“Because,” he said, reaching for his drink like the question didn’t matter, “if I’m keeping you from it, I should at least know what I’m competing with.”
“Maid in Manhattan.” I answered without hesitation.
Nathan nodded thoughtfully, as if storing that bit of information away. “Why that one?”
I grabbed my napkin and wiped my fingers before answering. “The social class difference. She’s a maid and he’s this big-time politician with paparazzi watching his every move. He has his pick of equally beautiful and wealthy women, but hewantsher. Helikesher.” I paused, shrugging lightly. “Because she’s real. And he sees that.” I explained.
Nathan was quiet for a moment. “Seeing it is one thing,” he said finally. “Choosing it is another.”
I glanced up at him. “You think most people wouldn’t choose that?”
“I think most people like the idea of real,” he said. “Until it asks something of them.”
I frowned slightly. “Like what?”
His gaze shifted to me, steady, unreadable. “Risk,” he answered.
I let out a small breath, leaning back in my chair. “For the record, I’d still rather be at home watching it.”
“Noted,” he said.
I glanced back at him. “Noted?”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
My brow lifted. “You’re going to make up for keeping me late?”
His expression didn’t change, but there was something quieter there. “I said I would.”
I held his gaze, trying to decide if he actually meant it. That was the problem with Nathan. He usually did.
For the first time in a while, the tension between us eased, and we ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before a yawn escaped from me before I could stop it.
“Tired?” Nathan asked, sounding amused.
“Just a little bit.” I blushed. “Aren’t you?”
“I’ll be fine,” He answered. “I have a few more things here I’d like to finish up. You can go ahead for the night once you’re done eating.”
“You do realize you have a whole security team that can’t go home to their families until you leave, right?”
“Just a few more minutes,” Nathan argued.
I frowned. “You need to get some sleep.” When he didn’t budge, I tried again. “I hate to break it to you, Mr. Edge, but you’re human just like the rest of us.”
His lips quirked into something between amusement and resignation. “It’s not that. I’m used to working on a few hours of sleep. Side effects of having insomnia.”
The word lingered in the air between us.
I blinked. “Insomnia?”
He nodded, still casual, but his voice was quieter now. “Since I was eleven.”That’s how old he was when his mom died.
My chest tightened. “That's when...?”
“Yeah.” He looked away. “After that, sleep just stopped being easy.”
“I didn’t know.” My voice was soft, unsure. It felt strange, wrong even, that I’d worked beside him for years and never known this about him.
