Page 36 of Into Pitch

Ugh, he gave the bitch jet fuel while he was at it.

“Okay. Lunch.” I nod.

And I make the monumental mistake of walking at his side toward a quieter corner of the food court, where I’m acutely aware of the subtle shift in the dynamic. There is no power structure here beyond the one we bring with us, and somehow that makes everything feel sharper.

We each grab a quick meal and settle down at a small table near the edge, away from the worst of the noise. I watch in keen interest as he removes his coat and drapes it over the chair beside him, movements unhurried.

And that’s not hot, so why is it?

I drop my bags into the chair beside me a lot less subtle than his own movements and dig into my food to keep from saying or doing something stupid.

“Do you always invite your clients to lunch?” I kick myself mentally for that word vomit that sounds a touch too flirty.

“Only the ones I run into by accident,” he punts me back into my corner where I belong.

Fair.

I eat to fill the sting of that comment, not that it had any right to sting. I’m sure he’s used to the strangeness of his clients searching for a connection when there is none.

“How does it feel?” He suddenly asks and my brows furrow as I look to him.

“What?”

“Seeing me outside of the office,” he muses.

“Oh… weird.” I admit. Then quickly add, “but not bad.”

“Why weird?”

“Because you’re human,” I mutter, before I can stop myself.

Ground open and swallow me now, please.

He chuckles, “I should hope so.”

I flush. “I mean—you know everything about me. Or at least a lot, and I know almost nothing about you.”

“Is that unsettling?”

“Yes, but I think that’s kind of the point.” I huff a laugh, trying to smooth over how bizarre I’m making this.

He watches me, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to my mouth when I smile before bouncing back to my eyes. It’s subtle, but I catch it and my subconscious is officially back to soaring. Waving her freak flag in the background and demanding I do something about it.

This is going to spell my doom.

I take a sip of my drink to buy myself time, straw making that awful sound it does when the drink is almost empty, heart thudding a little harder than it had been moments before.

He doesn’t comment, but I can feel his attention and how steady it is.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I blurt, more to myself than to him.

“No, it doesn’t.” He agrees, his mouth twitching.

Oh, I am in so much trouble.

The message comes through as I’m stepping off the bus from my impromptu mall visit, one hand already digging in my pocket for my bus keys. Really trying to shove my insipid little crush on my therapist aside as I tug my phone free and look to the screen.

Unknown Contact: If you’re serious, I’ll talk. Tonight. Buy the drinks and I’ll tell you what you want to know.