The gas fire burns at full capacity in the corner. My body temperature skyrockets within minutes, and I abandon my coat over a chair, exposing the sheep detail on my pajamas.
Ben doesn’t comment. He just moves to a chair at the desk. Plans and spreadsheets are spread out across the surface. I pull a chair to the opposite side.
Upside down, it’s clear he’s revisiting the medical equipment required for the retreat. His finger slides over each page, pausing on specific words as if cataloging a list in his head. His face twists.
“Something wrong?” I ask. He glances up.
“Not wrong. Missing.”
He pulls out a sheet from the depths of a pile. An invoice, by the looks of it. His fingers don’t immediately release the page. Something shifts. All of me warms. For a second, we’re both holding an order for medical equipment, standard for any facility. Monitors. Respirators. IV stands.
At the bottom—canceled—is stamped in bold red.
“Any idea why?” he asks. “There’s a waiting time for most of this; if we don’t order early, we may miss our window.”
“Money’s a little tight.” I don’t meet his eye. “It’s probably been the finance department.”
Part of our agreement was that Opengate would pay directly for its contribution toward the retreat. It ensured our money went exactly where it was agreed to and took any dispute over the use of funds off the table.
“How tight?”
Now, my eyes snap up to his, where he’s staring at me. I open my mouth to tell him it’s none of his business, then stop. An invoice agreed to be our responsibility hasn’t been paid. That affects his plans. I can’t truthfully say he has no right to know.
The heat from moments ago chills to room temperature.
“Tight enough that I’m here to work out the shortfall because I can’t sleep.” I open my laptop. “I’ll find it.”
“I know you will.”
My eyes move from the screen to him. He nods. I can’t hide my smile. I like that he believes in me. We stare at one another for a few seconds.
“Haven’t you got a shortfall to find?” he prompts, his gaze never leaving mine.
My breath catches. “Well, stop distracting me.”
It’s his turn to smile now. Then we get to work.
Time passes unchecked. We don’t speak; each of us working on our individual task. Every so often, I glance up when I thinkhe’s looking, but I only see the top of his head. Maybe I’m imagining it.
Outside, the weather turns worse, and rain pelts off the thin windows. Ben’s phone rings, and he answers within the first one.
“Still working,” he says. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
He listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. I wonder if it’s a woman I don’t know about. Then scold myself for even being interested.
“You have school tomorrow.”
Not a woman. His son. I know he has two boys, teenagers still in school. The relief makes me uneasy. But I can’t ignore the fact, I’m relieved it’s not a woman. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“Good night, Liam.” He cuts the call, then shakes his head. Chuckling to himself. “Sometimes I wonder who the father is.”
I don’t comment. Him being a father is a side of him I’ve never seen in real life. I’ve witnessed him protect his children in the interview. In board meetings. But never interact with them in real life.
“Julian is keen for you to appear on a morning television show,” I say.
“Not a chance.” He places down the pen he’s been twirling between his fingers. “That was a one-time thing.”
“You handled Charles well.”