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Because he should know me.
“Jake?” I croak, sounding like a frog.
His eyes narrow as he pulls out his chair and opens his suit jacket to show a trim waist beneath before he sits. “Please, call me Mr. Williams.”
What?
Have I lost my mind?
No.
I’d never forget his face because he’s gorgeous. I’m not blind. But he’s also one reason I’m standing here.
“Ms. Russell, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to take a seat? I need to be out of the building in thirty minutes, and you’re already late.”
I blink again, unsure if I’ve lost my voice as my legs begin to move. I take the seat on the other side of his desk.
Sweet Jesus, are these chairs made from marshmallows?
I don’t look at Nora because I know she’s already staring at me like I’m another species.
“I’ve asked you here today because the shelter is a special project, and the education program has recently received the green light. I want to make sure you can manage it properly.”
I try to speak, but I can’t. My mouth simply flaps open and shut like a fish.
He runs a finger over his jaw, and I’m convinced that if he pulls his eyes any tighter together, he will go blind.
Leaning back in his chair, he rests his arms on either side. It makes him larger, and I feel claustrophobic. “Ms. Russell, are you ill?”
I shake my head.
“Then can you stop gawking at me?”
I nod, but I’m unable to pull my eyes away because I’m trying to see something about him—something I don’t recognize. Something that will tell me this is a case of mistaken identity, and he just looks really similar to the guy I shared donuts with two months ago. I’m trying to make sense of this.
“Ms. Russell, Nora warned me before this meeting that your mouth can sometimes get the better of you. You’ve had it open since you walked in here, but nothing audible has come out of it.”
Nora sniggers but remains quiet. She’s useless as backup, but I can’t even react to the insult.
I blink again.
He blinks harder.
“Jake?” I repeat, leaning forward.
“That’s my name, but I’d much prefer if you called me Mr. Williams.”
What the fu—
“Ms. Russell,” he repeats, agitation pouring out of him. His jaw twitches as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you having a stroke?”
Maybe.
“Areyou having a stroke, dear?” Nora adds, leaning forward in her chair.
“I don’t know,” I breathe, astonished
He shakes his head slowly and pins his eyes to me, searching my face for answers.
