“We’ll see about that,” Gunnar said, his gaze narrowing.
“No, we won’t. Just…leave it, Gunnar. Between the gossip about me from the retreat and Jay’s piling on, I’m…” I dropped my head into my hands, unwilling to admit the depth of my hurt and embarrassed by my inability to hold my feelings closer. “I’m tired.”
“Okay,” he said, more softly than I expected.
I closed my eyes and soaked up the silence, enjoying being near him even as I recklessly wished he’d make a damn move—put us both out of our misery.
“Mary,” he said.
I frowned, confusion growing as I looked up at him.
“Laura, Jennifer, Sarah, Helen, Elizabeth…ummmm…”
“Why are you saying women’s names?” I asked.
“I’m guessing your middle name.” He raised an eyebrow. “Caroline, Sasha, Patricia, Ruth, Martha, Kristin, Ellen, Nora, Isla?—”
“Oh my God.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it; this man was utterly ridiculous, and he didn’t seem to care. “No, none of those is my middle name.”
“All right, let’s see… Bertha, Martha, Madelyn, Carmen, Cara, Carina, Courtney, Cassiopeia…”
I giggled until tears slid from the corners of my eyes and I gasped for air. “N-no.” How did he do that? I’d been so frustrated and hurt, and now I was laughing so hard my sides ached.
“Damn.” His lips quirked and those glacial eyes warmed into the hottest flames. “Who knew there were so many women’s names?” He thought a moment. “Susan, Isolde, Esme, Charlotte?—”
“I don’t have a middle name,” I said between gasps for air.
“Really? That’s unusual.”
I shrugged as my gaze returned to the table. ”Okay, I do, but I’m not telling you.”
“Fair enough. Now that you’re not glaring like you want to stab me with your pencil, please tell me what’s bothering you,” he coaxed.
I closed my eyes, blocking him out, wishing I could block out my overactive mind. “My personal life has no bearing on my work here?—”
“I find it fascinating that people believe that,” Gunnar said. His tone was conversational but his eyes, now much cooler, assessed me carefully as I opened my own. “Because I’ve found that personal issues have a great bearing on stress, and thus work performance.” He leaned closer. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. “That’s true for the athletes and my employees.”
My scowl deepened. “I may be employed by this organization, but I’m certainly not your anything.” I plunged my teeth into my bottom lip, wishing those last words could be returned to my foolish mouth.
He straightened. “And that bothers you?”
I shrugged. “Why should it?”
“Why, indeed,” he murmured.
Before he could interrogate me further, my phone beeped. I glanced at the screen, noting MOM as the incoming call, and answered immediately. “Hi. Are you okay? Do you need?—”
“I’m fine, darling. I’m just fine,” she assured me. “I know I gave you a scare, but I’m not dying tonight. Not even tomorrow.” Her laugh was hollow.
That could never be a funny joke. I swiveled away from Gunnar, wishing he’d leave, but hoping he could hear my conversation almost as much as I hoped he couldn’t.
“When will you be home?” Mom asked.
“Well, I...”
“You can’t avoid me and my diagnosis forever,” she said in that gentle voice that felt like sandpaper across my nerves. She’d never had to raise her voice to get her point across. I strove for that level of emotional mastery…and so far failed.
“I’m not.”
