We’d gotten our food from Javier and were just sitting down at an open table. Another salad for me, because that’s what Claire had ordered and I wanted her to think I was just like her.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m glad we did this.”
“I kind of thought you were one of those types of girls.”
“What type is that?” I asked, curious.
“You know. Stick to yourself. Mind your own business. An introvert.”
“A little,” I admitted. It was like so many other things I was discovering about myself. Now that I could go out to a restaurant or spend a day shopping, did I prefer that, or vegging on the couch with snacks by myself?
Unfortunately, I preferred the latter. Less noise, fewer people, less chaos. Less having to smile for no reason, less chitchat about nothing in particular. I’d grown up in a room with three other girls.
Not the same three. They were interchangeable over the years, which was why I never got really close to any of them.
I liked the space. The privacy. The quiet.
But I didn’t know if that was me, or a circumstance of my upbringing. Which meant I needed to push the boundaries. I needed to explore, not just the Houston area, but myself.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Claire assured me. “My cousin, Harley, oh my gosh, she’s like all the way an INTJ, if you know what I mean.”
Zero clue.
“How do you like working for your agency?” I asked her instead.
“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “Like I have to talk to people all day, which can be so draining.”
“Sure,” I nodded. Except she was a receptionist, which was what she basically got paid for.
It was crazy to think what might have happened if I hadn’t inverted the suite number.
I might never have met him…
“So, you work for Evan Grant Allen?” Claire said with a pitch in her voice. It didn’t occur to me that people outside the business world might know who he was. “He’s like sort of famous. At least here in Houston. You know, for like a business person. And he’s so hot.”
“Hot?” I questioned. “Would you call him hot?”
“Totally. He’s got that sort of nerdy Clarke Kent vibe, where if you just take off his glasses, he’s Superman. Have you ever seen eyes like his? That green?”
I laughed softly. “You checking out my boss, Claire?”
“No! Are you crazy? I would never get close to him. He’s too scary. Any time I see him in the hallway, I try to duck intothe bathroom. I don’t know how anyone could work for him. You know what my boss said about him? He said that when he introduced himself to Mr. Allen in the elevator one time, Mr. Allen’s response was to apologize, but he didn’t engage in casual small talk. Like, who does that?”
That actually sounded like a pretty E.G. thing to say.
“Is he as scary as he seems?”
I considered how to answer that. In some regards, yes, he was as scary as he might seem. He was abrupt, aloof and he never pulled any punches.
“He doesn’t scare me,” I said, which was the truth. “But he can be intimidating, I suppose.”
“I read an article about how everything changed for him after his wife died. Did you know that he’d been driving the car when they got into the accident?”
I knew enough. Had seen the headlines anyway when I’d Googled him, but I’d never dug any further or looked into the details. It was too intrusive.
Also, something twisted in my gut when I thought about E.G.’s late wife.
Guilt? Which made no sense.
