I let myself really look at him. He was confident, without arrogance stapled to it. Sharp-eyed when he listened, like he was actually hearing me and not just waiting for his turn to talk. Beyond handsome. I wasn't blind. But the part that threw me was that he wasgenuine.
He'd helped me and asked for nothing. When he'd told me in his office that he didn't pity me but admired me, I'd seen in his eyes that he meant it. He wasn't looking at me like I was broken or needed saving.
And the rent thing. The “corporate housing arrangement”, that WadeHouse budgeted. I'd thought about that one over and over. A company covering housing for a lawyer who didn't work for it, in a building its CEO happened to live in, arranged the same week he told my realtor to call him. If a witness handed me a story that tidy, I'd have taken them apart on the stand asking less than two questions.
I hadn't asked Julian one. Because the truth was that whether it came off WadeHouse's books, or out of Julian Wade's pocket, the effect was identical. My rent was paid and I hadn't paid it. The only thing the framing of it changed was whether I could live with it. And a business expense I could live with. Impersonal as a parking validation. Owing a company was an invoice. Owing a man was a debt.
So for once, I didn't go looking for the catch. I filed it away and decided not to open that drawer again.
“You know what? Despite my frustrations with you, you have already been a pretty good friend.”
Up went the eyebrow. The smirk came with it. “Was that appreciation, Alyssa? A hint of gratitude?”
“Don't push it.”
He laughed. “So we're friends now? That means I can stop bracing to get cussed out every time I see you?”
“I'm really never gonna live that down, am I?”
“After today? No. You definitely proved the first time wasn't a fluke.” He smiled. “So… am I safe now?”
“That depends. You gonna stop bulldozing through my life without asking?”
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder, or you'll probably get cussed out occasionally.”
“I can live with that. Occasionally.”
“Friends,” I said, holding out my hand across the island.
He looked at my extended hand, then met my eyes. I was suddenly conscious of how we probably looked, the two of us alone in the dim kitchen, leaning toward each other across the counter. His hand was warm when he took mine, his grip firm. I tried to match it, both of us looking each other dead in the eye.
“Friends,” he repeated, holding my stare longer than necessary.
A little jolt ran up my arm at the contact, and I told myself it was just surprise at the calluses on his palm, probably from working out.
I pulled my hand back. “Okay, well, as your friend,” I said, trying to get back on steady ground, “since we've established friends look out for one another… when's the last time you did something fun?”
“Why do you assume I don't have fun?”
“Do you?”
He started to answer and I held up a hand. “And if you say running again, I swear to God...”
He smiled, and I felt a little surge of victory. “Alright. Point taken.”
“So? When's the last time you went to a movie?”
“A movie?”
“You know, big screen, popcorn, sitting in the dark for two hours.”
He actually had to think about it. “Probably well over a decade. Could be two.”
My mouth fell open. “Stop lying.”
“I'm not lying.”
