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I’d forgotten about the towel wrapped around my head. Vanity had me grabbing it and pulling it away. I ran my fingers through the tangled mess of hair. Again my body betrayed me when my stomach, the one that hadn’t stopped clenching, grumbled loud enough for him tohear.
“Takeout it is then,” he said, as he pulled his phone from his jeanspocket.
Before I had a chance to protest, he had the phone to his ear and was talking. He hadn’t even asked me what Iwanted.
It’s all a game, Ithought.
I placed my wine on the counter and grabbed two plates and some cutlery. I cleared the table of my briefcase and handbag and set it. He took a seat, twisting the wineglass stem between his fingers. I sat opposite him. At first we didn’tspeak.
“I owe you an apology,” hesaid.
“You do. And don’t give me the, ‘I misunderstood you’crap.”
“I’d never insult your intelligence with that. I think you understand me only toowell.”
“So?” I took a sip of mywine.
He furrowed his brow. “You said you owe me an apology, where is it?” Iasked.
Under the table my legs shook at my audacity. No matter what, he was still myboss.
He smiled. “You intend to make me work for it, don’t you? Lauren, we started off on the wrong foot. I don’t regret one minute of spending time with you, fucking you, but I apologise for everythingelse.”
I chose to ignore the first part of hissentence.
“I accept your apology.” I raised my glass tohis.
“I like this Lauren,” hesaid.
“ThisLauren?”
“Already you’ve changed. In just a week there’s a spark, a light in youreyes.”
“Maybe I’m just done withbullshit.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Because I have a proposition foryou.”
I was interrupted from asking what the proposition was by a knock on the frontdoor.
“Dinner,” hesaid.
“That was quick, and how did they getin?”
“I took the chance that you might be hungry and pre-ordered.”
He hadn’t answered the second half of my question. He rose and opened the door. He returned quickly with two white plasticbags.
“I do hate the British fascination with plastic bags,” he said, as he set them on the kitchencounter.
“Why?” I asked, as I unpacked tinfoilcontainers.
“Bad for theenvironment.”
His answer surprised me. Only a week ago he was telling me how he liked to buy a business, sell it for a profit, that he wasn’t a charity, and was unconcerned about the employees of said business. He didn’t seem to be the type of person concerned about the environment. But then, I had to remind myself; I didn’t know much about him atall.
We sat and ate, drank wine and chatted. He was evasive on his past, family, and businesses. It was as I cleared away the plates and stacked the dishwasher that the atmosphere changed, became highly charged with electricity. He’d been relaxed, or had certainly given the impression he’d beenso.
Then I saw the physical change in his body. He’d tensed so slowly that I was able to see every muscle contract. If I could see inside him, I’d watch tendons tighten and ligaments shorten. I’d watch every vertebrae twist and move as his spine became rigid. The one thing I wanted to do, but had no way of, was to be able to read his mind. He was closed, his features devoid of emotion, his eyesdark.
