The polished floor seemed to stretch an impossible distance as Sasha took the final steps toward the table by the window.
The quiet hush high up in the Observatory Bar & Grill only made the sound of her own heartbeat louder.. a frantic and messed up drumbeat beneath her sophisticated exterior.
Luca Meyer looked up.
His head rose with the slow, controlled movement of a predator who has already spotted its prey but isn't in a hurry. He had simply been waiting, gazing out at the Dubai Marina spread out below them. A glittering web of lights and water that seemed meaningless compared to the single, sharp focus of his eyes when they met hers.
Sasha's carefully built professional shield, the one that Kavya had helped her meticulously polish, threatened to shatter. In the office, she was his direct report. She was the one who always stood when he walked into the room. It was an unwritten rule of their corporate world. But here, he put his phone aside and stood up.
The simple, polite gesture felt like a massive blow to the power structure they usually operated within.
She stopped just short of the table, momentarily frozen by the sight of him. He was wearing a dark, custom made blazer that definitely wasn't a suit jacket. It was a casual elegance that could only cost a small fortune. He looked less like the intimidating CEO and more like a man whose easy success meant that he never had to rush.
He moved behind her chair, pulling it back slightly.. a silent, authoritative invitation for her to sit. The action, so simple and courteous, was what made it unbearably awkward. This was her Boss, a man whose approval she desperately needed for a multimillion dirham project, playing the role of a Perfect Date.
Sasha felt herself blush, the heat creeping up her neck. She struggled to keep the awkwardness from twisting her face, settling on a stiff, almost painful neutrality.
"You... you don't have to, boss.." she stammered, the honorific slipping out despite her internal scream to use his first name. She saw the tiny flicker in his jaw, not annoyance, but perhaps.. resignation,as he held the dark leather chair completely out for her.
His expression remained the usual, controlled neutral. There was no smile, not even a hint of manufactured warmth, but there was also none of the cold, impatient strictness she sometimes saw in boardroom meetings. He simply looked at her, waiting.
"Sit" he said, his voice a low, even command that was completely devoid of malice but carried the unmistakable weight of someone used to being obeyed.
She nodded nervously, sinking into the plush chair as if it were a high pressure interrogation seat. Her pencil skirt felt uncomfortably tight as she adjusted her posture, trying to look poised. He returned to his side of the table, settling back and crossing one ankle over the other.
"Call me Luca. For now," he instructed, his eyes steady. The conditional phrase "fornow" left a small, confusing crack in the corporate wall, suggesting this might, just might, be a temporary break from reality.
Before Sasha could manage a response that was neither a stumbling apology nor a formal agreement, Luca gave a slight, almost invisible signal to the waiter hovering nearby. The waiter instantly appeared.
"Water, still or sparkling?" Luca asked, directing the question to Sasha with professional shortness.
"Still, thank you.." she managed.
He spoke to the waiter. "We'll start with a still water and a glass of the house red for me. We need a few minutes for the menu."
As the waiter left, the heavy silence returned, broken only by the soft clinking of cutlery from distant tables. Sasha desperately looked for something to focus on, her eyes darting from the menu to the view, finally settling on the linen napkin, which she began meticulously folding and unfolding.
"Look Sasha..." Luca began, leaning forward slightly, his forearms resting on the table. "There's no need to feel awkward. Just order what you want."
She nodded too quickly, forcing a small, tight smile. "Of course. I'm thinking... a salad. Maybe a light grilled fish."
A faint shadow of something.. amusement..? recognition..? flickered in his eyes. "Didn't you have a slight disagreement with Sameer yesterday at the cafeteria over the last portion of the chicken kebab?"
Sasha froze, mid fold of her napkin. The blood rushed to her face, a crimson wave washing away the last bit of her poise. The chicken kebab incident. A minor, fiercely debated battle involving Sameer's insistence on a low-carb day and her absolute need for the savory, spicy protein fix.
"You... you didn't have to remember that.." she mumbled, genuinely embarrassed. The thought of the CEO of Meyer Group recalling a trivial cafeteria squabble was mortifying.
"Why not?" Luca asked, seemingly calm. "It was a spirited debate. I admire your commitment to poultry. Now, stop punishing yourself with lettuce."
Panic fueled a decisive, sudden action. "Fine. I'll have the mushroom ravioli with the truffle cream sauce." She slapped the menu shut, avoiding his gaze, mentally cursing Kavya for this whole 'scouting mission' idea.
Luca gave his order, a perfectly composed steak, medium rare and leaned back as the waiter left. Sasha braced herself for the inevitable, gentle rejection.
