Page 15 of Don't Tell

She walks past me without looking at my face. She does not speak. I don’t even get a good morning from her. One would think I committed some heinous crime. But I didn’t…not yet at least.

She walks to the windows and pulls the curtains back. The morning light comes into the suite in a long flat panel and lands on the rug, the desk, and the unread book on the side table. She sets her cart by the wall and starts working.

I watch as she moves. It’s obvious she can’t wait to get out of here. She breezes through surfaces, scrubbing and dusting like her life depends on it. I wonder why she’s so determined to get away from me. I don’t think I did or said anything to make her this uncomfortable around me. Well, I was naked when she came in, but it can't be the first time she's seen a man with no clothes.

I follow her into the room. The duvet is straightened in three pulls. The pillows rest on the bed in seeming disarray, yet fall into an unintentional perfect arrangement.

I sit at the desk with a tablet in front of me and pretend to read it. I'm watching her hands. They are small and slender. I wonder how they’ll feel in mine. Smooth, definitely.

She starts polishing the lamp on the side table, which does not need polishing. For some reason, she takes longer on it. She appears to be distracted.

I smile to myself. She knows I'm watching her, and it’s affecting her. How spectacular.

Suzanne finally moves on from the lamp. She disappears into the bathroom, and I let her have the moment alone to brace for what’s coming. She finally returns, closes the cart, and turns toward the door.

"I'm done." She is looking at the door, not at me. "I'll be back tomorrow morning." She stops moving.

"Hmm…" I get up slowly and do a quick sweep of the room. I pretend to inspect her work, then I turn to face her. “Suzanne, I think there’s a problem.”

“What?” She still won’t look at me.

I almost laugh. The irritation in her voice is unmistakable. Her fingers tighten around her cart. Seems Suzanne is beginning to lose her patience.

"I'm not satisfied. Why don't you take a seat?” I ask.

She turns.

And there it is. The fire in those beautiful brown eyes. Her knuckles are white from gripping the cart. Her jaw is locked. Her shoulders are vibrating slowly with barely restrained fury.

I gesture to the chair across the desk. “Please, Suzanne. Take a seat.”

“I don’t want to…and stop using my name.”

I smile. “Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

She eyes me for a long moment, but I stand my ground. I don’t look away. Neither does she. It seems we are at an impasse, that is, until she crosses the room.

She pulls the chair half a foot farther from the desk than I had placed it. She lowers herself into it. She grits her teeth hard enough that the muscle jumps under her ear.

"Yesterday," I say, "after you left this room, I called the front desk. I asked for Roger Tate. I had him reassign you to this suiteexclusively. You are not on any other floor or room. You are mine for the duration of my stay."

Her face does not move.

"I’m telling you because I want you to know I did this deliberately, because you can end it. I know you will find it unforgivable." I let the word sit. "I'm not asking you to forgive it. If I had the same information again, I would do the same thing."

I slide the manila envelope across the desk. Slowly.

"This is the NDA — drafted and ready. The compensation is inside."

She looks at the envelope, but does not touch it.

"Every day you come up here, Suzanne, I'm going to ask. You don't have to sign. You don't have to say yes. You only have to understand that I'm not going to stop until you do."

She looks up. Her eyes meet mine across the desk.

I can’t read a thing in her face. She’s perfectly still. She doesn't reach for the document. Neither does she look away.

For a brief moment, I wonder if I pushed too far. Maybe my tactics are too extreme. Maybe I should try to be gentler, more pleading. That is not in my character.