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If Noah was put off by my inability to filter myself, he didn’t show it. Maybe he even preferred it. It was the only reason I could think for why he didn’t kick me out.
Kick me out? He’s lucky I don’t walk.
“Yes, what else?” Noah mused. “You don’t come running when I bark my shin or stub my toe. Youdo not help me. Is that clear?”
“What if you get really hurt?”
“When the smell of my rotting corpse alerts you to my predicament, you’re permitted to call the authorities.”
I rolled my eyes. “And what if you fall and hit your head? What if you’re unconscious?”
“In that case…” His sharp retort tapered away, and the sneer fell from his lips. He stared at the table—or nothing, I guess, since he couldn’t see the table. “In that case, let me sleep.”
I sat back, my stiff shoulders wilting a bit. He’d been so sharp and cutting, and then, just like that, the pain flooded in, like a hole in a dam.
“I can’t donothing. I won’t…”
His head snapped up as if waking from a reverie. “What? No, of course you won’t, God forbid. But save your concern.” The sneer that ruined his handsomeness returned with a vengeance. “I believe—but don’t quote me on this—that I’ve already taken the worst fall I’m ever going to take, so all you need to concentrate on is keeping the hell out of my way. Can you do that?”
I nodded, caught myself. “I can do that.”
“Good.” He suddenly looked so tired. Exhausted. But he mustered some fake enthusiasm and clapped his hands once. “Congratulations. You’re hired. You start Monday at eight a.m.” A thought occurred to him. “You probably don’t live uptown. How far away are you? Because if you live out in some borough and I have to listen to excuses as to why you’re late every day, we can just spare each other the hassle right now—”
“I live in Greenwich Village.”
“Then you’ll have no reason to be late. Ever.”
“Right, but…um…”
“But what? This interview is over. You’re free to get the hell out. I’ve got a jigsaw puzzle to finish and some skeet shooting later, so if you don’t mind…” He cocked his head at my silence. “Not a fan of poor blind guy humor? I’ll work on it.”
Noah remained in the chair, even though I could see he was itching to leave it. I had the feeling he didn’t want me to watch him feel his way out of the room, that he didn’t want to acknowledge his blindness in any way.
“Well?” he snapped. “What?”
“Um, I think we should call Lucien.”
“Why? I’m done. You can hash out the details and paperwork with him later. Right now, you need to get the hell out of my house before I change my mind about hiring you.”
“Just…call him,” I said. “Or I can.”
Noah, wearing that ugly sneer, waved me off and dug his phone out of the pocket of his pants. “Call Lucien.”
I said nothing, my hands twisting in my lap, waiting. Whatever thrill I had at being hired—and it wasn’t a whole lot at that particular moment—was tempered further by the fact that Noah was about ten seconds away from losing his shit.
“Lucien,” he spat when the call went through. “I’ve concluded my interview with what’s-her-name, but she won’t fucking leave until I talk to you. Any idea why?”
I watched as Noah’s eyes widened at whatever Lucien was saying, a snarl of rage twisting his handsome features. “I believe I’ve made myself very clear on that subject,numeroustimes.” A pause. “No. Plain English not good enough? Je vis seule et c’est final. Vous m’entendez? Final, goddammit!” He jabbed the phone and dropped it in his lap, his gaze downward. “Get out.”
“Um, did Lucien—?”
“Get out!”
I flinched and got to my feet just as a text from Lucien came in on my phone.
I’m on my way.
I wasn’t about to sit and wait for him. I hurried down the stairs, leaving Noah to seethe alone, and met Lucien outside just as he was coming in. His face was drawn with concern.
