“Break up?”
“With your young man.”
NowI’mconfused. “My young man?”
“You know, the big guy. Also works late?” George holds his hand above his head in the universal sign fortall.
“Are you talking about the guy who works across the way?” I point across the atrium. “Ben?”
“That’s the one. I thought he was your boyfriend.”
“Myboyfriend? Whyever would you think that?”
“I just assumed when he asked me to keep an eye on you that—”
“Asked you to keep aneyeon me?”
George’s eyebrows shoot up. “A few days ago he asked me to check in on you when you were working late. It seemed like an innocent request.” He looks puzzled. “The way he said it, I thought you and he...”
“No.”
I steal a glance at Ben’s office window. His blinds are still closed, though light shines out the edges. Of course he’s there. He’s always there.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made that assumption. Us old men, we see what we want to see.” He winks at me. “But you can never be too careful, right? Nice that you have friends looking out for you.”
I force a smile. “Yes, it’s very...niceof him. Thanks, George. Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
He ambles off down the hall at the same time the elevator doors in front of me snap open. I stare into the empty space, feet rooted to the spot.
I can’t believe it. Ben isstillwatching out for me. Even after everything that’s happened.
The guilt I’ve managed to keep at bay comes roaring back, and this time it looms larger than my pride. There’s no excuse I can hide behind now—I have to apologize. This undeserved act of kindness has forced my hand.
When the doors slide shut I’m spurred into action, advancing toward his office with a determined stride. Our standoff has gone on long enough. He apologized to me once; I should be brave enough to do the same.
When I get to his door, it’s slightly ajar and the sound of his voice wafts out; he’s on a phone call. I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and knock lightly, nudging the door open a little.
When he glances over and sees it’s me, he stops midpace. I point to one of his desk chairs with raised eyebrows, but instead of answering he turns away, circuiting to the window and continuing his conversation.Very mature.I sigh and enter, giving myself permission to snoop around his office a bit while he finishes his call.
In one corner there’s a small round table with a bunch of newspapers and financial magazines littering the top. A muted TV playing the Fox Business channel rests atop a bookshelf crammed with hardbacks and three-ring binders. Framed UVA diplomas adorn the walls. As usual, stacks of paper cover every square inch of available desk space. Those piles give me hives.
I casually scan his desk, searching for proof of Corinne as Serious Girlfriend—a framed photo, a handwritten note, some ticket stubs, perhaps—but the only personal items I see are a picture of a group of guys holding up some glistening, just-caught fish, and a bobblehead of a Washington Nationals baseball player.
“He thinks going to the press will give him leverage, but he’swasting his time. He has no choice here.” I have no idea what Ben’s discussing, but his body language screamsirritation.
I make a face at the conversation and move to take a seat at the desk. It’s by sheer divine intervention that my eyes land on a file peeking out from underneath his laptop. The tab on it is simply marked,KATE.
I freeze midsquat. My thighs burn. I snap my eyes to Ben but his back is still to me, his line of sight trained out across the atrium. He’s totally oblivious to my discovery.
Why does Ben have a file with my name on it?
I reach across his desk as stealthily as possible, determined not to rustle anything and alert him to my clandestine activity. It’s the highest-stakes game of Jenga I’ll ever play. I pinch the file in my fingertips and slide it out as silently as I can. I almost have it free whenwham!
Ben’s hand slams down on the file and I jump about a foot in the air. He whisks it away, depositing it in one of his desk drawers and slamming it shut with abang.
The hell?
