Page 56 of His Wall

The morning went. He asked about lunch; I had already eaten. He made a joke on the way to the partners' meeting about the elevator being possessed. I gave him a small polite smile and nothing else. He tried to catch my eye in the meeting. I was looking at my notebook.

After the meeting, he had figured out the shape of it.

My desk phone rang.

"Can you come in? I need the Whitfield binder."

I grabbed the binder from the cabinet behind me. I crossed the floor to his door. The door was open. I stepped inside.

His chair was empty.

The door closed behind me.

I turned.

He was right there.

His left hand came up and found the line of my jaw. His right hand came around to my waist. His mouth was on mine before I had my breath back, and the binder hit the carpet at my feet with a flat slap.

My body betrayed me.

I kissed him back. Three seconds. Four. His hand slid into my hair at the nape of my neck and his heartbeat was against my chest through the white cotton of his shirt. I was not Leah and I was not Claire — I was just a woman who could not stop wanting this man no matter how many reasons I had to stop.

Then the parking garage.

Torres on the concrete. The radio in my hand. The blood between my fingers.

I pushed his chest. Firm.

He stepped back.

"Don't do that, Julian."

"Why not?"

"Because I work for you."

"That's not the reason."

"It's the only one you're getting."

He looked at me. The grin was off. The charm was off.

"I don't understand you, Claire. You were in my arms on a terrace. This morning you handed me coffee like I was a stranger. You kissed me in that park. You kissed me back just now. And every single time, you disappear behind that wall and pretend it didn't happen."

He shook his head.

"You're the hottest and coldest person I have ever met, and I cannot figure out if you want me or if you're running from me."

I looked at him.

I wanted to say both. I wanted to put my hand on the side of his face and tell him I was not Claire Kent and that there was a real woman somewhere underneath who had been losing her grip on the difference between us.

I bent. I picked up the binder from the carpet. I straightened. I held it out to him.

"I'll have the London notes ready by 2:00 p.m."

I walked out.