Page 53 of Phishing for Love
“It’s fine,” he states. Except he’s so obviously not fine with whatever it is my question has stirred up.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I said, it’s fine.” His voice is curt.
Hurt expands inside my chest. I lower my eyes and stare a wretched hole in the table. This is so painfully awkward. Why did I agree to join him?
I hear Aaron take a steadying breath. “Now I’m the one who should apologize,” he says softly. “I was rude and abrupt.” I look up and meet his gaze. He pushes out his next words with effort. “I had a sister. I don’t anymore.”
What does that even mean? Did they have a falling out? Did she die? I have a million curious questions, but his expression tells me I can’t ask any of them.
“Okay.” The word feels hopeless and inadequate, but what else can I say?
To roll back the strained tension I see creeping over him, I give his shoulder a playful poke. “My turn, Captain Security. I bet you have a massive, black, teeth-baring Rottweiler guarding your place.”
His face is still shadowed, but I observe him make a visible effort to engage. “Just to clarify, is this a literal bet again? With minion stakes?”
“Hah! Not a chance.”
“You don’t feel it’s your life calling to be my minion?”
“Only if I want to be charged with first-degree murder.”
“Good call. No Rottweiler,” he confirms.
“Python?”
I see his lips twitch. “You stereotyping me, Miller?”
“If the shoe fits, Sinclair.”
“Sorry to disappoint. No pets.”
“You don’t like animals?”
“I like animals just fine. But they’re a responsibility.”
“Bo—ring,” I throw back at him in a singsong voice. And finally, finally, I get the smile I’m aiming for.
Abruptly, a guy I’ve never seen before gestures to the empty barstool at our table and asks, “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Yes,” Aaron responds without hesitation.
The guy’s head jerks back in surprise, and I smother a laugh.
“You’re welcome to take the chair,” I offer.
“Thanks.” With a dirty look at Aaron, he hauls the chair away.
I scrunch my nose. “Don’t you worry about what people think of you?”
He gives an indifferent shrug. “Not really.”
“I admire that.”
I suppose that’s why Aaron is perfectly suited to his role. In the past couple of days, he’s sent out only one mock phishing email, which I managed to identify, but there were a few in the company who failed this particular phishing test. There’s now a fair bit of annoyance toward Aaron, and Mevia has hinted that one or two people even want him to leave.
Aaron must sense some of the sentiment toward him, but he’s refusing to ease up on the frequency and difficulty of the phishing tests. He’s honestly not out to secure any votes, whereas I secretly feel I spend far too much of my life quietly campaigning people to like me.
