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The first semblance of normalcy since discovering that my “elite” fencing instructor moonlit as an unpaid maid came from six uninterrupted hours of work.
By the time I raised my head from the computer screens, my watch read half past noon. On the dot.
My internal clock functioned properly again.
Natalie cracked the door open, poking her head past its cavity. “Yoo-hoo.May I interrupt?”
You already fucking are.
I reclined in my leather chair, ripping the black thick-rimmed reading glasses from my face and placing them on their stand. “Yes?”
“Your lunch is ready, Mr. Sun.”
I ate the same lunch every day since seventeen. Eight strips of sashimi, one toro inari, cold shishito peppers, and a cucumber salad.
Variety didn’t interest me.
I found no pleasure in food, and type 2 diabetes seemed like a less appealing prospect than Chapter 9 bankruptcy.
“Send it in.”
Natalie invaded my domain, jostling a cart past the double doors.
She followed me to the coffee table, set down a cavernous porcelain bowl of water, and handed me a fresh towel after I washed my hands in it.
As far as assistants went, she was tolerable enough.
Former Phi Beta Kappa at Johns Hopkins. No scented beauty products to nauseate me. Capable of taking orders with above-average executive function.
A little heavy on the dialogue, but I supposed I’d yet to encounter anyone who could keep their questions, answers, and reactions to my preferred two-syllable limit.
She transferred the tray of dishes from the cart to the table, then collected her iPad, clutching it to her chest.
If possible, the powder-blue blouse wrapped around her torso like Saran Wrap tightened with the movement.
She’d coupled the shirt with a gray pencil skirt and a pair of Louboutins so high, she probably had an eagle-eyed view of the Washington Monument.
I cocked a brow, curious what had given her the idea that she was welcome to stay. “Yes?”
An audible gulp traveled down her neck. “Mr. Sun…”
She painted a circle with the tip of her ridiculous shoe, white-knuckling the edges of the tablet screen.
I stared at her.
She knew better than to expect me to fill the silence.
Natalie fidgeted under my scrutiny. “There’s something else.”
After studying her for ten straight seconds, I gathered that she had no intention of completing the thought.
“Well, I’m on pins and needles here, Natalie. Whenever you’re ready. Preferably in this century.”
Another gulp.
A shaky breath.
I should’ve finished my lunch by now, which I preferred at the forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit I expected it served at.
