Page 48 of The Stranger

“You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.”

He started it, I think. But then I suffer a pang of regret that we might be making the kids uncomfortable.

“He’s not like that with Emmy.”

“Because Emmy is an angel.” I pause. We’re not openly hostile—it’s not like we’re prodding each other with our forks. I am excessively polite, for my own part, and I hope it grates on him. He only looks at me when necessary, and if I catch his eye, he immediately looks away. And if he does speak to me, it’s with a kind of indifference I’ve suffered from him before.

“Emmy doesn’t eat every dinner with the family.”

“Huh.” Probably because he doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. We’ll screw him. I give as good as I get.

“I kinda wondered if you’d spoken to your brother about him.”

“My brother?”

“Yeah, Jacques mentioned your family is in the same tax bracket.”

Dammit. “Jacques is misinformed. My brother is… well, he’s wealthy. But I’m not.”

“No need to get prickly. Hell, I don’t care if your brother is cashed up. I just wondered if you’d come by some juicy intel, and maybe that’s why he’s been such a dick.”

“I just assumed that was his natural state.”

She gives a heavy sigh. “That man seriously needs to get laid.”

I shove another olive in my mouth, though I could do with something bigger. Like a melon. “I don’t think we should be talking about this.”

“I’m just taking an interest in my employer’s well-being. What’s good for him could be good for the team. Anyway,” she says in a peculiar tone, “to you, he’s probably just another body.”

“I don’t think about his body, Zoe.” Not much, anyway.

“Not even professionally speaking?” A sly grin spreads across her face.

“I’m not his doctor. He’s not my concern.”

“Well, I’m sticking to my theory. The man is sexually unfulfilled.” She rotates the spoon in the air as though she’s in the midst of some great oration.

“If you say so.” Except he was at a sex club. And he went to town on me.

“But the only person I’ll be watching is you.”

The memory flickers to life between my legs as I recall the brush of his breath and the sounds he made as…

I frown and shake off the thoughts. The man is nothing but a rotten clit tease whose kink may or may not be getting girls hot under the collar before pushing them out into the night. An esoteric kind of sadism, for sure.

“You okay there? You look a little flushed.”

Rage, possibly. At myself for revisiting this topic. Again.

“I’m just tired. And hungry,” I say as I reach for the bowl of olives again. My 3 a.m. thoughts aren’t existential dread. They’re the memories of that night. My own stupidity haunting me.

“There’s some Ibérico ham in the fridge. And some ensaimadas that Maria brought in from the village.” She glances over her shoulder as though trying to place the sweet bread rolls. “Unless the kids ate them already.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to spoil my dinner. What are we having, by the way?”

“Well for mains we have stop spoiling my fun with a side of you can’t get me to change the subject.”

“Was worth a try.” I’ve found Zoe to be fun as well as funny, but this conversation is a little too close to home to enjoy.