"Sasha, so..-"
"Uhm," she interrupted quickly, unable to stand the drawn out tension, "I know this is awkward. It's okay, Boss. Just say it... this, this won't work. I don't have to feel more awkward than I already do." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a strange mix of dread and expectation, ready for the professional, efficient dismissal.
Instead, Luca Meyer frowned. He slowly leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at her with an expression of genuine confusion.
"What do you mean, 'this won't work'?" he asked, his voice low and firm.
"H-huh..?" Her carefully prepared mental script vanished.
"Yeah.. Do you think I'm ugly? Or iam not good enough? Or you think I'm a bad guy?" The questions were asked without emotion, but they were absurd enough to completely throw her off balance.
"Say why this doesn't work" he insisted, his laser focus trained entirely on her. No longer the CEO scrutinizing a balance sheet, but a man demanding an explanation.
Sasha's survival instinct kicked in, and she leaned slightly over the table in a panic stricken attempt to create an invisible shield. "No. No, that's not what I meant. You are my Boss, Boss. I am just your employee... So this might..." She trailed off, unable to put into words the disaster that a failed boss and employee date would be.
He sighed, the sound barely audible over the soft jazz music. "There wouldn't be this date if I were a person who calculates professional life into a relationship, Sasha."
She stared at him, stunned into silence. He hadn't dismissed her, he hadn't even referenced the company policy handbook. He had simply made a clear, personal statement of intent. He wasn't treating this like an extension of the office. He was keeping it cleanly separate.
"It's okay if you hate the fact that I, your boss, am your date. I never wanted you to feel bad or awkward. But just know that, I never had any problem with having a date with you."
Sasha realized she was holding her breath. She had spent the entire evening terrified that he was secretly judging her for trying to use the date for professional gain, or worse, seeing her as an opportunistic employee. Instead, he was stating, simply and clearly that he was here by choice and his mind wasn't on the boardroom.
A wave of strange, newfound interest washed over her. She knew her boss as a perfect human being.. a workaholic, disciplined, well-mannered, rarely friendly, strict but never unkind. But this side of him... calmly taking apart her emotional turmoil, offering validation while keeping his neutral composure. God, why was it so... attractive?
The arrival of the foodz, her truffle pasta smelling decadently rich, his steak perfectly seared ended the intense moment. The waiter placed the dishes and quietly vanished.
"It's up to you whether to continue the date or not, but eat" he said, picking up his fork. "Lets just have a simple dinner." He didn't look guilty or even annoyed. He simply looked hungry. He picked up the serving spoon and neatly served a portion of her pasta onto her plate. Another tiny, unexpected domestic gesture.
"Do you want to talk about the project?" she asked, trying to find her footing on familiar ground and clinging to the professionalism she was losing.
He merely gave her a single, sharp look. A silent, intense look that clearly communicated: You better focus on the food.
Sasha immediately looked down and picked up her fork. They ate in a long, strained silence that occasionally broken by the metallic scrape of her fork against the porcelain as she tried to appear relaxed while her mind raced.
When they finished, Luca placed his napkin on the table and signaled for the check. He paid swiftly.. efficiently, as if closing a large deal. He then stood up, the chair moving smoothly back into place.
"I'll drop you" he offered, the statement sounding less like a question and more like a logistical decision.
"No, thanks.. I'll just take a taxi" she responded automatically.
Her independent habit kicking in.
He gave a slight nod, accepting her answer without debate.
Sasha stood hesitantly, pulling her clutch tight to her chest. She had the exit strategy, the professional distance, but now she was the one suddenly debating whether to break it. She saw his posture, the expectant patience and knew he was waiting for her to move, but she couldn't.
"What is it? Just speak" he said, reading the conflicting signals on her face with unsettling accuracy.
"Can we do this again?" she blurted out, the question escaping before her brain could veto it.
Seeing his confused, slightly raised eyebrow she immediately plunged into a torrent of awkward explanation. "I mean... it's true that I'm awkward. I never thought of you like that. And I thought you might be thinking I have any hidden intentions that family setting this date... and I'm sorry if I ruined the date... yeah, I ruined it. And if it's okay... is it okay that we do this again?" she finished, her voice a mix of awkwardness and a sudden, hopeful expectation she couldn't suppress.
Luca Meyer looked at her, at her flushed cheeks, her intense, pleading eyes, the sheer, honest panic of her delivery. Slowly, a subtle tension around his lips eased. He suppressed a small smile. A genuine, private curve of the mouth that none of his employees had ever witnessed. It was brief, and almost painful in its unfamiliarity.
"Sure" he said, the single word a quiet agreement that held a promise of complexity. He gestured toward the restaurant exit. "So, now I can drop you?"
Sasha's face felt hot, but this time the heat was mixed with relief and an undeniable, buzzing excitement.
"Now, I can take a taxi."
[To be continued]