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“But I don’thateyou. I’m sorry I said that. It’s not true.”
He stared at me hard, possibly debating whether he believed me or not. I wasn’t sure why it mattered if I hated him or not anyway, because it wasn’t like he liked me. I clearly made him as frustrated as he made me.
Why wasn’t he talking?
“I actually had fun skiing,” I said. “The other part—that’s not happening again.”
He just kept staring at me, and I wanted to smack the life into him. Where was his fire? I needed his anger, orsomething.I needed a reaction to know how he was feeling.
“If your schedule allows, I’d like to schedule an appointment to meet with you for Friday.”
So he was cool with everything returning to normal. Good. “Sure. I’ve quit my job, so I’m free any time.”
“I won’t see you on my morning runs.”
I blinked at him, unsure what the expression on his face meant. “I guess not. But you’ll see me Saturday for the gala.”
He gave me a sharp nod. “Before that, Friday at seven.”
“Perfect.”
“Take care, Layana.” He turned and left.
Even though I should have felt relieved that he wasn't going to make things weird, that everything was continuing the way I wanted it to, a strange feeling settled in my gut.
I wasn’t sure I could process this alone, or at all. After such a complicated trip, I knew exactly where Gabriel and I stood, and somehow that didn’t feel right at all.
TWENTY-FOUR
GABRIEL
A rush of temperate air swept through my lab, the faint hum of the climate regulator accompanying it. I stared at my open lab notebook, again unable to find my usual level of focus.
It was entirely Layana’s fault.
No matter how important my task, my mind wandered back to her. This problem began the day we’d first met, when she’d bludgeoned me with that door. Her consumption of my thoughts had only grown since then.
If I wasn’t thinking about the frustrating things she did and said—like her refusal to arrive in a timely manner, or the way she spread her belongings across the bed without a care for order or anyone else’s comfort—then I was thinking about the devious sparkle in her eye when she teased me, or the easy way she navigated a crowd, or the sweet taste of her on my tongue.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her.
I was supposed to be working.
Only if I wasn’t thinking about her, who would? Someone needed to.
Though I’d transferred enough funds to cover her needs last night when we’d parted yesterday, I knew her well enough to recognize that she still mightchoosenot to take care of herself.
I’d seen her apartment.
It was one tiny room, with tacks on the floor, and no bed.
Certainly the payments I’d made during our arrangement thus far had been ample enough to right her situation, to afford her a vacuum to remove the hazardous objects on the floor and a bed on which to sleep.
Perhaps time was the issue. She could have no time to take care of herself after working multiple jobs—the café, social media posts for me, and her blog.
Or perhaps she simply didn’t take care of herself. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t condone it. She deserved to be pampered, to never have to work more than she wanted, while having her every need met.
I couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to. I knew her well enough to know that, too.
