Page 33 of A Convenient Secret

“I’ve never watched the show.” He takes another sip and hands me the glass.

I ignore it. “What do you mean you’ve never watched the show?”

“I don’t have time for television. It was never watched in my house growing up. I have a theater upstairs where I occasionally watch movies. And Ihave a TV in my office, but I only rarely watch the news.” He shrugs.

“I thought you didn’t have a TV so the kids don’t watch until they’re older. I grew up in a house where my great-grandmother’s TV blared at full blast all the time. She refused hearing aids, so I feel like television has been the background of my childhood.”

I loved hiding in her rooms growing up.

He studies me for a moment, and somehow it makes me feel bare. Why did I mention my nana? I never talk about my family, because that only opens me up to questions about my background. Questions I can’t answer.

“Where are your glasses?”

I touch my face. Shit. Have I forgotten them… Where? When was the last time I had them on? I’m always so careful with them. “I must have left them in Zoya’s room. Let me get them.”

“I can grab them.”

We both stand up at the same time, and my hip bumps him. I lose balance and almost fall back onto the sofa. Only I don’t, because Declan wraps his arm around me. His effort to prevent my fall plasters me against his chest.

We freeze. Well, I kind of daze at him, immobile, but Declan goes rigid. He doesn’t release me, though. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with me.

“Like a true James Bond. You saved me.” I try to lighten the tension, because Declan’s posture isn’t the only rigid thing. A bulge is growing in his pants, and I don’t know what to do.

Having this effect on him thrills me, but with my limited experience, I don’t quite know how to react in a way he’d welcome.

I might have inappropriate thoughts about him, but he is still my boss… Well, my client.

My words don’t make him laugh. He steps back like I stung him, steadying me with his hands. “You should go, Lily.”

His words are like a cold shower, sobering me. Reminding me who we are. That he might have indulged my presence, our conversation on a drunken Friday night, but that’s all this is.

“Yes,” I rasp.

“Let me get your glasses.” He turns and practically runs upstairs.

The sooner I get out of here, the better. I have no idea how to handle this man. He must be attracted to me. Unless he has some disease causing spontaneous erection. I should google it.

I walk over to the wall of windows and rest my forehead against the cool surface. What am I doing?

Why does this man make me feel all these things? I’m hot and thrilled one moment. In awe of him attimes. Annoyed with him a minute later. And completely inadequate most of the time.

Okay, it’s time to behave like a well-adjusted adult and give up this unhealthy obsession with him.

It’s not like there is any chance of anything happening between us, and I need to start acting normal around him. I wouldn’t see him much after tonight, anyway.

When I hear him descending, I turn around, my back against the window. I fold my arms over my chest, because somehow it makes me stronger against him. Or protected from him. Regardless, I feel I stand taller.

“Don’t lean on the glass,” he scolds.

Fuck him. I roll my eyes, push off the glass, and snatch my glasses. “Good night, Declan.”

I start toward the entrance, hoping he will just go back upstairs. I don’t need him to witness my homelessness.

“Why are you wearing them?” His voice—that stupid voice—reaches me before I cross the room.

The question makes me pause, and I turn slowly, not sure if I’m frustrated or exhausted. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you wear your glasses? They are not prescription, and forgive me, but they are not really a fashion statement either.”