Page 60 of Hate Notes

"That was one time."

"That we know of,” she said with a smirk. She wandered over to my window, looking out at the city lights. "With a view like this, I don’t know if I’d ever leave home."

I moved to stand beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. The now-familiar scent made me want to bury my face in her neck, kissing her and basking in that scent that was so uniquely her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I can see how a place like this would almost make up for your odd personality traits.”

"Almost?" I asked.

She turned to face me, and suddenly we were inches apart. "Well," she said softly, "you'd have to do something pretty spectacular to make up for alphabetizing your ties."

"They're organized by color value and occasion," I corrected automatically, earning another of those laughs that seemed to light her up from within.

"Of course they are." She bit her lip, studying me. "You know, you're different tonight. More... real."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good," she said quickly. "Definitely good. I like seeing this side of you."

"You seem to bring it out of me, whether I like it or not," I admitted. “It’s concerning.”

"Concerning because I'm your employee?" she asked, turning back to the window.

"That's part of it." I watched her reflection in the glass, the way the city lights played across her face. "Though I'm starting to think that's the least complicated aspect of whatever this is between us."

She tensed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Just that there are things..." I trailed off, thinking about Davenport's properties, about the legal loophole that would give us ownership when he died. About how attached she was growing to the old man's vision. "Things that make this inadvisable."

"Oh." She wrapped her arms around herself. “I understand.”

Something in her tone made me look at her sharply. "Ember?—"

"I should probably go," she said quickly. "It's late, and we both have work tomorrow."

I had said something wrong, though I couldn’t guess what. The way she withdrew so suddenly made me feel as though I had accidentally pressed a sensitive button within her, somethingthat couldn’t be easily undone. But how the hell had so few, seemingly innocent words done so much damage?

It was frustrating, and I found myself retreating to my own professionalism. Work and business were shields I could put up. They were tools to separate myself from all these messy fucking emotions and landmines I never saw coming.

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s very late. Let me call you a car.”

"No need. I can walk. It's a nice night."

"It's almost midnight. I'm calling you a car."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, Sir, Mr. Foster."

The formality stung after the intimacy of the evening. I watched her say goodbye to Goblin, who actually meowed in protest when she stopped petting him.

"Told you he likes me," she said, but her usual playfulness felt forced.

"Ember," I said as she reached the door. "Tonight was..."

"Complicated?" she offered.

"I was going to say nice."

"That too." She hesitated, then added softly, "Thank you for letting me meet your friend. And Goblin. And... this version of you."

---