Page 105 of The Last Good Man

“Would you rather have breakfast at the table?” she asks, although there isn’t a breakfast table in the room.

“No, no. It’s fine. I love to eat breakfast in bed.”

Which iscompletelyfalse. I rarely eat in bed. I don’t find it convenient.

Most days, I rush out of bed andgo on withmy life. I shower, go to the gym–or don’t go to the gym–shower again, and dress for work.

I usually sip coffee in the kitchen, standing and reading the financial news on my phone.

I normally have breakfast at work.

I always arrive early, and my secretary, Mina, does the same. She makes sure my breakfast is on my desk. Fruit, cheese, eggs, and coffee.

It’s scary how set I am in my ways.

Olivia places the tray on the bed and turns to me, smiling.

“Did you have a nice time last night?” she asks.

“Yes, it was lovely.”

“I’m sorry about the power outage,” she says.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t even noticed.”

At least this is true.

“I’m happy to hear that,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything else. And, um… Enjoy the rest of your day.”

She gestures to the windows.

“The weather is nice today,” she comments just as a narrow band of sunlight cuts through the clouds. “It will get even better in the afternoon.”

She moves to the windows, and I fear she might find a cigarette butt or something else hinting at the activities we engaged in last night.

“You want me to pull the drapes for you?” she asks.

“No, no. It’s all right. Thank you so much.”

“Okay,” she says, grinning again. “Lunch at twelve,” she reminds me beforemoving to the exit.

“I’ll be there,” I murmur, and the door closes behind her.

The smoke that twirled around the room last night is gone. Thefireand the open windows have helped remove it.

The room smells fresh. Even so, I go to the windows and inspect the window sills.

Nothing suggests we were smoking.Had he cleaned them before he left?

There’s that possibility.

Nostalgic, I look at the velvet sofa that doesn’t even have the imprint of his body and at the window sill where he sat last night when he pulled my tights and underwear down and drove me wild.

I look down, pensive and regretful for the things that didn’t happenwhen something glints in the sun.

His lighter sits on the wooden frame of the couch.

Grappling with disbelief, I pick it up.

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