Page 22 of Falling Slowly
I swallowed. I’d sidestepped one horror, only to land into another. I imagined myself posing in various bikinis as Charlie voiced his opinions. No way in hell.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Charlie corrected, seeing my horrified expression. “I’d drive you there and hand you a credit card.”
I nodded, feeling a little better. “Lunch?”
“Okay, let’s go before you pass out.”
He placed his hand on my lower back and guided me to the hallway. I tried to ignore the sensation, but the full body tingling only intensified, zeroing in between my legs. I couldn’t control the reaction any more than I could control my rapid breathing. I’d been alone for so long that my body had its own ideas by now, completely independent from my brain. Oh, dear God. This gig was getting harder by the minute.
Chapter Ten
Charlie
Ishouldn’t have used Bess as a human shield. It wasn’t fair to her, but I was desperate. And now that I had an excuse to touch her, my hands couldn’t get enough. The curve of her waist under my palm was so deliciously distracting that for a moment, all thoughts of shame vanished.
I led her to a table by the window and pulled out a chair for her. “A bit of everything, right? Wait here.”
“You don’t have to serve me.” She tried to get up, but I anticipated her move, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Please, let me. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“No.”
Heads turned as the others observed our interaction. Bess swallowed her protests and settled into the chair, playing her part, and I left to fetch her lunch. I made sure to include absolutely everything—Italian pastrami and cheeses, olives, and antipasto, with various breads.
I placed my haul in front of her and was rewarded by a shocked gasp. There was something so genuine about her, glimpses of childlike enthusiasm and moments of depth and clarity that drew me closer. I wanted to watch her face like one would observe a rare phenomenon, like northern lights, trying not to miss anything.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If it’s too much, I’ll go and straighten out everything with Ms. Whatshername.”
“Miranda,” she amended.
“See? I was close.” I grinned. I’d genuinely forgotten the woman. Name, face, everything.
“Then you better inform her entire table because she’s already passing the news.” She glanced over my shoulder, and I turned to follow her gaze.
Miranda and her three lunch companions turned back to their meals in such a hurry it was obvious they’d been gawking at us. Bess may have been right. If I went there to explain how I in fact was single, they’d latch on and never let go. I knew the type. They were wealthy, bored and horny. In a client meeting, I could have worked that to my advantage. Flirted enough to win them over, led them on a little but not too much… unless I was ready to get involved later. I hadn’t felt like doing that for a while, though. That game exhausted me and, in this environment, it felt like an irritating distraction—another thing draining my energy when I needed to focus on breaking through this creative block. Working with Bess.
I swallowed. “They’ll eat me alive.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be your fake girlfriend,” Bess said, taking a sip of orange juice. “Let them wonder why on earth you’d be with someone like me. I enjoy watching their heads explode.” She gave a wry smile, her eyes flicking at the other table.
“Why?”
My question made her jerk back. Pink blotches spread across her cheeks. “We both know I’m not your type.”
“How do you know my type?”
She evaded eye contact. “I… I guess I don’t. Apologies.”
Back to that polite bullshit? “Come on. You can say it. We’re friends. And fake lovers.”
Her reply was almost inaudible. “Can we change the subject?” She glanced at me, desperation glowing behind her eyes.
“No, Bess. We’re not going to change the subject. I have to crack this case, and I need you to be real with me. Offend me. I don’t care. But be honest.”
She looked so torn that I regretted my forceful tone. This wasn’t working. I was only pushing her further into her shell. The cheeky, brave woman I’d seen a glimpse of last night would forever disappear behind that veneer.
“You know we’re not really friends, don’t you?” She looked at me with sadness, head tilted, a cherry tomato dangling from the fork in her hand. “You’re the boss’s son.”
