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I don’t know whether to be offended because he seems to think I’m stupid. But then I decide to laugh. “I didn’t keep that one at home, of course! It’s safely in a locked desk drawer in my office!”
“Clever.” Philipp pulls a satisfied face. “By the way, since you mention the office…” Quite a gentleman, he holds the door open for me. “When do you have to go back to work?”
“Monday.” I grimace. “Luckily, I don’t have a client appointment on the first day. Then only the colleagues get a heart attack.”
“Because of your appearance?” Philipp stops at the foot of the stairs and scans every square millimeter of my face. Then waggishness tugs at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think it’s anything that some extra layers of makeup can’t cover up. You girls have that down pat.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I grab my temple. “Actually, I meant the suture patches. Can they come off?”
“If you want the scar to break open…” Philipp shrugs, and I shake my head. “If you’re embarrassed about that Kevin thing, just tell your colleagues you fell while ice skating and collided with someone else’s blades.”
“Ouch,” slips out of my mouth. “That sounds as painful as it is plausible.”
“I told you before.” Philipp strangely looks at me. “I have a wealth of experience…”
All too quickly, the rest of the week races by, and then it’s already Monday and the alarm clock pulls me out of a bad night’s sleep early.
With a growing stomachache, I get ready.
A turtleneck sweater under the jacket of my pantsuit hides the last yellowish-green traces of the strangulation marks. Wrinkles that have dug into the corners of my mouth disappear under my well-covering foundation, as do the dark circles under my eyes. Highlighter in the right places and the false eyelashes—advertised asnatural—that I stick on give me a really lively look.
So Philipp was completely right in his assumption.Why doesn’t that bug me?
We have breakfast together. Although it’s his day off on Mondays, Philipp got up with me to drive me to the office.
When it’s time to leave, he helps me—quite the perfect gentleman—into my favorite red coat, which has fortunately escaped Kevin’s tantrum.
Side by side we walk down the stairs. Silently, which doesn’t feel bad.
On the last step, he holds me back. “You fucking got this.” And though he smiles very briefly, I feel a huge surge of energy.
“Yes, I do.”
All too soon, we arrive in front of the office. Philipp lets the pick-up roll out onto the paved forecourt.
I grope for the seat belt button, then bend down, and grab my briefcase from the footwell. Then I look over at Philipp.
It started to snow during the night. Small, stubborn flakes are falling incessantly from the sky. Against them, he has put on a grayUnder Armourbaseball cap.
The top half of his face is in the shade of the visor. The light from the streetlamp flooding through the windshield puts a spotlight on his full lips and expressive chin.
I study his profile, memorizing every line, curve, and edge.
Inhaling, my heart expands, making it hard to catch my breath.
Gasping for air, I curl my fingers into the handle of my briefcase.
What if he turned to me now, leaned over, and kissed me?
The thought, as unexpected as it is terrifying, puts me even more out of breath.
Oh my God, Celine! Get ahold of yourself!To stop the tornado in my brain, I bite the inside of my cheeks. As hoped, the pain chases the mad daydream into flight. I clear my throat to straighten my voice. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” I squeeze out.
Now he really does turn to me. But there’s no sign that he was about to approach me. Instead, he gives me a guarded smile. “You’re welcome. See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.” Before I can say any boneheaded phrases, I yank open the passenger door and leap down into the snow.
“Happy New Year!” Katja greets me cheerfully at the reception desk. “Well, did you have a good start?”
