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Jonah taps a single finger on his polished wood desk. “I get to the office every day at 5:45 a.m. Depending on traffic. Though it’s rare at that hour. I guess you already knew that, though.” He cocks his head and I shove down a shiver. He’s eyeing me like I might be lunch, instead of a wrap from the deli.
“Let’s play a game, Thompson.” He leans forward.
I freeze. “I don’t think we need to do that.” This won’t end well for me.
He laughs softly. “Why don’t you tell me what I do every day?”
I wince. “Really?”
“Why? Embarrassed? Someone finally caught you and now you can’t own up to it?”
“No,” I reply evenly. “Why would I be embarrassed?”
He snorts, like my question isn’t even worth answering. “Go ahead.” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises a brow.
“Fine.” I sigh. “You take a car to the office every morning at 5 a.m. One of several. Four, maybe?”
“Five.”
“Five. All are the same make and model, but the license plates are sequential.”
His eyes glitter. “Very good, Thompson.”
“You arrive at the office around 5:45 a.m., though you used to get here earlier.”
“Very good.” His voice is low. “Why do you think that is?”
I tilt my head. He’s punctual and a man of habit. He would take the same route, so it’s not traffic. There are no road closures to deal with. He changed his routine.
“You make a stop,” I say. His nostrils flare. Ha. I’m right.
“Continue,” he grits out. He won’t acknowledge that I’m right, and I tuck the information and his reactions away for later.
“You work out every day. I assume before work, at the office.” At his questioning glance, I say, “The gym bag.”
“Right.” He nods. “I’ll expect you to join me for those workouts, by the way.”
“You’re going to make me work out?” I frown. I guess it makes sense as some sort of torture, but it seems odd, even for him.
His lips tilt up at the side. “No. You’re going to hold my towel while I work out.”
My pen slips briefly against the paper. Hold his towel.
“Is that a problem?” His eyes are lit with unholy fire when I meet his gaze. He wants me to say yes. This is the tip of the iceberg. If I crack now, he wins. Holding his towel is nothing. I tilt my head, observing the way he’s comfortable under my gaze. He flips his pen in his fingers, idly, but there’s tension coiled beneath the surface. What would it be like to see him crack?
“Thompson?”
“Not a problem,” I say calmly. “So after your workout, presumably you putter around this office all day, with a brief break to get your lunch.”
“Putter. That’s right.”
“And you pick lunch up yourself, or someone fetches it for you?” I feign calm while I make notes on the page.
“If I’m busy, I’ll expect you to get it for me.”
Why does it sound like he’ll be busy a lot of the time? I smile placidly. “Duly noted. Most nights, you leave the office late. On the days I’ve observed you, it’s been past 8 p.m. I don’t usually work that late, but I’ve seen you occasionally.”
“Does gossip stop after sunset?” he asks snidely.
