Page 15 of The Woman

“No. He will be out there any moment now, and as soon as you see him, I want you to press the white button on your phone base twice. Understand?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Are you asking me or answering?”

“Yes, I understand,” he replies with more conviction.

I could just poke my head out the door to talk to him or check for myself, but I don’t want to run into my grandfather yet. “Good.”

I hang up and move over to where Avery is standing, her hand trailing along the falling water. She turns to me, those violet eyes wide and bright. “How does–” she starts, but then cuts herself off. “This is pretty,” she ends up saying with an empty smile.

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing, the suspicion and confusion returning. “Were you going to ask how it works?” That is not something a woman would ask, let alone think about.

It always seems like there might just be a hint of a personality buried somewhere inside, but then she says or does something to erase those thoughts.

With that blank smile in place, she stares at me as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “I was going to ask, how does your day look? Is there anything I can do for you before you get busy?”

“No,” I tell her. Taking a step closer, my senses immediately fill with her alluring scent. I decide to ask another question to see how she’ll respond. “Were you playing my piano?” I watch her face closely. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, but something.

She gives me nothing but that blank expression. “No.”

The phone on my desk beeps twice, but instead of going and answering it, I move even closer to Avery and lift my hand to her jaw, my thumb brushing against her cheek. She’s clearly not expecting my touch, just as I am not expecting my body’s reaction to touching her in such a simple way.

Being this close to her, I feel flushed and hot all over, and my suit feels like it’s too tight. The pounding of my heart against the walls of my chest increases significantly, like it’s trying to escape.

Her pupils expand as her own chest rises and falls at a faster pace, and she ever so slightly leans into my touch. Her skin feels too soft to be real, and my thumb makes another stroke of her cheek without my permission.

I feel trapped in her mascari-colored gaze, and before I can make an attempt to sever the moment, she’s lifting onto her toes and pressing her mouth to mine. My eyes instinctively close as I process the feel of her soft lips. I almost want to run my tongue over the shape of them.

With my heart rate skyrocketing and the sound of it filling my ears, I almost miss the knock on my door, the subsequent sound of it opening, and then the quiet hum of approval from my doorway.

I feel Avery begin to pull back, but I hold her in place, pressed against my lips with my hand that apparently found its way to her hip, making sure my grandfather sees what I want him to.

As soon as I hear the door click shut, I open my eyes to check that he’s gone. When I confirm that he’s no longer in the room, I push her back and then put plenty of space between us by walking back to my desk and taking a seat, mentally shaking off the events of the last couple of minutes.

I take a few deep breaths before briefly glancing up, catching Avery looking between me and the door and then back at me again. “You were deceiving him,” she concludes.

I’m once again taken aback by her clever observation. But I’m learning that she doesn’t always say what I’m expecting.

“I was,” I reply, opening my laptop.

“Why? Why not just make use of me? Are you unhappy with me?”

When my sights land on her again, I notice the scrunched-up forehead and almost panicked look on her face. To be honest, I have no idea what happens to a woman who is returned, but perhaps she does, and that has her worried. I’m not planning on returning her, though. I’d just be forced to choose another in her place.

“Please, tell me what I can do to make you happy,” she adds when I don’t say anything.

“Just go sit over there and let me work,” I tell her, waving my hand carelessly toward the couch on the other side of the office and returning to my laptop as if nothing had just happened.

Out of my peripheral, I see her hesitate before she finally goes and sits stiffly, looking out the window from her perch. Finally, she appears to relax and reaches for one of the architecture magazines from the little table in front of her. Settling back onto the couch, she opens it and begins reading. Or rather, probably just looking at the pictures.

With her occupied, I feel my shoulders ease, and besides the occasional flashback of her lips touching mine, I’m able to somewhat concentrate on my work.

I glance at her here and there over the next few hours, watching as she trades one magazine for another, goes into the bathroom at one point, looks out the window again, and stacks the magazines according to color and size.

The sudden beeping of my desk phone pulls my attention from her again, and I lift the receiver.

“Your lunch is here. Should I bring it in?” Thomas asks.

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