Chapter 3

After a nap and a quick shower, I peered at myself in the bathroom mirror, trying to make the darkness under my eyes disappear with the liberal use of a cosmetic puff and concealer. 

After about ten minutes, I thought I had done a pretty good job, but then turned on the overhead fluorescent light, saw the harsh makeup tone on my face, and dove for the soap.

I’d rather have raccoon eyes than look like I had half a meter of concealer under my eyes. 

Besides, I’d just come off a twelve-hour flight. Who could blame me if I looked a little tired?

Nobuki. 

I sighed and patted my face dry. The only thing I could do was apply a bit of toner, moisturize, and smear some BB cream on my face. 

I eyed my reflection after the one-minute beauty routine. 

Well. 

It was better than my just-woke-up-after-ten-hours-of-sleep look, that was for sure. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t saying much.

The sudden intrusion of an old KinKi Kids song almost made me knock my toner off the sink and into the toilet. 

I was so caught off guard by my cell phone ringing I didn’t even see who was calling. “Hello?” 

“Have you eaten yet?”

Nervously, I tucked loose strands of damp hair behind one ear. Not that he could’ve seen me. “Not yet, Mr. Miyano.”

“Good. I’ll be at the restaurant on the first floor.”

“Okay, I’ll see—”

He hung up. 

I sighed, staring at the blinking phone screen. 

A sudden rush of resentment twisted my stomach, taking away whatever appetite I might have had. 

“You could’ve said goodbye or something. Instead of just hanging up, like you always do,” I muttered.  

I glanced at the wide-screen TV in front of the queen-sized bed, and was tempted to call Nobuki and tell him I was under no obligation to join him as it was not between working hours. 

To be honest, I might have done it if I was never going to see him again. 

Unfortunately, or fortunately, it was not the case. If I refused him now, I’d feel justified and self-righteous, but then I’d have to see him tomorrow. 

Just imagining the expression he would have for me killed my sense of resentment, and my will crumbled. 

Crud. 

Of course, Nobuki would be unfailingly proper. 

Are you too tired? I understand. Rest. 

But tomorrow, I’d pay for it. 

I was almost positive. 

Besides, I should eat. The company gave me a decent per diem, but I didn’t want to take advantage of it. I hated filling out expense reports and getting them triple-checked.

I pulled on a white shirt, a faded green cardigan that made me look like a preschool teacher, and decided to change into a pair of equally faded jeans, seeing as how technically I wasn’t working so technically wasn’t under any kind of dress code. 

Unless the restaurant on the first floor had a strict dress code. 

Probably not. 

And if they did, then, oh well. 

I took an elevator down and was rather disappointingly allowed into the chic, dimly lit restaurant that seemed more like a bar.

It was a little past seven and the bar area teemed with people, but I saw Nobuki sitting by himself next to the wall, staring intently at his phone. 

A tall, svelte blonde came up to him and patted the spot next to him. Was she trying to take my seat?

Nobuki looked up and shook his head, an easy smile on his face. 

It was the smile that caught me. 

I had never seen him smile like that before. 

Not at work, not on the plane, not even in the car ride with his supposed friend. 

How could he smile like that to a stranger?

The resentment returned.

It wasn’t fair. 

He said something I couldn’t hear over the buzz of the other patrons. The blonde laughed, putting a manicured hand on her slim hips. 

Obviously, he had said something very appreciative, because she grabbed a napkin and pen from the counter, scrawled something on it, and slid it toward Nobuki. 

It didn’t take a million guesses to know what she gave him. 

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, indeed. 

Just then, a waiter approached me, a stack of menus tucked under his scrawny arms. 

He looked like he should’ve still been in high school. 

Maybe he was; I knew working at the age of sixteen was allowed in America. In Japan, anyone caught working in high school without their school’s explicit permission would likely get expelled. 

“Are you waiting for someone, ma’am?” Helpfulness oozed from every honest pore on his broad, open face. “Or would you like a table for one? I’m afraid we’ve only got spots at the bar now.”

“Uh,” I said, still a little surprised to hear English when I had grown up hearing Japanese. 

