I clutched the coffee cup tight and held it protectively against my chest. I'd never had a preemptive tab before. I wondered if this was how rich people lived. As I headed back to the theater, I also wondered when he’d had time to set me up a tab at my favorite coffee shop andwhy.
When I got back to my office, I found him sitting, his hair sticking up in the front from his hand raking the strands as he talked on the phone. It was a sexy look forhim.
No. Boss. Notsexy.
I took my seat as he hung up. “Almost done,” he said, his eyes a little wide andpanicky.
I couldn’t help but laugh. He gave me a not-helping plea with his eyes, but I wasn’t going to showpity.
“So when did you find time to set up a tab across thestreet?”
He looked up from dialing and stopped. “I did it yesterday after we ate lunch. I realized if you and the staff went there often, it made sense to start a running tab with them. They offered a discount. It keeps upmorale.”
So the tab wasn’t for me specifically but for the staff...hmmm. “Anyway, any problems?” I asked nodding toward thephone.
“I can’t reach our Juliet, but it might be too early forher.”
I nodded. “Josephine is definitely not a morning person. It’s why we don’t start rehearsal until11.”
I sipped some more from the cup until the tension grew and began to choke the air in the room. I let out a long sigh and sat up, squaring my shoulders. “Fine. I’ll let you explain about last night. But I reserve the right to forget all of this ever happened and go back to addressing you as Mr. Gray, the hot theater manager I notice from very faraway.”
He blinked a few times, and his face changed again, another not-mask, as he sat the phone and list carefully on the edge of thedesk.
“I guess I should start at thebeginning.”
7
Dorian
Irubbedmy sweaty palms down the flannel of my pajama pants. “There really is no easy way to saythis.”
She swiveled her chair left-to-right left to right as she watched me. Her face told me she couldn’t care less, but the intensity of her eyes gave her away. “Just sayit.”
There were very few people who knew my condition. I wasn’t ready to let her in on all my secrets, but giving her the truth seemed like the only way to explain last night and keep her in my life. Maybe. If she believed me. Which was never assured when it came to revealing thetruth.
The chair began to creak with her movements, and I glanced back up to her face. She raised her eyebrows,waiting.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wished I were brave enough to meet her eyes as I spoke, but instead, I focused on the unruly stack of paper at the corner of the desk, printed in various shades of white and gray. “I was born in1867.”
The words hung there in the room, heavy and pregnant, waiting for someone to offer them achair.
I glanced over to look at her, one quick flick of my eyes in case I caught too much. It was the same indifferent expression she’d worn before, so I stayed there, our gazes locked now. “The book,The Picture of Dorian Gray, was written as revenge for a rejection of theauthor.”
She blinked a few times in rapid succession, but said nothing, betrayed nothing, gave me nothing. So, Icontinued.
“I was in my early twenties at the time. Anyway, that part isn’t important, I suppose the reason I don’t look 160 years old might be the importantbit.”
More blinking, more waiting. I licked my suddenly dry lips and let out a shuddering exhale. “There is something wrong with my telomeres. They’re the nucleotide sequence thatkeep...”
She continued for me, “Keep your chromosomes from deteriorating or fusing withothers.”
“Yes,” I breathed. “How do you know what telomeresare?”
She shrugged. “I watch a lot of Discovery Channel. Goon.”
I made a note to watch more Discovery Channel if the opportunity arose, and she didn’t throw something at me before I’d finished thestory.
“Obviously, for a long time, I didn’t know why I couldn’t die or be severely wounded. Then one day, the government asked me to come in for questioning. I didn’t leave for ayear.”
