I shrugged. “Instinct. When you live on the streets, you work it like a muscle and it gets stronger every hour.”
Shit.
Our eyes met.
It was a slip of the tongue. Nothing I ever wanted to, or would purposely, share.
I willed him not to ask me about it.
His will was stronger.
“When, and for how long?” he demanded, but I shook my head.
“Flowers,” he barked. “When, and for how long?”
“Do we have to do this?” I begged him. “It’s history. You can’t change it.”
“I’ll decide that.”
“No,” I said. I needed to keep something for myself. Things were getting blurred too often between us. Where he ended and I began.
This job was becoming my life, when I’d only just discovered what it really meant to have one.
Hewas becoming my life.
“You don’t have any authority in this area of my life, E.G. Let it go. Asking me about something personal I don’t want to talk about…it’s not professional.”
“Professional,” he scoffed. “Since when…Fine.”
“Good. Now, do you need me to prep you for the next meeting, because I’ve got some background-”
“I’m not going to let it go,” he cut me off. Then shrugged as if he had nothing to apologize for. “I’m just not.”
“You want to cross that line? You want to step into something you have no business knowing?”
“I do.”
“Then I get to know something about you, too.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His pressed, navy button-down shirt tightened around his biceps, which had become more pronounced over the past few months. I hadn’t found it, in my travels, but I assumed he had a home gym because he mentioned working out. E.G. wasn’t the type to have a gym membership at the local Planet Fitness.
Was he working out more? Or was I just noticing?
“Fine.”
“What?” I’d been focusing way too much on his biceps, apparently.
“You can ask me a question. I won’t guarantee that I’ll answer it, but I won’t fire you for asking.”
I considered the single picture on his desk. The face of the woman I’d come to know well these past few months, spending so much time sitting behind the desk.
My gaze often tracking to her image against my will. Like she was compelling in some way, which was entirely crazy. I’d never met her.
Allison.
Even thinking her name, felt like I was conjuring her ghost.
“When did you meet her?”