“Or perhaps I can show you our take-out menu and have your meal sent to your room?”

The blonde with the impressive chest that even Haru the Fox back at work would have envied, sashayed away and I smiled. 

“No, thanks. I see my party over there.” I hastened toward that open seat next to Nobuki before any more attractive females could take my place. 

Not that I was jealous. 

The smile he gave the blonde was nowhere in sight as he handed me a menu. “Order whatever you want.”

I took a long look around the crowded restaurant. “It’s quite busy, isn’t it?”

“Dinnertime.” He took a sip of something brown and clear with a cherry in a lowball glass. “And there is the trade show.”

“So most of the people are from the industry,” I said, riffling through the laminated menu. I’d known hotel food prices were expensive in comparison to other restaurants, but some of the prices were enough to make me feel faint, and I wasn’t even the person paying. The financial department was going to have an aneurysm once they got my receipts.

 “If not all of them.” He hailed down one of the elegantly dressed bartenders, his attire made all the more striking considering how casually most of the patrons were dressed. 

He ordered a steak, medium rare and another whiskey sour. I didn’t want to go through the fifty page menu and its bizarrely expensive prices, so I ordered the same thing. 

“But no whiskey,” I said before the bartender hustled away. “Just iced tea, thank you.”

Nobuki made a small noise in the back of his throat. 

It almost sounded like derision. 

I refused to get ruffled. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all.” He raised his whiskey as if giving me a toast. “Iced tea. It suits you.”

What did he mean? “I’m surprised you’re drinking alcohol.”

“Oh?”

“You always seem so in control, but alcohol is the very meaning of losing control, isn’t it?”

The bartender slid over the iced tea on a coaster and I took a sip of the cold, slightly bitter drink.

He tilted his head to one side. Over his shoulder, I noticed a few women cast appreciative glances his way. “Sometimes. Not always. You know you don’t have to be Miss Goody Two Shoes all the time. I told you what you do on your own time is up to you. Can’t you even relax with a drink?”

I pointed to the perspiring glass by my hand. “I am.”

He leaned in close and my pulse sped up.

“Are you the kind of woman to drink a cosmo? Or maybe beer. But you don’t look like the type to drink beer.” 

I eyed him, not sure what he was getting at. “I’m not really a fan of anything alcoholic.”

He sneered at me. “Think you’re too good to lose control? Or are you afraid to?”

“Actually, I have no problems with drinking. I drink with my father all the time. I don’t have any brothers, so I keep my father company when he wants to have a glass or two. He hates to drink alone.”

His eyes widened. My answer had surprised him. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” I took another sip of the iced tea, my stomach grumbling as a waiter walked past with a large plate of hamburger and fries. “I learned my limits early on and I’ve seen what too much alcohol can do to a person. So I guess there’s very little mystique in it for me. To be honest, I find the act of drinking to be boring.”

I fidgeted under his intent gaze. 

“Boring?”

“Very much so. If I’m going out, I’ll have maybe one drink. No more than that, though.”

He snorted and swirled the remainder of the amber-colored drink in the sparkling lowball glass. “At least you’re a cheap date.”

I flinched. 

I didn’t think that was an insult, but it sure as hell sounded like one. 

“As long as it’s not with you,” I retaliated, resisting the urge to stick out my tongue at him as though I was seven. 

He didn’t reply to that particular barb, as thornless as it had been, instead hailing down the bartender for another refill of his whiskey. 

“You’re drinking another one?” 

He let one shoulder lift and then drop in a bonelessly elegant movement. He even shrugged like a prince. I was starting to feel like a peasant next to him. 

I knew I looked like one, considering how tired I felt. 

Our food arrived and all I could do was stare at it. 

“Wow,” I mouthed as I stared at the gigantic plate before me, the cutlery wrapped up in a red napkin. “This is…”

“Normal for America,” said Nobuki as he gave the steak the size of a truck wheel a few dashes of salt and pepper. 

Gawking at the enormous piece of sizzling meat, I thought maybe the prices weren’t so exorbitant after all. 

