âGood choice.â He couldnât help but feel relief at the choice. Sam had been craving a well-made gyro all morning. âBut Iâm afraid itâs a bit out of the way. A friend of mine owns a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the other side of town⌠and I donât fancy walking that far in these shoes.âÂ
He proceeded to poke a bit of fun at Elliot, a grin forming on his lips as he flirted. It was getting hard for Sam not to grin whilst around the surgeon. âLooks like youâll just have to get used to being chauffeured around, Baldwin.â
Sam opened the glass door to the front of the building, holding it to let Elliot pass through. He let his eyes linger over the other manâs back as he passed before drifting downwards just a bit. It wasnât a long look, but it wasnât a short glance either. And he didnât exactly avert his eyes all too quickly when the surgeon turned around. So what if he was eyeing his employee? Elliot didnât seem to mind all that much. In fact, it seemed more like a game forming between the two of them â a cat and mouse strategy where neither of them knew which role they were supposed to be playing yet.Â
All Sam knew was that at this point, he really shouldnât touch. Although⌠that was more of a guideline than a hard rule.Â
They approached the black car parked at the curb and Samâs driver opened the door for them to enter. âWeâre going over to Fifteenth Street,â he told the man before taking initiative and leading Elliot into the backseat of the car.
Sliding over and stretching out, Sam pulled his phone from his jacket pocket to send a quick text to the owner of the restaurant they were headed to. Once finished, he replaced it and turned to Elliot, watching his reaction to the situation carefully. He didnât know much about him aside from what heâd been told by the man himself and what had been unearthed in his background check. Deducing it was always Samâs favorite part, though, and he found himself absolutely fascinated by the brunette.Â
âTell me about yourself, Elliot,â Sam prompted, leaning back in his seat, legs falling open just the slightest touch as he relaxed. âDid you grow up here? What branch of surgery did you do?â He asked the questions almost rapid-fire, curious to hear the answers to them. âIâm sure youâve got a whole host of interesting stories living up in that brain of yours.â
Elliot almost laughed. God, if he didnât know Samâs type all too well already! Of course there was a car. Of course he knew the owners of restaurants. Of course, of course, of course.
The surgeon climbed into the sleek black car after the heir, the door being closed for him before he could even reach for the handle. And as quickly as Sam gave the direction, they were off.
Then came the small talk. Elliot thought it a little unconventional that he was only getting to that sort of thing now, but made no mention of it, choosing to answer Samâs rapid-fire questions as best he could.
âHere? Oh, God, no. No. I grew up in the suburbs of Miami. It was me, my sister, and my parents, and it was miserable. I mean, itâs Florida -- the only state synonymous with âwe do weird shitâ. So, I got out of there, moved up to Baltimore, and blew all my savings on studying pre-med and getting my PhD at Johns Hopkins. I did plastic surgery for a few years, had my own practice... then the virus broke out, my kidneys failed, and well... you know the rest. ...Itâs really not all that interesting,â he explained, making sure to leave out the less favorable aspects of his years in Baltimore. Sam didnât need to know everything. Though, thinking about it, Elliot realized his time spent at Blue Heaven probably came up in his background check.
Elliot rested his hands in his lap a bit uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say. He couldnât very well ask about Samâs personal life, could he? Sam was his boss, and, quite frankly, Elliot was fairly certain he knew all the important details regarding him.
âSo... uh... what about you?â he asked (almost pathetically, he expected), hoping to shift the course of the conversation back towards the heir.