Page 17 of Enthrall
I frowned at him.
“If you’re British you could come from Wales, Scotland, Ireland or England. If you’re English, you come from England. Kind of a fun fact. Not that anyone cares. No one can understand what they’re saying half the time anyway.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Yes.” He took a sip.
“What’s it like?”
“Cold.” He smiled. “Though they have striking architecture and a fascinating history.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry Richard is such a Mr. Grumpy pants.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, tears flowing again.
Cameron reached for a napkin. “Sorry. It’s a bit scratchy.” He stared at me under long, black lashes. “Here.”
I took it from him and dapped my face, scrunching it up and holding onto it in case I couldn’t suppress these tears.
Cameron handed me another napkin. “I want you to know that I talked with Richard.”
“What did he say?”
“He feels heroic about you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Richard’s not sure you’re quite ready to work at Enthrall.”
“I so wanted to make it work. There’s no other job that pays as much.” There, I’d admitted why I took the job, kind of.
“Minimum wage sucks.”
“And I need the benefits,” I said. “All the other places I applied for didn’t pay benefits until you’d been there for at least three months.”
“Corporate America.” He twisted his mouth. “It can be pretty tough on the middle class and verging on cruel to the lower.”
Cameron probably watched a little too much CNN, by the sound of things.
“Are you a member of Enthrall?” I said.
“Not exactly a member.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a psychiatrist.”
“A doctor?”
“They generally are, yes.”
“Oh.”
His gaze settled on my mouth. “Please don’t go and clam up on me. I’ve not finished analyzing you.”
I must have looked horrified.
“I’m kidding,” he said.
I wondered what Cameron had been doing at Enthrall if he wasn’t a client. From the way he’d argued with Richard they seemed close. My tea tasted nice and it made me realize Cameron knew a thing about calming people.
