He settles next to me on the bed and secures the cake stand between us. My stomach growls as he hands me a fork. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s a cross between a hoodie and a mumu. The most comfortable thing you’ll ever wear, guaranteed.”
His lip curls. “It should be burned.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I point a fork at him. “I love this thing. Now that I’m retired, I’m going to wear it nonstop.”
“Looks a bit warm for Addis Ababa.”
My mouth falls open. “How did you figure it out?”
“You have all these travel blogs bookmarked in your browser. I did some snooping after you tendered your resignation.” He passes a hand over his face. He still looks tired. He probably only slept a few hours last night. He likes to live on China Standard time. The trouble is, he also likes to live on Eastern Standard Time and Greenwich Mean Time, too.
I dig into the pie. Piers is quiet, like he needs a break from talking. His shoulders slope a little, and lines are bracketing his mouth. I study them while I eat.
“How long have you been planning to escape me?” he asks.
“I…” I stop. I don’t want to lie. “From the beginning. But it wasn’t an escape. I never thought I’d last this long in the job.”
“Why not?”
Is he really asking that? “Because I’d make a mistake and you’d fire me.”
“Am I such an ogre?” His face is carefully blank. Is he upset?
I open my mouth. Close it.
He looks away. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer.”
Did I hurt his feelings? I didn’t know he had feelings to hurt.
I cover his hand with mine, and his head snaps back to me. I don’t know what to say, though, so I fork a piece of pie and hold it up. “I don’t know what this is, but I think you might like it.” He leans in to taste it, but I pull the fork back. “It has dairy. You need to take your pill. In my purse.” I wait until he’s dug out the Lactase bottle and swallowed a pill, then feed him bites of the pie. We both agree that the texture is more like cake.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he says in a rare show of appreciation.
“You’re welcome.” He has loads of people catering to his every whim. But who really knows him? “I don’t think you’re an ogre.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You’re confusing me with Sloan. And everyone else in the office.”
He’s not rude,I once defended him to Sloan.It’s just his dry wit. He’s actually hilarious.
He’s not,she told me.You’re just uniquely equipped to handle him. God help us all when you realize you deserve better.
He gives a bitter laugh. “They think I’m the worst.”
“You’re not the worst, you’re just British. Upper crust. Keep a stiff upper lip, guv-nor!” I try for an Eliza Doolittle accent.
“Never do that again.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” I lick my fork clean.
“Was it really so terrible working for me?” He sounds like he doesn’t care, but I sense that he does. He cares a ton.
“No. The perks were nice. I am going to miss the perks.” I’m not going to give in and tell him I loved working with him. His snark, his intensity. The long work hours watching his brilliant mind take on the toughest business problems.
I can’t tell him I’ll miss him. The highs and lows, the rollercoaster. The giddiness I felt when I walked into his office early Monday morning.
