Chapter seventeen
George
Iarrive at the ERS office at seven forty-three, which is early by any reasonable measure, and the first thing I notice is Tessa's cardigan draped over the back of her chair.
Pale grey. Slightly rumpled at one sleeve, as though she'd pulled it off in a hurry.
I tell myself this is simply an observation. The kind anyone would make, walking through an open-plan office with functioning eyes. I take a sip of my coffee and continue to my desk.
She appears in my doorway seven minutes later, slightly breathless, her hair not quite as composed as it usually is by the time I see her. There are a few strands loose around her face, like she'd walked fast from wherever she'd parked.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"Is there a reason you came in early?" I ask, without looking up from my screen.
A pause. "How did you know?"
I don't have a good answer for that. The cardigan is the answer, and the answer is not something I intend to say out loud, so I say nothing at all and take a long sip of coffee until she moves on.
***
Noah arrives forty minutes later and drops a thick client folder on my desk with the specific force of a man who has decided today is going to be entertaining.
"So," he says, settling uninvited into the chair across from me, "how's domestic life treating you?"
I give him the flattest look I can manage on limited sleep. "Tessa and I are not married. It's a professional arrangement. You've been briefed."
He holds up both hands in mock surrender, but the smile on his face is what I find immediately irritating . Knowing, and slightly too pleased with itself.
From across the office, Tessa laughs at something on the phone. A real laugh, unguarded, a beat too loud, the kind that escapes before a person remembers they're in public.
I lose my place in the paragraph I'm reading.
I find it again. I read the same sentence three times before the words actually reach me, and by then I've already forgotten what Noah was saying, which is probably for the best.
Tessa crosses the office and stops in my doorway, notepad in hand, all business. "The Calloway event. Do you want the venue to arrange separate car service, or should I coordinate through us?"
"Through us," I say. "Easier to control the timeline."
She nods, makes a note, and leaves without fanfare. I realize the entire exchange took less than forty-five seconds and required no effort whatsoever. Not on my part, not on hers.We simply understood each other, the way two people do when they've quietly learned the shape of how the other thinks.
I notice this the way you notice a sound you can't quite place.
Noah is still watching me from the chair across the desk.
"Don't," I say.
"I haven't said anything," he replies pleasantly.
"Your left eyebrow says enough."
He laughs so abruptly he nearly spills his coffee, and I consider that a partial victory.
***
Just before noon, Noah reappears in my doorway, holding a folder thick enough to suggest actual work for once.
