Page 11 of Edge of Secrets

“Sort of, I suppose,” I said. “I’m a grad student in literature.”

“Okay. You wouldn’t believe some of the weirdos who have been coming in. You look relatively normal, comparatively, but you never can tell. I’ll tell Duncan you’re here.” He pushed a button. “Hey, Duncan, I’ve got another poet for you … yeah. Right away.” He stood up. “I’ll take you to his office. Follow me.”

I followed him down the hall to the corner office. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a deep voice said. A voice that prickled my senses. I knew that voice.

The receptionist gestured for me to enter, and the professional smile on my face froze as I saw the man who rose from his desk to greet me. Oh. My. God.

Mr. Hyper-Focused stood right there in front of me.

Chapter Five

Nell

My mouth was open. I forced myself to close it. He stared at me silently, eyes narrowed in furious concentration as he tried to place me.

I lowered my outstretched hand, my stomach cartwheeling. I pressed my hand against it, then realized how weird that looked, and forced myself to drop the hand.

My hand twitched and swung, unsure of what the hell to do with itself.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “I know you.”

I ginned up some instant bravado. “Yes, you do, in a manner of speaking. Strip steak sandwich, soup of the day, and apple crumb pie with vanilla ice cream. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“You’re the waitress. At the café where I get lunch.” His tone was accusing. He seemed so much taller here, but of course, in the restaurant he’d always been sitting down. He studied me, his eyes puzzled and suspicious. “You look different.”

“I’m not wearing an apron or holding an order pad. Not that I need one for your order.” I resisted a near-overwhelming urge to button up my jacket. There was no need to scream my discomfort and self-consciousness to the four winds. I had buttoned my blouse to the top, hadn’t I? Hadn’t I? Do. Not. Check. Just don't. I was also acutely, intensely aware of the lipstick I’d painted onto my mouth. I regretted it bitterly.

“Wait. So you guys know each other?” The receptionist’s eyes were goggling.

“Derek, that’ll be all.”

Derek blinked innocently. “Can I make you some coffee? Or bring in some?—”

“Get out, Derek,” the man said, with an authority that was both flat and absolute.

Derek sidled obediently out the door. Mr. Tall and Hyper-Focused and I looked at each other in absolute silence for a moment. The weight and pressure of his full attention was as bewildering and disorienting as it had been earlier today at the restaurant. I had to brace myself, as if I were standing in a hurricane wind.

“You said you were an expert in poetry and a doctoral candidate at NYU,” he said.

“And so I am,” I replied.

“Excuse me for making personal statements, but you look too young for that.”

Oh, for God’s sake. I absolutely had to change my look. “I’ll be thirty in October,” I said. “I can show you my driver’s license, if you’d like to verify that. Or my passport. Not that it’s particularly relevant.”

“That won’t be necessary. Look, Ms. ... uh …”

“D’Onofrio,” I supplied.

“Ms. D’Onofrio, I sympathize with your desire to break out of waitressing, but I’m not the kind of employer who hires young women just for scenery. So if you’re not actually qualified, don’t waste my time. It would be unpleasant for us both.”

I was stymied for a moment as I unpacked that complicated statement. The fucking nerve of him, to imply that I was lying or scamming. To say nothing of the fact that he’d just implied that I was … well. Pretty enough to be considered scenery. Which was a compliment hidden inside an insult, or maybe it was an insult hidden inside a compliment. I wasn’t quite sure which one it was. Or which one was worse.

Or, well … better. As the case might be.

“I gave you my credentials,” I said icily. “They were absolutely genuine. I did not misrepresent myself in the least. If you’d like to verify my references, feel free. Do it now. I am more than qualified for the work you’ve described. I’m interested because of the flexible hours and the possibility of working remotely. It’s very difficult to find jobs that fit into a graduate seminar and teaching schedule.”

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