Page 94 of 2 Books in One Bundle

Wasn’t part of the reason she had propositioned Damon because there was something more than just attraction? Would sharing a small piece of herself be a bad thing?

“I was thinking about my father.” She looked down at her teacup, fiddled with the string. “He worked as an electrician. Made good money, but if business was slow, things could get tight. The company he worked for cared more about getting things done than their employees.”

She remembered his face the day he’d tossed her into the air, bright and vibrant. She also remembered it just a few months later, gray and wan, like someone had turned the light off behind his eyes.

“He worked an outside job in the cold. Got sick.” She pulled the tea bag out, watched amber droplets fall and splash down into the cup. “Their equipment was old. He waited too long to go to the hospital because the company didn’t provide health insurance. He didn’t make it.” She looked at him. “You make a difference, you know. The way you treat your people.”

He watched her for a long moment, as if not sure what to make of what she’d just shared.

“Is that how you ended up in foster care?”

“I ended up in foster care because my biological mother preferred alcohol and pills over being a parent.” She winced as the words came out, sharper and rawer than she had intended. “I was told she was a good mom before my father passed. I was only five when I went into care and don’t have many memories before then.”

He stood and moved to her, sitting down in the chair across from her. He leaned over, plucked the crumpled tea bag from her fingers and tossed it into the trash before sitting in front of her.

Why, she thought with sudden rising panic,does this feel more intimate than kissing partially nude on his desk?

“It’s okay now,” she said with a forced smile as she tried to discreetly scoot her chair back. “It’s been years.”

“Doesn’t erase the pain.”

She let out a breath. When she had shared pieces of herself with her foster families, they had always encouraged her to move on, to look to the future, to think about things that excited her. Never to grieve, to process what she had lost.

“No, it doesn’t. Time lessens how much it hurts. And there are many days, weeks and even months where I don’t even think of them. But then there are days like today where something hits and it hits hard.” She sighed. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the smallest things can open the gates. Like seeing how nice someone treats their employees.”

He reached out, slowly, then laid a hand on top of hers. This time the heat that spread was one of comfort, of support and understanding.

Silence descended. She was, she realized, not uncomfortable as they sat there. No, she was feeling...heard. Respected.

“I was told,” he said quietly, “grief comes in waves. It starts off like a tsunami, and you think there’s no possible way you can get out from under it. Then the waves get a little more manageable. Over time, they become ripples. But you’ll still occasionally have that moment, that memory, that thought that knocks you off your feet. And that’s okay.”

She tilted her head. “I like that.” She laid her fingers on top of his, the sight of their hands atop one another comforting. “I also heard that sometimes we hang on to grief because we’re too frightened of who we are without it.”

He stared at her, his face unreadable. She kept her hand on his, grateful when he didn’t pull away. Had she gone too far? She saw so much of herself in Damon, the holding back to keep himself safe. But perhaps, after she had trusted him, he might feel the same way.

This time the silence that followed carried an edge. Damon held her gaze for what felt like forever before he gave her a small, opaque smile that made her feel cold. “Perhaps.”

He squeezed her hand, stood and retreated back to his desk.

Dismissed, quickly and effectively. She might have been ready to unburden some of her darkest moments, to share with the man who was to become her lover. Clearly, he wasn’t.

No reason for him to share, she reminded herself as she quietly excused herself and walked back to her office.You’re not his girlfriend.

She knew a little about his past. A framed obituary in the lobby included a brief mention that a drunk driver had killed David and Helen Bradford when Damon had been in his senior year of college. Evolet hadn’t been able to bring herself to do an online search to learn more. It had felt too much like an invasion of privacy if Damon didn’t want to talk about it.

She closed the door to her office and sank down into her chair. She picked up a pencil, twirled it absently in her fingers, set it back down. She’d taken a small risk, and while the moment of connection over loss had been affirming, Damon’s lack of reciprocity had been a much-needed reminder as to what their arrangement was—as well as what it would never be.

Although perhaps after what had just happened, Damon would want to terminate their agreement. Just the thought twisted her stomach into knots.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on her computer and began to respond to the emails that had piled up in her inbox. Her fingers itched for her bow, to play a song or two and settle the somber restlessness inside her.

Later, she promised herself. Later she would play. And whatever came after that, she would deal with it.

Even if she dealt with it alone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DAMONKNOCKEDONthe door to Evolet’s office. At her soft “Enter,” he twisted the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

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