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“My roommate has a work thing,” I said. “If you are free, I’m happy to stay.”
Ezra nodded and reached for his phone. “If we are going to do this, I’m ordering dinner.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out before I could stop them. We’d taken a break for lunch, and I’d eaten my measly peanut butter sandwich at my desk, using the free Wi-Fi to do a little browsing. Ezra had stepped out for a lunch meeting. According to Tommy, it was at one of the hottest sushi bars in the area. I’d sighed just thinking about it. I hadn’t had an expensive meal in over a year.
“I’m not going to keep you here and not feed you.”
I opened my mouth to argue. I was sure that I couldn’t afford whatever Ezra was planning to order. Hell, I could barely afford the groceries in my fridge.
“What are you in the mood for? Burgers? Chinese? There’s a great Thai place across the street.”
My head was spinning with choices. “I really am fine,” I told him, once again playing with a lock of my dirty blonde hair.
Ezra looked up from his phone, his eyes were no longer soft and kind as he looked at me, instead there was a hardness to his gaze. His jaw was tense, and I knew immediately that I’d offended him. “What. Do. You. Want. To. Eat?”
Each word was slow and deliberate as he spoke. “Thai sounds good,” I sighed out.
Ezra’s attention turned back to his phone. I sat silently as I waited for him to place the order. It was difficult for me to not squirm in my seat. This entire afternoon, I’d been distracted by the work, but that odd, unsettled feeling that I’d had the first time I ran into Ezra had returned.
“Should be here soon.” He dropped the phone on the desk with a loud thud. “So,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”
My shoulders immediately tensed. It wasn’t a question I was used to getting too often these days. Over the last year, I’d become an expert at dodging questions about my life. It helped that most people weren’t really interested in learning more about me. They just wanted a gateway to talk about themselves.
“Not much to know,” I said. “How about you? How did you get interested in the law?” I expected Ezra to start discussing his story, like most people, but I should have known better.
“I’m sure that your story is much more interesting.” He leaned forward slightly. “How did you end up using your roommate’s ID to get this job?”
The question made me cringe. I’d told him that in a moment of desperation, when I thought that he would fire me on the spot. “That was a mistake.” It wasn’t. Identify fraud had kept me employed for the last year.
“I’m not judging.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just telling me what I wanted to hear. What I did know was that he wasn’t going to let me off easy. “I lost my ID in a cab coming into the city. I had a job interview, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get a new ID in time, so I borrowed my roommate’s. Honestly, I never thought that I’d end up working here, so it wasn’t an issue.”
My father taught me long ago that the best lies were mixed with truth, and I’d mixed in enough that I didn’t feel too bad about lying.
“Why not just replace it?” he asked.
I shrugged. I tried my best to appear nonchalant, but I couldn’t stop the tension in my body. I didn’t like talking about myself. I never had, but now, things were even worse. Last year, my ex-boyfriend, who I’d thought was dead, had reconnected, shot me on the order of his mother, and left me for dead. Luckily, he’d been a terrible shot, and the bullet had pierced my shoulder. I’d made my way into the city, and to Julia. Going back to my family wasn’t an option. Not if I wanted to stay alive.
“Honestly, it was more of a hassle than anything else.”
Ezra said nothing, but as he stared at me, I couldn’t help but feel that he was seeing through all of my bullshit.
“You haven’t answeredmyquestion,” I ventured.
Ezra raised a dark brow. “What question was that?”
I knew that he hadn’t forgotten. He was being just as calculated as I was, and I wondered why. I knew why I didn't want to share information about myself, but it was odd to me that Ezra wouldn’t be willing to share, especially considering his face and dating profile was often splashed all over Page Six.
“What made you want to be a lawyer?”
“I’m good at it,” Ezra said, his tone biting.
“There’s got to be more to it than that. You’re the youngest prosecutor in New York history. That doesn’t just happen.”
Ezra didn’t shift once. As a lawyer, I’m sure that he’d learned to control his body language, but something told me that my questions were making him uncomfortable.
“I got here because I work hard, and I’m good. Nothing more than that.” From the way he spoke, I knew that the discussion was over. It was odd considering. “Have you always lived in New York?”