“What are you waiting for?” asked Nobuki, already tucking into his meal. 

“Three more people, maybe?” I replied, watching him cut his steak.

The man even ate like a prince, using the fork and knife like he was born to it, with smooth, fluid movements. I had grown up in a household that consisted of a father who detested Western cuisine, and while I was a master with chopsticks, using a fork and knife in tandem was proving to be a little beyond me. 

I decided to just cut the entire steak in one go, aware of the glances Nobuki sent me.   

“I’m not used to using a knife and fork at the same time,” I explained. “Did you eat a lot of Western food growing up?”

“I was in California for a while in high school, so yes, I picked up how to eat like a Westerner pretty fast.”

That must’ve been when he met Julian. Interesting. 

Cutting the entire steak took more time than I thought and once I finished, I knew there was no way I’d be able to eat that much food in one go. Maybe not even two goes. “This is so much food. How do Americans eat so much?”

“If you can’t finish it, just get the rest in a box,” said Nobuki. “I don’t like seeing food go to waste.” 

I looked at him questioningly. A prince wouldn’t care about wasted food. I was seeing different sides to my ice prince of a boss and I wasn’t sure if I liked it.

“Do you always feel that way? Even if it’s not delicious?” 

“I always eat whatever’s in front of me. Otherwise it’s an insult to the person who spent the time and effort to stand in front of a stove.” He paused. “Unless it’s cheese. I hate cheese.”

Another interesting fact I never knew. 

Then again, what did I really know about him?

“So, except for cheese, you’ll eat anything,” I mused, staring at the giant piece of steak on my fork. “Do you like to eat?”

Hard to believe, considering his lean appearance. 

Then I remembered that famous champion eater from Kitagawa who was skinny as a stick, even though he could eat thirty hotdogs in one minute.

“Not particularly. I eat to live, nothing more.” 

“Really?” I eyed him suspiciously, still working on my first few bite while he was already half done. “Watching you, that’s hard to believe.”

“Just because someone finished their meal quickly, you think it’s due to their hunger or because they enjoy eating?” He gave me a dismissive look. “That’s rather naïve.”

“Aren’t those are the only two options?”

He snorted. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

I’ve never wanted to stab anyone with a fork before, but I was beginning to see the merit. “Then why are you eating like you might never see a steak again?” I asked.

He speared a piece of steak and looked at it in an almost contemplative way. “There was a time in my life when that might’ve been true.”

I stopped chewing. “That’s not a joke, is it?” 

Nobuki continued eating and then stopped to dab at the corner of his lips. Of course, nothing was there; he was too neat of an eater to leave a stain on his clothes or anywhere else. “Not at all. When I was seven…” He hailed down the bartender for another drink, this one a gin and tonic, while I hovered on the edge of my seat. “Anyway, when I was seven, my father lost his job. Then my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, and what with medical bills, paying for school fees for my sister and myself, things got a little hairy. My family didn’t have a lot saved up, and my mother and my sister, who was sixteen at the time, took part-time jobs. This was before I came to America.”

“Your sister worked, too?”

“She got a job at a convenience store. They let her work after school and on the weekends.”

It sounded like a TV show. “And her school was okay with that?”

“They were aware of her circumstances.” He grinned mirthlessly. “My mother said either they could have their star runner or, if they kicked her out, then they’d never make it to nationals without Makoto.”

Damn. “So she studied, and worked, and competed in sports? You have an amazing sister.”

“That’s what everyone thinks.”

I nodded, a piece of wonderfully grilled steak dripping in steak sauce halfway from the plate to my mouth. “What about your father?”

“He took the opportunity to start something new.”

“Like what?”

He swirled his drink in the glass, looking effortlessly elegant doing so. “He was always interested in starting his own furniture company, and he was interested in music. So he decided to combine the two.”

I blinked, not seeing the link between the two. “I don’t get it.”

He stared at his glass. “A lot of people didn’t either, not at first.” 

“So? How did he do it?”

