Page 22 of Every Silent Lie
“Why?”
“So I can get it in its best shape.”
“You already wasted two years. You want to waste another?”
“I’m being paid.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“I didn’t realise I was signing up for a career coaching session when I agreed to lunch.”
“Are you enjoying it?” he repeats.
I sit back, wondering if he thinks my job forms part of the black cloud that’s casting a shadow over my life. “No.” It’s a distraction, that’s all. A distraction that turned into a challenge, which made it an even better distraction. “Do you enjoy what you do?” I fire back.
“Yes.”
“What do you love so much about it?”
“Succeeding. Achieving.” His lovely brow hitches a smidge. “Power.”
“Are you an egomaniac?”
“No, Camryn. Are you?”
On reflection, I think I used to be. I was a ball-breaker. Top of my game. Now? Now I operate on fear. Not fear of losing respect in my field or failing, or even not being able to afford to pay my rent, but fear of not having a job, and failing could mean I lose my job. “I’m not an egomaniac.” Although I’m one hundred percent certain every employee at TF Shipping, including my boss, his wife, and his son, would disagree. “I do, however, expect respect in the workplace.”
“As you should.” Dec’s phone rings again, and he sighs, looking at me in apology.
“It’s fine, you take it.”
“It’s my assistant,” he says, taking his phone to his ear. “Tina.” He listens, his eyes squinting. “Thanks.” Hanging up, he turns his phone in his hold. “I have to go.”
“Me too.” I stand and swing on my coat. “But this was nice,” I add, the words coming from nowhere. “Short but nice.” I frown to myself as I collect my bag and Dec stands.
“Take your coat off.”
“What?”
“Your coat, Camryn. Take it off.”
“But I just put it on.” I glance down my front. “Because we’re leaving.” Returning my eyes to Dec, I see impatience past the glittery grey of his gaze. It’s beyond me why I do, but I place my bag on the table and slowly get out of my coat as Dec rounds the table and claims it. Then he moves in behind me and holds it up for me to slip my arms in. On an unsure smile, I do as I’m being silently bid, then I hold my breath when he moves into my back and reaches around me to tie the belt, virtually hugging me from behind. I savour his closeness. The feel of this man’s warmth.
His stubble grazes my cheek, his smell overwhelming me. “Now we can go,” he murmurs in my ear. He must feel my shudder. “Ready?”
No. No, I’m not ready. But I nod anyway, accepting my bag when he hands it to me, and let him lead me out of the deli. When he walks in the direction of Regent Street—therefore away from The Strand where he works—I tug him to a stop. “You don’t have to walk me back.”
“I want to.”
“But you have to go,” I remind him.
“I like walking with you, so I’ll walk with you.” He pulls me on, and I follow, at the mercy of his hand holding mine tightly. And I’m smiling again. It’s small, but it’s there.
The crowds vanish, the world vanishes.
It’s beautiful.
A small part of my mind is yelling at me, trying to break through this unfamiliar sense of peace, trying to remind me that getting close to anyone isn’t an option for me anymore. Right now, while I’m holding his hand, it’s easy to ignore it. But I know it will eventually catch up with me. Because how long can we do this without actually getting to know each other? Our histories. My pain. My demons.
