regretted bringing it up.

“Oh my god, Susan. This is huge! What did you say?”

“I said yes,” I admitted, sinking lower in my seat.

Meera let out a squeal that turned heads in the café.

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed, glancing around.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, ignoring my plea for discretion. “You and Elliot Prescott, having dinner. This is basically the plot of every enemies-to-lovers romance novel ever.”

“It’s not like that,” I insisted, though my cheeks were burning. “It’s just dinner. Besides, you know how he is. He probably just wants to gloat or make some sort of power play.”

Meera gave me a pointed look. “And yet, you said yes.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I didn’t have much of a choice. He’s technically my client, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “So, what are you going to wear?”

I blinked at her. “What?”

“For dinner,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t just show up in your usual office attire. This is Elliot Prescott we’re talking about. You need to bring your A-game.”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” I admitted.

Meera leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Leave it to me. I know just the thing.”

“Meera, I don’t need...”

“Trust me,” she interrupted, her eyes gleaming with determination. “You’ll thank me later.”

I sighed, knowing there was no point arguing with her when she got like this.

As much as I hated to admit it, part of me was curious about what the evening would bring. Whatever Elliot’s intentions were, one thing was certain...it wasn’t going to be boring.

The day passed in a blur, the looming dinner invitation occupying more space in my mind than it had any right to. By the time I left work, I was almost relieved to be heading home...until I remembered Meera’s promise to “handle” my outfit.

True to her word, she showed up at my apartment with a garment bag slung over her shoulder and an excitement that was borderline unsettling.

“You’re late,” I said as I opened the door.

“And you’re underdressed,” she shot back, breezing past me and into the living room. She unzipped the garment bag with a flourish, revealing a sleek, black midi dress that looked both elegant and a little dangerous.

“Meera...”

“No arguments,” she said, cutting me off before I could protest. “You’re wearing this, end of story.”

I sighed but didn’t argue. Meera had an eye for these things, and I trusted her...mostly.

An hour later, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the dress. The fabric hugged my body perfectly, and the neckline was just daring enough without crossing into inappropriate territory. My hair was swept into a low bun, and Meera had insisted on smoky eye makeup that made my eyes look bigger and brighter.

“You look like a million bucks,” Meera said, grinning as she handed me a pair of black heels. “Elliot won’t know what hit him.”

“This isn’t about Elliot,” I muttered, slipping on the heels.

“Sure it isn’t,” she said, her tone teasing.

By the time I arrived at the restaurant, I felt like I’d just stepped out of a magazine spread. The hostess guided me to a private table at the back of the room, where Elliot was already waiting.

He stood as I approached, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he composed himself.

“You’re early,” I said, slipping into the seat across from him.

“And you’re stunning,” he replied, his voice low and smooth.

I felt a blush creep up my neck but quickly brushed it off. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Prescott.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

The waiter appeared, saving me from having to respond. After we placed our orders, an awkward silence settled over the table.

“So,” I said, breaking the tension, “what’s the real reason for this dinner?”

Elliot leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yes,” I said firmly.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wanted to talk. Away from the office.”

“About?”

“Us.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“There is no ‘us,’” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the waiter returned with our drinks, cutting me off.

As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted, becoming less charged and more... familiar. We talked about work, about life, about everything and nothing. For a brief moment, it felt like we’d stepped back in time, before everything had become so complicated.

But then I caught him staring at me, his eyes soft and unguarded, and the moment shattered.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. Just... it’s good to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy.”

I looked away, the vulnerability in his words cutting deeper than I expected.

By the time the check arrived, the tension between us was palpable. He insisted on paying, and I didn’t argue.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, I turned to thank him, but the words died on my lips when I saw the look on his face.

“Goodnight, Susan,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

“Goodnight, Elliot.”

I walked away, my heart pounding in my chest, knowing that whatever this was between us...it was far from over.