Page 35 of The Woman

A weird and foreign sensation stabs at my chest at her words. I’m not sure why. Barring my late teens, I never paid much attention to women, and I certainly haven’t wanted one. In fact, I’ve gone out of my way to ignore Avery and have made it unpleasant for both of us.

But now I’m face to face with her, an anomaly. Someone who should be sent off immediately, someone who would be sent off if she were discovered by anyone else, and yet that is not what I want to do. In fact, there’s a flicker of protectiveness that increases with every little thing I learn about her.

“And what about your father’s woman, your mother?”

Avery shrugs her shoulders. “I only remember her acting like every other woman. My father handled my upbringing as if I was normal until I was five and sent away.”

I try to think back to my own childhood, but it’s spotty at best. And there are almost no memories from before I was five. That’s when the sole responsibility for a male child falls entirely on the father.

“I listened to him and kept quiet,” she continues. “But the woman who taught me to play knew right away, so she helped me to behave more like the others. I learned everything else by observing and reading any books I could get my hands on, and I often listened to the men having conversations.”

“So, you’ve been aware of every little thing going on around you,” I state. “The people. The conversations.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking of something completely unrelated but can now be explained. “You didn’t like that green dress, did you?”

Her lips twist a fraction in distaste. “It only had one strap.”

One strap? My head tilts, and a brow arches. I would think maybe the color or style would be the reason, but not that.

“It wasn’t . . . even,” she adds as an explanation.

Even? My eyes narrow in thought, more pieces falling into place.

“It was you, wasn’t it, sorting everything in my closet, arranging things smallest to largest in the pantry? The pillows.”

I stare down at her as I think back to the past couple of weeks, and more things start to make sense.

“I don’t know why I do that,” she admits, briefly chewing on her lip, then glances at the water trickling down the wall. “It just looks better that way. It’s more pleasing to look at.”

Pleasing to look at . . .

My eyes inadvertently drop to her bare thighs. Her smooth, creamy, bare thighs that are supposed to be covered up right now, not extending from the tiniest of shorts for everyone else to see and fantasize over. For everyone else to picture their hands sliding over them before they reach the apex–

“I have some questions as well.” Avery’s voice has my eyes cutting to hers, which are on me again. “Why haven’t you had sex with me yet?”

My body freezes, going rigid at the candid question. I open my mouth, only to close in the next second, my eyebrows pulling together.

The surreality of the situation hits me at this moment: having this conversation with a woman and her asking me such a question.

Thankfully, the sound of my desk phone beeping saves me from answering. I lean back slightly to pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear. Thomas’ hushed voice comes through the line.

“I think your dad is going to come in there.”

“Why do you say that? And why are you whispering?”

“Because he paged me a moment ago about something and asked if you had returned, and now he’s standing outside his office by Mike’s desk with Mr. Peterson. I just thought I’d give you a warning in case you needed it.”

I could tell him he’s being ridiculous and it’s not necessary to give me warnings every time one of them is coming to see me. But since he started working for me, there have been a few instances where I have specifically told him to let me know if possible, and as I look at Avery, I realize I’m grateful for it this time.

“Thanks,” I tell him, pushing to stand up straight.

“No worries.” There’s a click, and then he’s gone.

Quickly, I hang up and turn to Avery. “You need to get in the bathroom.”

I watch as the innocent pout of her lips morphs into an angry line.

“Why are you always forcing me into bathrooms? Maybe I don–”

I cut her off by gripping her chin and leaning down close to her. “Get in the fucking bathroom, Avery.”

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