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“Aren’t you meant to be on the other side of that door?” I ask, because I can’t help it.
The look he gives me is unreadable, not blank, because there are too many different emotions swimming in the depths of his eyes—regret, confusion, denial, self-loathing…
It almost makes me regret asking the question. But not enough to take it back.
Once he’s back at his desk, he crosses his arms with his eyes dragging over me.
“Have you eaten anything?”
The question throws me off guard. “I… er, I didn’t have any dinner last night. I was tired. And I had some coffee before I came here.”
He frowns, then disappears through the door that leads to his private suite.
When he comes back, he’s holding half a sandwich and a bottle of orange juice.
“Eat this,” he says, handing me the sandwich. I take it from him, and he loosens the lid on the orange juice. “And drink this.”
“Kingsley, I’m fine.”
“I think you know me well enough by now that you’re going to drink that juice, so let’s just cut the unnecessary arguing, okay? Please. Eat the sandwich and drink the orange juice. Trust me. You’re going to need it.”
That shuts me up.
I could take it to mean so many things. All things that I’m curious to know more about.
I quickly swallow down the sandwich and gulp down half of the orange juice. It seems to placate him, and he takes the bottle from me and puts it next to him on the desk.
“Where were you last night?”
“I stayed at Alex’s apartment.”
He crosses his arms and considers something. “Separate rooms?”
“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
“Yes.” At least he’s not skirting the issue. But, it’s a definite case of déjà vu. Is this just something all men do?
“Do you and Alex have some sort of rivalry I don’t know about?”
He smirks. “No, Luna. We don’t compete in the same league.”
“I’m not a damn trophy.”
A momentary scrunch of his face. “I know. I just meant that he’s not good enough for you.”
My eyes wash over his face. He didn’t even shave. I wonder if he even slept the last two nights. He didn’t deserve to, at any rate.
“And you are good enough for me?”
He shakes his head. “Nobody is.”
“So why even ask?”
He pushes off the desk and steps in close to me again. “Because if I’m about to steal you from him, then maybe I should send him a bottle of whiskey or cigars or something. Commiserations. So, did you spend the night with him?”
“No. Not that it’s actually any of your business, Kingsley. You’re just the trustee of my estate, remember? Nothing more.”
He exhales. “I deserved that. Any more shots you want to take at me?”
