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My breath hitches.
I look down, focusing on my notebook. Luke’s clearly passionate about this project. I make a note to research hybrid airplanes, so I can do a follow up interview with him and ask better questions.
I glance at the clock and realize we’ve only got ten more minutes.
I start my next question. “Your bio said you started working at Helius the day you turned sixteen.”
Luke nods. “It was my dad’s birthday gift to me.”
I blink. “Your dad’s gift to you was a part time job when you were a minor, answering phones for his friends. While you were still a full-time student.”
“Is there a question coming?” Luke grumbles.
“Yeah.” I tap my pen against my notebook, trying to think how to phrase this. I’d read his mom’s obituary for research, and it sounded like she’d done her best to let Luke be a normal kid while she was alive. “That’s a lot to put on any teen’s shoulders. Was everyone in your family on board with that decision? Or did anyone have...other opinions?”
Luke tenses.
And then he says, “Get out.”
“What?”
He turns off my audio recorder and hands it to me. “Our time is up.”
I stand, my journalistic instincts perking up. There’s a real story there, even if he’s not going to tell it to me today
I feel frustrated and full of energy, like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed to the brink of orgasm and then left alone on her doorstep, unfulfilled.
I stand and pack up my things. “Fine. But we’re doing this again tomorrow.”
He glowers at me.
I cross my arms.
He stands slowly, so I can feel the full effect of his height. I’m not a short woman, but there’s something about Luke that takes up all the space in the room.
“No more personal questions,” he orders.
“Sure,” I nod. “No more personal questions.”
Then I scurry out of his office before he can change his mind.
It’s not exactly a lie, I tell myself. I won’t ask any more personal questionstomorrow.
But sooner or later, I’m going to get him to lower his guard. And then I’ll find out what makes Luke Dewinter tick.
6
LUKE
I’m running laps around Central Park at 6.00 a.m., trying to burn off the restless energy I’ve had since Hazel sat down in my office yesterday in that soft blue sweater that showed the lace of her bra and the soft swell of her breasts every time she leaned over.
I tried not to look. But fuck, I’m only a man.
If it was anyone else, I’d think she was toying with me. But this is Hazel. Sweet, single-minded Hazel who just wants to bombard me with the kind of questions that have made me avoid therapy my whole life.
Why poke at the past?
My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Cooper. I close my eyes in guilt, trying not to think about Hazel or her lace.
