Page 43 of Zimyra

“No. Saturdays are the only days I usually have a drinkifI have one at all. I’m not into drinking and alcohol and all that.”

“Then what is Zimyra St. Claire into?”

“Working.”

The waitress returns with our drinks. We order our food and then, as soon as she walks away, I take a sip. Axel throws his shot back and says, “Ah…there it is.”

I giggle. “Spoken like a true alcoholic.”

“Nah…not my speed. I’m a social drinker. I only indulge during my free time.”

“I don’t have a lot of free time,” I say, holding his eyes. I see the moment he narrows them.

He asks, “Why must you be so elusive with me?”

“Don’t feel bad. I’m always like this with strangers.”

“I didn’t think I still fell into thestrangercategory any longer.”

“You do.”

“Then how do I get out?”

I shrug. “Time.”

“So, you need to spend more time with me?”

I suppress a smile. “No.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said, but this is dinner. I’m your boss. I cannot be friends with you. This has to be a strict working relationship.”

“Why?”

I take a sip to evade his challenging eyes, then answer, “Because that’s the way it is. You know how this goes.”

“Okay, so I don’t know what to talk to you about then, since you’re adamant about us not even being friends.”

“Don’t ask me questions about my personal life.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Dang. I should’ve ordered a double shot.”

I laugh while staring down at my glass. When I look up at him, there’s a serious expression out of nowhere on his face. It gives me pause – makes me forget that I’m breathing for a split second, too. This man is peering into my soul, seeking access to something he shouldn’t have access to. I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s his M.O. He has a habit of wanting to know things he shouldn’t.

He asks, “What do you do outside of work?”

He’s a man who loves a challenge, I determine, since he’s defying my request by asking me personal questions after I just told him not to. It also makes me wonder why such a man would settle for a career doing menial blue-collar work. Does he not have any further ambition? Don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing wrong with blue-collar work. It’s just thathedoesn’t give me the vibe that this is the full extent of his capabilities.

“Zimyra.”

“Oh,” I say, snapping out of my head and back to reality. I say, “You’re waiting for an answer on something I told you not to ask me.”

“That wasn’t a personal question.”

“It was. You asked me how I spend my time outside of work. If that’s not personal, I don’t know what is.”

“Okay…since you won’t tell me, I’ll guess. You like to sew, bake pies, and dream about little parties you can throw for the residents at Atlantic.”

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