“Might as well come up,” she said, trying to hide it. “I’ve been suspecting you were watching me. I ordered dinner.”
Before I could say a word, she turned and walked away. Scrambling out of the car, I followed. Sure enough, there was takeout for two, and she began dishing it out after she waved me into one of her two kitchen chairs set around a tiny round table.
“I miss work,” she said as she sat down.
Was that all? “Work misses you,” I told her. “And so do I.”
“Hmph,” was all she said to that, but with twin pink circles growing on her cheeks, she leaned back to pull a bottle of wine off the counter behind her. She nudged it across the table to me, along with a corkscrew.
Wine was a very good sign. “So,” I said, capturing her eyes as I twisted the cork out. “Does this mean you forgive me? Accept my obsession?”
She gulped and tore her glance away, staring at the takeout on her plate. “It means I’m willing to talk about it some more.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a little unnerving how easily you can say that word.”
“It’s only the truth. And you know it’s more than that.”
I splashed some wine into her glass, and she took a hurried sip, just as quickly changing the subject back to work. I told her every last detail, watching her as she leaned forward, lapping up the information like it was giving her life.
“Bored?” I asked.
“Dying,” she admitted. “And…”
“You’re amazing at that job,” I told her before she could sell herself. “I’m floundering without you.” I paused, looking at her hard. “Not just at work.”
“What if I came back?”
“Came back home?” I asked, suppressing a sigh when she looked away with a flush of color.
“I’m not sure about that,” she said. “But we could—”
“No,” I said shortly. “I can’t have you as my assistant. You’ve never only been that to me. If you’re not my wife, not going to come home with me every night, not be mine, I can’t. I just can’t. It’d tear me apart.”
Now tears glistened in her eyes, and I huffed, reaching out to wipe them away. “This isn’t what I wanted,” I told her. “It’s what you wanted. I never meant for you to get upset.”
“Yes, you’ve always given me everything I ever wanted,” she said, somewhat bitterly. “Even before I could ask.”
“And I always will.”
After I brushed away her tears, my hand rested alongside her cheek. For a brief moment, she leaned into the touch, then shook her head. I lowered my palm, sliding it down the side of her neck to squeeze her shoulder. “I always will, Clem,” I repeated.
“What if the only thing I want is for you to let me go?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “Not time to think, with guards watching over me—”
“They’re only there to keep you safe. You know what I am now. I have enemies.”
“I understand,” she said. “I know I’m not a prisoner.”
“Then what are you trying to ask?”
Her eyes met mine, yearning, full of pain. Or maybe I was seeing my own emotions reflected in those gray depths. “What if I wanted to walk away. Leave the job, leave California, leave…”
“Me?”
Her eyes closed, and her breath hitched. Steeling herself, she looked at me, head on, spine straight, hands clenched into fists on the table. “Yes. Would you let me go?”
“If that was what you really wanted,” I told her without hesitation. “But that’s not what you want. We’re meant to be together. I just made it happen faster. If you can make me believe you want me to let you go, then you’ve got it. I’ll send you wherever you want, give you any recommendation, pay your rent until you’re on your feet. You never have to see me again, and no guards. Done. Clean break.”
She gasped, her eyes widening, and I continued ruthlessly. “Tell me that and make me believe it, Clem. I dare you.”
She shook her head, not pulling away as I dragged my chair closer to hers. Of course she couldn’t say anything like it. It would only be a lie.