Page 55 of Crying Shame

If I told him I only wanted to be friends, he might hate me. He’d said he wanted to make love to me, and I’d nodded. My cheeks blazed with heat. I stood. “I thought I should sleep in my own room in case Sam looks for me.”

“Does he get up in the middle of the night?”

I hugged myself. I’d not lied, although Sam usually slept until morning. I closed my eyes. “No.”

His phone rang on the nightstand. I took a step back, but he sat up and said, “I want you to stay.”

I handed him his phone and stared at the empty spot on the bed where I had slept. If we talked about what had happened, then maybe we’d be on the same page. He answered the phone and mouthed, “It’s work.”

He patted the edge of the bed, indicating I should sit. After a moment, I complied. My legs felt tense.

Elon asked, “Who's in labor?”

He pressed speaker and sat up to stretch. His secretary said, “Mrs. Motts-Butterfield.”

He stared at me hungrily, and my skin tingled. “Who's on call?”

“Bentley,” his secretary said.

My body trembled as I wondered if maybe we could enjoy each other again when he finished talking to his secretary.

He rubbed his neck. “I’ll make a call.”

He hung up and scrolled through the contacts on his phone.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

His gaze went to my chest as he dialed. “Motts-Butterfield is a friend of my maman, sort of. She wants a female doctor.”

After a moment, a woman answered the phone.

Elon said, “Estes, are you in town?”

Hearing him speak about work made me realize he’d not wasted his life. I hugged my knees.

"Yes," Estes said. “What’s going on?”

“If you can deliver Motts-Butterfield's baby right now, I’ll ensure your vacation is approved.”

Estes said, “Sounds perfect. I’m on my way.”

Once he hung up, he offered his hand. “Okay. Crisis adverted.”

My heart softened. He helped people whereas I used to dress as a pretend princess and entertain children while they were on expensive vacations. My lips curved into a smile. “You handled that well.”

He shrugged and scooted closer to me. “I need someone organized to help me, but I never have time to interview for the position.”

I narrowed my eyes. I’d never tried office work, but helping him would mean I wasn’t loafing around his house. “What would the job be?”

He shrugged. “Mostly someone to help me with all this scheduling, so I don’t get calls like this.”

My heart stirred. As a kid, I'd constantly labeled groceries that were brought into the house. I'd grown up doing whatever the Norouzis needed. I took a deep breath. “Would the person you hired need skills?”

“Organizational skills.”

Organization could be my middle name. My parents had wanted me to know my place, which was why they'd insisted I learn to be organized. My lips quirked higher. “I meant a degree.”

He blinked. “No.”