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“No, but—”
“No, I did not.So why are you opening the drapes?” He rose to his feet, towered over me, his hazel eyes hard. His gaze swept over me, through me, trying to pin me down.
I held my ground, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to firm up my voice. “I thought you might like to feel the sunshine. It’s so dark in here and—”
He laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “Is it? Well guess what?” He tapped his temple. “It’s really fucking dark in here, too.”
“Look, I’m just trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do. There is a reason I have that rule about not doing things unless I ask. I’m not a fucking idiot. You didn’t open those drapes for me. You did it for you. And you do not get to do things for me in order to make yourself feel better, got it? Pity, I’ve found, comes in many shapes and forms, and I know them all. So nice try, thanks but no thanks, and get the hell out.”
“You donothave to be so rude,” I retorted, my voice shaking.
Noah held up his hands. “Hey, this is how I roll, sweetheart. If you don’t like it, you can go. No one is forcing you to be here, least of all me.”
I could have quit. I almost did. Almost.
“Fine,” I snapped. I shut the curtains, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he said sourly. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
I moved quickly to the door. “Believe me, it won’t.”
Screw him, I thought as I tore down the stairs.I didn’t do it just for pity. It is a beautiful day, and he shouldn’t shut it out.
But I realized that my feelings or opinions weren’t important to Noah, and if I didn’t learn that lesson real quick, I wasn’t going to last a month in this job.
But when I went back up that afternoon to bring him his lunch, he still hadn’t moved from the desk. The darkness in the room had thickened, and I left him his food without a word exchanged between us. And it bothered me. All of it. The dimness, the audiobooks, the takeout dinners, and the fact that Noah spent so much time living—no, not living,existing—in this small world.
I didn’t know why it troubled me as much as it did—why I cared so much—and that bothered me most of all.
chapter eleven
“He hates me.”
Melanie glanced up from the faux leopard-skin jacket she’d been considering. “Already? It’s only been a week.”
It was Sunday, my day off, and Melanie and I had walked from her place in the Village to Lafayette Street for some shopping and lunch. We perused the choked racks at Screamin’ Mimi’s for vintage clothes, as I was hoping to liven up my wardrobe.
“I didn’t even need a week. It only took one day.”
Melanie laughed. “What did you do?”
“I opened the drapes.”
“And that’s it, huh? This guy sounds like a complete asshole.”
My shoulders hunched. “He’s not all bad,” I said, straining to sound casual as I sifted through a morass of faded concert tees. “I mean, he is rude, but he’s not an asshole. Okay, maybe a little. But he’s just…trying to recover from his accident.”
Melanie narrowed her eyes at me through her cat glasses. “Speaking of recovering, you look good. Rested. All assholes aside, seems like the job is good for you.”
“I guess so,” I said cautiously, running a hand through my loose hair.
“Uh huh.” Melanie smirked. “You know, it’s okay to tell me you’re doing better. As your friend, that’s actually the kind of stuff I want to hear.”
“I’m afraid if I tell you I’m doing better, you’ll start hounding me about auditioning.”
Melanie’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Now that you mention it, the Philharmonic just posted a call for section violinists. What a coincidence!”
