“We can’t be mates, no.”
“No good in groups?” I asked sympathetically.
“I’m their boss.”
“Oh.”
Maybe he took pity on me then, because he said, “I’m also not particularly adept with other people.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I do better when I’m lubricated.”
I managed not to choke. I was sure—almost sure—the double entendre was unintentional, never mind what I’d read about dry British humor.
He signaled across the room to Conor. “Buy you another?”
I stared rather regretfully at my now-empty wineglass. “I shouldn’t. I have a meeting with one of my teachers tomorrow. I need a clear head.”
He didn’t argue. So he wasn’t planning on getting me drunk and following me up to my room. Although maybe... Beneath his tailored jacket, his shoulders looked solid and broad. His hair was thick and dark.
I tore my gaze away. Okay, I had definitely had enough to drink.
“Another Sexton’s, please,” Tim said to Conor.
“And for you, miss?”
“Nothing, thanks.” After he left, I said, “Laura said you had no heart. What kind of a thing is that to say to your boss?”
For a moment, I thought Tim wasn’t going to answer. Why would he? It’s not like I had some mysterious power over men that made them confide their deepest secrets to me.
“She has her reasons.” He shook his head. “And I can’t believe I just told you that.”
“I did ask.”
His mouth pressed into a firm line. “Still.”
“Maybe you do have a heart,” I suggested. “Maybe someone you love hurt you”—the way Gray hurt me—“maybe Laura hurt you, and now you need to protect your tender heart.”
“You’re quite the writer,” Tim said coolly. “Do you do deep character analysis on everyone you meet?”
I blinked, more confused than offended. “Is it true?”
“I’m not a character in a book. Don’t put me in one of your stories.”
I winced. “I would never.”
Because I knew what that felt like.
FOUR
The girl (woman—Dee, Tim corrected himself) walked away, her loose braid swinging above the curve of her backside. He felt a schoolboy urge to grab it and tug her back.
He could have asked for her number.
Or at least her last name.
Listening to her talk, watching her hands and her eyes as she tackled her food and the conversation with equal enthusiasm, he’d felt almost connected. Almost alive. Animated by a jolt of electricity like Frankenstein’s monster.
