I've been standing in front of the full-length mirror for the past five minutes. After much deliberation, I decided to go for a pale green blouse and a short, white skirt but now I don't know whether to complete the look with a pair of white loafers or black, low-heeled pumps.

No, no, no, I can't wear loafers for lunch with The Boss. He's wearing a suit for God's sake! I slip my feet into the pumps and tie my hair up into a long, tidy horsetail and frown at my reflection.

Ugh! I look like I'm off for a business meeting. This isn't a business meeting.

What the hell is this anyway?

I rummage through my flats again and settle on a pair of white sneakers. My hand reaches automatically for the lipstick drawer but then I freeze. Maybe the lipstick is a bit too much. I don't even know where we're going.

Oh, screw it!

I snatch the neutral brown one, the one that's neither too bright nor too shiny and dab it on.

There. Better. I think.

I let my hair down and run my fingers through it, shaking my head vigorously to give it some volume. It's still damp from the shower, but at least I don't smell like an ashtray anymore.

Okay. That's it. Breathe, Ally.

I hurry down the stairs, hating the erratic pounding in my chest. Why is my heart doing that? I'm not scared of him, am I?

No. No. More like, scared for him.

I see Mr Cordina pacing around impatiently and typing furiously on his phone, presumably shooting emails all over the place and hopefully impervious to the fact that I took much longer than twenty minutes to get ready.

He doesn't notice me coming down so I slip through the doorway on the left and into the kitchen where Millie is sitting quietly in her corner with a streaming cup of coffee in front of her. The radio is switched off and the room feels weird without it.

"Hey," I whisper, squatting in front of her.

"Hey," she whispers back.

"We're going to get my car back from Saint Julian's and then we're grabbing lunch," I murmur, the panic still evident in my voice despite the fact that I'm whispering.

"I know, I heard you," she says with a cheeky grin. "You weren't very polite. Why is your car in Saint Julian's?" she adds as an afterthought.

"I ran into him yesterday and he made me get a taxi because he thought I was too drunk to drive."

Nanna Millie furrows her eyebrows in confusion before arching them. "Were you?"

"Of course, not!" I tut. "What am I going to do?"

"Get your car. Have lunch," she answers with a shrug. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know!" I reply.

"And why aren't you wearing heels?"

"Should I be wearing heels?" I gasp concernedly.

"Well," Millie starts hesitantly, "he's in a suit. And he's very handsome. If he were taking me out to lunch, I'd wear heels."

My jaw drops at her bold statement. "He's my boss! And he's very, very odd. Not to mention he's a bit old for-"

"I know exactly who he is, Ally. Go. He's been waiting long enough," she urges, waving me away. Then, just before I reach the doorway she hisses, "Ally!"

She whooshes towards me, fluffs up my hair a bit more, unbuttons the first two buttons of my blouse and nods affirmatively. I ignore the wave of nausea that churns in my stomach and march bravely into the living room.

Mr Cordina looks up from his phone and stops pacing as soon as he sees me. He quickly shoves his hands in his pockets again, clears his throat and attempts to smile. Or at least, I think that's what he's doing.

"Ready?" he asks curtly.

I nod, mildly surprised at the lack of a snarky comment about my delay, and head out the door.

A hundred watchful eyes graze our backs as we walk down the alley steps in silence. The world is perfectly still. Not even the leaves on the giant plants dare tremble. I spot his red Porsche parked in front of old Joe's garage, right in front of the red, spray-painted NO PARKING sign. I hold my tongue but Mr Cordina is sharp. He sees my eyes rolling before they reach the back of my skull.

"What?" he sighs irritably, opening the door for me.

"Nothing," I reply, pursing my lips.

"Good."

I watch him through the side mirror as he walks around the car. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and straightens his blazer.

Relax. It's just lunch. People have lunch with their boss all the time.

He sits in the driver's seat, slams the car door and starts the engine, all without so much as a glance in my direction. Then, we take off with an audible roar that stirs the whole street.

#

Forty minutes later, we're walking into a chic bistro in Smart City. Still uneasy from the silent ride with him, save for a few snappy business calls, I notice that the place is full of people with colourful drinks in front of them. Everything and everyone looks very glamorous. I have never felt more out of place in my life.

He asks for the table that looks over the sea at the far end of the restaurant, and, as I follow Mr Cordina amidst the rattan tables and chairs, I can't help but feel like I'm walking into a party I wasn't invited to. Nanna Millie was right. I should have worn heels.

