Page 22 of Fallen Heir

The conversation started light, but the tension between us hovered just beneath the surface. He leaned back slightly, arms resting on either side of the table. Comfortable. Controlled.

“I know I’m probably pushing,” he said, “but… I’m curious about you.”

I looked up slowly. “Curious how?”

“Where you’re from. What brought you here. Just the basics.”

I stiffened and forced a sip of water. “Nothing exciting,” I said with a shrug. “I moved for work.”

He didn’t push. “New to the city?”

“Not really. Just new to this side of it.”

“Still feels like you’re adjusting.”

I blinked. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” He smiled, just a little. “Just something I noticed.”

I glanced down at the sandwich again, tearing a piece of crust and popping it into my mouth—more to have something todo than anything else. But the truth was—I hadn’t eaten much in months. I wasn’t even sure what hunger felt like anymore.

Then it came.

“Have you always worked in PR?” he asked, casually enough—but it still made my breath catch.

I nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

A lie. Another one.

And suddenly, I couldn’t tell if I was lying to him—or to myself. Why was he asking so many questions?

My heart thudded in my chest, quiet but panicked. Was this how real dates worked? Was this what normal people did? Sit across from one another and ask about jobs, cities, pasts? Because to me, it felt like surveillance. Too much. Too direct.

I shifted slightly in my chair, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed even as my mind went into lockdown. Did Millie tell him to ask these things? Was he suspicious of me already? I couldn’t afford to slip. One wrong answer, one inconsistency, and the walls I’d so carefully built would collapse. He’d start pulling threads—and God help me, there were too many threads to hide.

I took another small bite, chewing slowly, hiding behind the motion. Keep it light. Keep it safe. Just get through the hour. His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Before Pierman Associates?”

Shit.

“Yeah. Smaller firm before this,” I said, reaching for my drink. “Nothing impressive.”

I needed to change the subject. Fast.

“So Millie just found you and hired you on the spot?”

My stomach dropped.

Of course.

He knew Millie. Had for years. I couldn’t lie about how I walked in and begged for any position she’d give me.

“I was freelancing before that,” I said, trying to pivot. “New York is more lucrative when it comes to finding clients in this field.” Close enough to the lie I’d keep telling. Close enough to survive.

He watched me for a second too long, then eased back slightly. “I moved from Georgia,” I added quickly.

He raised an eyebrow—but something flashed in his eyes. As if he knew. As if he saw me.

“That fits. You’ve got a little Southern in your voice.”