Page 121 of His Good Girl

He took the packet. “Noted.”

Dana turned to me. “You. Come with me.”

My head snapped up. “Me?”

“No, the ghost of compliance training past. Yes, you.”

Callum’s expression narrowed for a second, but Dana did not look at him.

“I need her for five minutes,” she said.

“For what?”

“Woman things.”

The silence that followed was so complete that even Callum Rowe had no immediate answer.

Dana looked at him then, one eyebrow lifting. “Unless you’d like to supervise those too?”

His jaw tightened and I stood too quickly, which was a terrible idea for several physical reasons I would never be putting in writing.

“I can go,” I offered.

Dana’s eyes flicked over me once from head to toe and I had a feeling she was looking deep into my soul.

“Excellent,” she drawled.

I followed her out because, as it turns out, that was what I did now. Men told me to sit. Women told me to come. My life had become a series of instructions delivered by terrifyingly competent puppet masters.

Dana led me down the hall and into a small break room tucked behind the operations floor. It had a sink, a coffee machine, two high-top tables, and a view of a neighboring building’s HVAC system. It was perhaps the least romantic room in Rowe Tower, which I appreciated on a spiritual level.

She shut the door, which made me stop breathing. Then she leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms.

“Relax. I’m not HR.”

“That is not as comforting as you may think.”

“No, HR would use more words and accomplish far less.” She studied me for a moment. “Are you sleeping with Callum?”

I made a sound that I would deny for the rest of my life.

Dana nodded. “Terrible answer.”

“I—”

“Before you decide which lie to embarrass both of us with, let me clarify. I am not asking because I want details. I do not. I have a robust imagination and several reasons to resent it.”

My face went hot enough to make the coffee machine redundant.

“It’s—” I started.

“Complicated?” she supplied.

I closed my mouth.

“Of course it’s complicated. He’s Callum. He’s your boss. He knew your father. There’s history, money, grief, a power imbalance, and probably some deeply inconvenient eye contact. If it were simple, I wouldn’t have dragged you into a break room that smells like burnt espresso and printer toner.”

I gripped the edge of the nearest table. “Does everyone know?”