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I finally had to bribe both Mia and Ben with ten dollars in lunch moneyandwalk them to school myself. Five blocks out of the way of my bus route, and then the bus itself was delayed.
As frustrated as I am, I still feel a pang thinking of the twins. They’re too old to hold my hand anymore, but both of them seemed reluctant. This morning was a flashback to the first day of kindergarten. They were already late for the first bell, but both of them took a long time to walk away at the school’s front doors.
I wish things were stable and law-abiding enough to sign them out for the day and take the train to Central Park. Eat a hot dog on one of the benches and watch people go by.
Iwish.
Instead, I settled for a tight hug, then pushed them into the front office.
I looked back. Mistake. Mia was watching me through the reinforced glass, the corners of her mouth quivering.
Purse in my desk drawer. Phone tucked inside. Computer on—
“Bristol.”
Mr. Leblanc stands in the doorway of his office, his sea-blue eyes darker than they’ve ever been. The soft, sharp tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Shouting is more his style.
This is worse.
This isfarworse.
My smile comes easy, like putting up a shield. “Good morning, Mr. Leblanc.”
He doesn’t smile back. “My office. Now.”
Shit.
He makes no indication he’s going to move, so I have to walk past him.Close.It only emphasizes that he’s tall. Handsome. He has muscles underneath his suit like he does something difficult for exercise, or maybe for torture. It’s carved him into a Greek statue of lean muscle and blond hair.
And if that weren’t enough, he smells good. Clean. Expensive.
He lives in a nice place and has his clothes sent out. I’m sure of it. I bet it’s clean and orderly at his… what? Penthouse? Apartment? I know for sure he doesn’t sublease. Heowns.
It’s a distraction from my racing heart.
Mr. Leblanc closes the door behind me. It takes all my willpower to remain facing his desk. I want to turn around and track his every movement. I feel like a wild animal caught in a trap.
His approaching footsteps make all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
But I wait, my hands folded in front of me, hoping against hope that I look innocent. That I look like the kind of person he would never call the cops on. Mr. Leblanc—Will, from the business cards at the front of his desk and his email signature, a name I’d never dream of calling him—stalks around behind me.
The air moves with him, almost like we’re outside. It stirs a lock of my hair. It feels very much like he touched me himself.
I suppress another shiver.
He faces me from across the desk, eyes hot, like my dream. “Sit down, Ms. Anderson.”
I’ve heard him sound angry. I’ve heard him sound irritated. This is colder than I could have imagined. Different from before.
I’m not imagining things. I can sense it. He’s being snappish like he always is, but there’s something bitter and alive about his anger now.
Oh, God. He knows.
No. He doesn’t. It’s fine.
Ofcoursehe knows. It was fifty thousand dollars.