“He transformed old instruments into furniture. Changed flutes into lamp stands. Turned old piano keys into utensils. Refurbished old cello bodies into armchairs and sofas.” Nobuki shoved a lock of hair over one ear. “A lot of people were interested.”

I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on my lips. “Then he is more successful now than he was before.”

“You could say that.” He looked away. “But it didn’t happen overnight. He did a lot of odd jobs for a few years while our spare room was stuffed with rusty clarinets and violins with snapped strings.”

“And that’s where…”

He nodded. “We were pretty poor for those years. We barely made enough to eat and pay the bills. No matter how much I hated the food my mom made, I made sure to eat it as quickly as I could, because I didn’t want her to think I was being ungrateful.” He sighed. “I just didn’t want her to cry. You ever hear your mother cry?”

I didn’t think he was referring to tears induced by a sappy movie. “No.”

He looked away, as if uncomfortable. “It’s not…pleasant.”

A heavy, strained silence filled the space between us. I would have done anything to fill the quiet. 

Surprisingly, it was Nobuki who spoke first.

“No matter what was on the dinner table, whether it was just rice and eggs, or fried cutlet, I ate as much as she gave me and I was happy for it. Because she was happy her work made it possible to put food on the table.” He let out a soft breath. “We learned a lot during those years. I learned money was one of the most important things in the world.”

“How old were you when you came to this realization?”

“Eight.”

Oh my God. 

My boss was a child prodigy. 

“That’s why you eat the way you do.”

“Sometimes we only got some rice and fried eggs or just toast with milk.” He grimaced. “Sometimes not even milk. Milk was expensive.” 

If my mother was here, she would have soaked up two boxes of tissues. “That’s so noble.”

He let out a burst of laughter. “Noble? No way. It was terrible. I wouldn’t pay to go through it again. But…” His voice grew softer and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his slim, elegant fingers tracing a pattern on the polished wood counter. “I learned a lot about life. And I’m grateful for the experience.”

I felt quite unworthy and very petty. “I see.”

“So eat that steak,” he said. “And the fries. Eat the whole thing, because it might be the last good meal you have for a while.”

After that story, how could I possibly not?

I sat there for an hour and managed to choke down the entire meal. 

And all the while, Nobuki nursed that same whiskey, watching me with an amused glint to his eyes. 

At long last, I pushed away the empty plate and burped maybe not so discreetly, one hand on my seemingly impossibly distended stomach. 

“I’m so full,” I moaned, covering my mouth with my napkin. “I don’t think I want to ever eat again.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be hungry soon enough,” he said dryly. “I have to admit, I don’t know how you finished off that whole thing. That was almost a kilo of meat, and fries, and you had three glasses of iced tea.”

“Well, when you told me about your childhood, I felt like I had to,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, it wasn’t like eating that steak was a chore. It was delicious and who knows when I’m going to able to eat something like that again. You can’t find food like this back home.”

Nobuki leaned, hand outstretched. 

Toward me. 

I felt like the steak was going to come right back up. 

Then his thumb swiped along my cheek. 

I couldn’t move. 

Couldn’t breathe. 

I don’t think I even blinked. 

He was touching me. 

His touch was unbelievable soft, like butterfly wings against my skin, and I wobbled on the stool. 

He pulled back, face set into an expressionless mask. 

At that moment, I think I would’ve done anything to know what was going through his head. 

“You had steak sauce on your face.” He wiped his thumb on a napkin. 

My face felt hotter than an iron left on too long. “Thank you. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Yes, I bet you don’t usually consume your weight in meat, either” he said dryly and stood up. “It’s late. There are a few preparations I need to do before the convention tomorrow. You can stay here as long as you want. Just tell the bartender to charge everything to your room.”

“No problem,” I said, too alarmed at my reaction to his touch to do anything but nod like an automaton. 

“Good night,” he said and then headed out of the restaurant, drawing more admiring glances from several patrons. 

I stayed at the bar for a little longer, mostly because my heart was still pounding.

This was depressing. 

Nobuki had touched me once, once, just to get sauce off my face, and I melted like chocolate in the summer. 

Pathetic. 

Absolutely pathetic.