Page 127 of Inflame

“That’s what they all say.”

I walk her through the new entry process, handing her the new set of replacement keys. We are standing so close that I can smell her hair. It is freshly washed and smells like strawberries. I feel cheated. Not that I have anything against strawberries. It’s just that I’m more of a fan of vanilla. Her stomach growls.

“You’re hungry.”

“My stomach will get over it.”

“Claire…” Her name trails off my tongue with an added syllable.

“Nic.” She does the same thing with my name.

“Go find your apartment key and let’s go have dinner in my office. I have leftover Chinese.”

She makes a face. “I avoid MSG."

“I only order from the place down the street that cooks everything with organic ingredients. Otherwise, I get headaches.” Her eyes perk up, and I can tell she is running out of excuses. “Go get your apartment key, Claire.”

“Fine.” She turns on the lights and walks over to the sectional sofa. I watch as she leans over the cushions and digs her hands in between the sections, until she finds her lost key. She waves it into the air with elation. “Found it.”

“Good. Now, let’s go eat.”

36

CLAIRE

I watch as Nic pulls out the takeout boxes from his mini-fridge and fixes me a plate with the vegetarian options. The last thing I ate was the salad for lunch with Angie and now I am starving. The sight of food alone is making me salivate, and my stomach starts to cramp with need. My mind has been so elsewhere lately that I am losing track of time and of my meals.

Ever since the café confrontation, Ethan keeps texting me threats—nearly on the hour, every hour. If he’s not careful, he may find that I don’t play nice. I’m not paying for his stupid suit. He knows I don’t have money right now, so I imagine he’s trying to torment me just for fun or set up some automatic texting system to do his bidding.

My eyes scan over all of the boxes Nic arranged. “Are you going to eat with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

I nod. “I hate eating alone.”

Nic’s smile is sweet, and the more time I spend around him, the more I start to realize that he does have a good heart. He just hides it from most people’s view. He treats me very differently than he treats Angie, Graham, or his employees. It’s as if I get to see layers to him that are hidden beneath a strong and rugged facade he tries to keep secured in place around his exterior.

“I’m going to go to the break room and microwave this,” he says, walking toward the door with two plates in hand.

“I like mine barely warm.”

He nods and exits. When he returns, he places the plates down on the center of his desk. “You can sit in my leather chair. I can grab the other one.”

Before I can argue, he is guiding me behind his desk to take the more comfortable seat, with the leg room. “Your office is very nice,” I say looking around.

“Thank you. I have a few more items arriving next week.”

My first bite of food is so delicious that it only takes a couple of minutes before I am scraping up the last bit from my plate. Nic pushes his toward me, taking my empty one in return.

“Eat.”

“I, um…” It feels weird eating this many carbs in front of a man. “I shouldn’t.”

“You are obviously starving.”

“Not sure how,” I laugh, “when I just ate half a pound of noodles.”

“They are good, huh?”

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