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I crossed my arms over my chest. “Blue.”
“Just blue?”
“They’rejust blueif you’re going to be that rude.”
He sighed and carved his hand through his own dark hair. “I remember colors, okay? Lots of them. All combinations, shades, and tints. When you say ‘blue,’ I don’t know what that means.”
“Blue with a little bit of gray.”
“Hallelujah. Skin?”
“Yes, I have skin,” I said and laughed shortly. He made a face. “It was a funny question.”
The corner of his mouth twitched but he said nothing.
“I have pale skin with a few freckles. I can tan if given the time, which I don’t have. Not to mention, New York’s not really known for its white sand beaches.”
“No. It’s not.”
His face took on a faraway expression, and I guessed he was remembering real white sand beaches he’d visited in his “other life.” I made a mental note to at leasttryto watch what I said. But then he opened his mouth again, and any sympathy I had flew out the window.
“Height, weight, build? You sound short. Are you short?”
“Am I…?” I crossed my arms again. “Mybuildis irrelevant, and it’s inappropriate to even ask.”
Noah barked a harsh laugh. “Oh, Christ, don’t flatter yourself. My dick seems to have been broken along with my skull, so if you’re afraid I’m going to come on to you in any way, don’t be.”
I squared my shoulders. “I’m five-three, and that’s all you need to concern yourself with. And don’t talk to me about your dick—broken or not. I’m your employee now and that’s sexual harassment.”
I was shocked to see him look the littlest bit contrite.
“Whatever you say.”
There was a silence then, and he seemed to be waiting for something. I had a feeling that, despite the scowl seemingly carved onto his face, he sort of enjoyed our conversation.
Well, I’m not scarred for life just talking to him, I thought.May as well start earning my salary now.
“So. You readTheSecret Garden?”
“What?”
“Earlier you talked about the girl visiting the sick little kid. That’sTheSecret Garden, right?”
He shrugged. “I read it a long time ago.”
“Have you always liked to read?”
“Yes. Does that surprise you?”
“A little.”
“Why? Because I was a dumb jock who liked to throw himself off mountains?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. I also had to admit—to myself—that Noah’s handsomeness had prejudiced me too. I never expected a man this good-looking to be into books, let alone classic literature. Shame burned my cheeks.
Noah shrugged. “You can’t write for shit unless you read a lot, and I used to write the articles that went with my photos. For the magazine I worked for.” A grimace of pain flashed over his face. “Fucking hell, never mind. We’re done. You can go and don’t forget your damn violin this time.”
“I won’t.” A strange twinge of disappointment nipped at me as I gathered up my case and jacket and got to my feet.
