Page 24 of His Wall

She was my assistant. That was the sentence I tried. She was a grown woman on a public sidewalk with a man touching her face. She was letting him, and I had no say in any of it. I tried the sentence three times. On the third try, the knot under my ribs did not budge.

I pushed through the side door and walked to my car. I did not look back through the glass. I drove home with the windows down. I did not sleep.

The next morning, I came in early. I made my own coffee and watched the light come up over the building across the avenue. I was at my desk when I heard her come in. The elevator. Her low heels on the carpet. Her bag on the back of her chair. The click of her laptop. The chair creaking. All the same as Monday.

She came to my office with my schedule.

“Good morning, Mr. Cross.”

The cream blouse was back. The hair was pulled flat to the back of her head.

“Morning.”

She ran through the schedule. Partners’ meeting at 9:00 a.m. Halverson moved to 11:00 a.m. Klein at 1:00 p.m.

“Coffee’s on its way.”

“Got it already.”

She glanced at the cup at my elbow. Her face did not change. “Of course.” She turned and walked out. She came back with a fresh coffee, set it on the coaster beside the old one, and left again.

I sat there with both cups in front of me.

The morning dragged on before I caught her in the hallway at 9:00 a.m., standing by the water cooler.

“The vending machine is empty again. Did facilities die or what?”

She didn’t look up. “I’ll notify facilities.” She filled her glass and walked past me back toward the bullpen.

I came around the corner of her desk and put my hand on the edge.

“Claire.”

“Mr. Cross.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yesterday you were…not yourself.”

She kept typing. “Nothing changed, Mr. Cross. Was there something you needed?”

I leaned down lower. “I hope your boyfriend wasn’t too annoyed that we kept you late.”

Her hands stopped. When she looked up, something behind her gray eyes moved — a fast, real thing, gone almost before it was there.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“The man on the sidewalk might disagree.”

She opened her mouth.

“Julian.” Declan was at the end of the hallway. “Conference room. We’re starting.”

I looked back at her. Whatever she had been about to say was gone. She closed her laptop and stood. “After you, Mr. Cross.”

She walked past me toward the conference room. I followed.