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I take a deep breath. He’s right. He hasn’t done anything for me to be angry about. It’s not his fault the tenant broke the damn door.
I drop my hands to my sides and take a long breath. “Is there something you need from me, or were you just stopping by?”
“Hmm. Better.” He steps toward me and gestures for me to head back to my office.
I’m not sure what sort of mood he’s in. Should I stand my ground here where there’s witnesses or would it be better to be alone with him? “My office?”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry,malyshka, you’re not in trouble.” He turns his eye on me. “Yet.”
I fall in step with his long stride. “I wasn’t afraid I was in trouble.”
“It’s a bit early for lying, Billie.”
“I’m not lying,” I argue. “It was a fib. A very small fib.” I pinch my two fingers together so he can see exactly how tiny it was.
“Hmmm.”
“What does it mean when you make that sound?” I ask him as he steps aside for me to enter my office ahead of him. “I can’t tell. Is it yourI’m getting madsound?”
“My getting mad sound?” He shuts the office door.
“Yeah, guys have that sound. It’s like a warning right before they get really angry and blow up.” I grab my mug from my desk and take it to the Keurig I brought to the office for myself.
“You’ve had a man blow up in anger at you?” His voice dips with his question.
I pop a pod into the machine and hit the brew button. “People get mad sometimes.”
“I’ve never blown up on a woman.” It’s stated as a cold fact.
“Roman, you spanked me two days ago,” I point out.
“I punished you, not blew up. Did you think that was blowing up?”
The coffee finishes and I bring my fresh brew to my desk.
“No. You were reasonable. In control.” Unlike the moments of anger I’ve witnessed with previous boyfriends. I wasn’t enjoying the spanking, but at no point did I fear Roman.
“So what did this man do when he blew up at you?”
I take a small sip of the coffee. It needs another spoonful of sugar.
“Why are we talking about this? It’s silly. I was just wondering about the sound you make. It’s nothing.” I take my coffee cup back and spoon another heaping bit into it.
“Did he hurt you?” There’s a warning underlining the question.
“No.” I put my coffee on my desk. “He never hurt me.” At least not physically, but I’m not caffeinated enough to open that can of worms.
He straightens up a bit, then points to my coffee. “How many cups have you had?”
“This is my third,” I answer without thinking about the question. His eyes narrow. I should have thought more about why he was asking.
“And did you have breakfast this morning?”
I know the right answer to this question, but he’ll know if I lie. Which is worse, coffee on an empty stomach or lying?
“No.” I guess I’m about to find out.
“Didn’t I tell you no coffee until you have food?” He reaches across the desk and takes my coffee cup.
