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He peered up from his food, the slashing dark brows still furrowed. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’ve been without a secretary—”
“Assistant.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped again. I shouldn’t poke the bear, but I couldn’t help it. Not when he was all buttoned up and trying to eat pad Thai noodles with a fork. I clicked my chopsticks at him. “Much easier.”
“I don’t use them.”
“Don’t use them or don’t know how?”
“There’s a difference?”
His voice was icy and made me want to poke at him all the more. I got the feeling that people were afraid of him. Part of me was as well, but evidently, I’d drowned that bit of self-preservation this morning.
Or maybe it was the six bottles of Pepsi Max over quota for the day. Whatever it was, my foot bounced under the table as I scooped up the thinly sliced chicken and tilted my head to eat it as daintily as possible.
He swore when his fork snapped.
I stuck my chopsticks in my food and stood up. I rummaged into the bag.
“I don’t know how to use them,” he said through his teeth.
“Now, now. You can learn.” I snapped them apart and rolled a rubber band off my wrist. I habitually put them there for either my hair or when I was working in my shop. They were good for holding glass in a lead channel. I wrapped it around the end and handed them to him.
“Isn’t this what you do for a child?”
“It’s a learning tool, Mr. Carson. There’s no age limit on learning a manual task.”
His nostrils flared, but he picked them up.
I plucked mine out of my noodles and showed him. “See? All you need is a little opening and then you can —there you go.”
He picked up a wad of noodles, and they fell free before he got them to his lips.
I laughed.
He answered with those raven dark brows snapping even lower.
“I’m sorry. I’m just remembering when…” I swallowed and let my words trail off. I remembered the cold winter day my grandmother had taught me how to eat with them. It had been a simple bowl of ramen at the time, but she was determined to show me.
“When…”
I cleared my throat. “Not important. Noodles are easy. It’s rice that’s hard. Try again.” I clicked the tips together.
This time, he managed to get few noodles in his mouth. After five minutes, he was far more dexterous and packed away half the tray.
Remembering my grandmother dampened my appetite a little, but I knew I needed the fuel. I managed to eat half of mine as my boss finished off his.
He stood. “Do you want to save this?”
I shook my head.
He took my tray and dumped both of them into the bag with the chopsticks. “I have three phone calls from the West Coast. I’ll need your help.”
I nodded and rose. “More spreadsheets?”
“Among other things. There’s a folder full of details under Donovan Lewis.”
Why was that name familiar?