I try to focus on the soft lounge music in the background, the harmonic hum of chit-chat and laughter.

As soon as we sit down, a chirpy waitress with blond, springy curls and a dashing smile brings us the menus. "Are you here for drinks or will you be eating as well?"

"We're eating," Mr Cordina answers brusquely before I have time to even consider the question.

The waitress beams at him, setting the menus and wine list on the table and not hesitating to flash him a flirty wink before she leaves.

Wow! Is it that obvious that there is no chance in hell I could possibly be his date?

"White? Or red?"

"White or red what?" I ask moodily.

"Wine." The impatience in his voice is palpable.

"Neither. Thank you."

He cocks one eyebrow as he peers at me from behind the wine list. "Are you not a fan of wine either?"

I let the obvious sneer in his voice slide and force my mouth into a polite smile. "As a matter of fact, I happen to love wine."

"Are you hungover?"

"I am not hungover. I'm just not in the mood for wine."

The wine list drops onto the table with an audible thump and his clear, blue eyes cloud over. "Fine then. What are you in the mood for?"

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks and I cannot ignore his rude tone any longer. "Excuse me? Am I missing something?"

He doesn't answer. He glowers at me. Arrogant. Cold. Eyes.

"You know what?" I state after a while. "If you plan on being a proper asshole, you might as well just take me home. I don't know why I even said yes to this."

He studies me intently, looking like he has a bitter taste in his mouth, possibly debating whether or not he should fire back. But he simply drags in a deep breath and pretends to contemplate the food menu as he sinks further down in his chair.

I take a sweeping look around the restaurant, half-expecting to see everyone staring at us. The girls on the neighbouring table cackle loudly as they flick their glossy, shampoo-commercial hair over their shoulders, clink their cocktail glasses and sip happily through their straws.

I take the other menu and try to focus on the food, but soon, the pretty waitress is back.

"What can I get you?"

"I'll have a small bottle of sparkling water, please," I reply promptly, not wanting The Boss to answer for me again.

"And I'll have a Double Black," he says in a dangerously quiet voice.

He keeps his eyes fixed on me the whole time. The waitress looks at us for a second too long then she stalks away from our table. I stare him down, his laser gaze burning into mine until he snaps his menu shut and flicks it onto the table carelessly, looking away over the sea. This catches the attention of one of the cocktail-drinking girls next to us. She eyes him hungrily as she sips her frozen margarita and I get the urge to flick my own menu at her.

Watch out, lady. You'll give yourself a brain freeze.

His phone goes off again and to my surprise, he denies the call. "Just have something light," he says abruptly. "Like a salad or something."

"A salad?" I mutter derisively. "What am I, a cow?"

The Boss doesn't retaliate but his eyebrows shoot up straight into his hair. I smile apologetically, perfectly aware that I may not be a cow but I'm certainly acting like one.

His expression smooths over and I think I see a hint of a smile. Just like that, the tension that has been building inside me ever since we left the house eases up slightly. When my eyes fall back to the menu, I realise that I'm actually quite hungry.

"So, what are you having?" Mr Cordina says. His tone is notably softer and I take it as a sign of truce.

"I think I'll have the steak."

He chuckles softly. "Good thing you're not a cow or you'd be eating your own kind."

Seeing the humour in his eyes, I laugh nervously. I can't keep up with his mood swings. "Yes, I probably would. I need my regular fix of meat."

I cringe at my choice of words as Mr Cordina's eyes gleam playfully and one corner of his mouth curls upwards into a heart-stopping, half-smile. An explosion goes off in my stomach and it has nothing to do with how hungry I am. I bite my lower lip nervously, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "You know? Out of all the things I thought could possibly get a smile out of you, Mr Cordina, a sexual innuendo would have been the last on my list."

"That was you trying to get a smile out of me?" he snorts as he leans back into his chair and drums his fingers on the table. "You need coaching. Don't they teach Flirting 101 in school anymore?"

I gape back at him, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, not sure if I'm embarrassed or offended, but his piercing blue gaze has me squirming in my chair. "I... I wasn't trying to flirt with you, Mr Cordina."

The air shifts again. His eyes are no longer playful. His face is hard and menacing and his lips snap into a straight.

Damn it, what did I say now?