She’s making dinner for us tonight—fortunately just her and the two of us.
After we say goodbye and Melissa and Chelsea leave the coffee shop, Damian and I remain seated in the booth we’re sharing.
“I thought that went pretty well,” Damian says, turning to look down at me.
“Yeah.” I shift slightly.
His dark eyebrows pull together. “Didn’t you think so? They seemed to buy our relationship just fine.”
“They did. They totally did. And they really liked you.”
“Good. So that was a good first step. Now we just have to get through dinner with your mother.”
“I’m sure that will be fine too.” I’m focused on one of my hands, which is resting on the table.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh, Clarke?”
The sound of him saying my last name like that catches my attention enough for me to look up at him. “What?”
“Why do you look so uncomfortable? Is this not what you had in mind? I can change how I act. I’ll be whoever you want me to be. But you’ve got to be honest and tell me, or I can’t adapt.”
“You don’t have to adapt,” I admit, giving up my slight embarrassment with a long exhale. “It’s just weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“That it’s all an act. You’re really good at it.”
He’s frowning again. “It’s not all an act. Melissa and Chelsea seem like perfectly nice people, and I was interested in getting to know them. But this is my job. This is what I do. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. It’s exactly what I wanted. I just... I don’t know.” I’m not averse to telling him what I think. The problem is I’m having trouble putting my chaotic reaction into words.
“Clarke,” he says again, using the exact same tone he used before.
This time I give him a little scowl. “Why are you calling me by my last name? Everyone usually calls me Mel.”
“I know they do. But you’re used to that. I needed something to catch you off guard.”
“What? Why?”
“So you’ll listen to me.”
“I was listening to you.”
“No, you weren’t. You were wrapped up in your own thoughts. I know you’re brilliant, and it seems like you have a rich interior life. We certainly don’t have to be friends, but if you don’t let me in a little, I’m not going to be able to do a good job with this.” He’s back to his mild, professional manner. He’s dropped that warm charm like the facade it always was.
It’s a relief. I like him better this way. I manage to smile. “Okay. You’re right about me. I live mostly inside. But I know it’s not fair to let you flounder around, not knowing what to do, so I’ll try to be better about that.”
“Well, I’m not sure flounder is the right word.” He sounds slightly aggrieved. “I don’t think I ever flounder.”
I hear myself giggling. “I’m sure you don’t.”
“So tell me what you’re thinking. What’s bothering you about this afternoon?”
“Nothing. Seriously. You did a great job, and it was exactly right. It’s just freaking me out a little. To see how easy it is for you convince people. So maybe...”
He waits, his eyebrows lifted slightly.
I make myself finish the sentence. “Maybe don’t do that with me. Don’t put on an act. With me. I don’t want to be taken in by you.”
His expression relaxes as if he realizes the thing I’m worried about isn’t what he thought it might be. “Okay,” he murmurs, as cool and smooth as the iced coffee I’m drinking. “I understand. I can put on the act with everyone else, but not with you.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly.”
“It’s a deal.”
I’M EATING A BOWL OF cereal at my workstation in the main living area of my condo at six thirty in the morning two days later when Damian comes strolling in.
He really does stroll. Relaxed. Leisurely. As if he has no purpose or destination, even so early in the morning when he’s obviously just gotten up. Not even the coffeepot.
It’s a little annoying.
I’ve been up for over an hour, so I’ve already had two cups of coffee and am working on a glass of orange juice in addition to my multigrain Cheerios. I’ve always been a morning person, and ever since college I’ve gotten up before six and done some of my best work before most people get into the office.
My workstation consists of three desks, three large monitors, top-of-the-line computers, and absolutely no clutter. Some people—like my partner, Steve—thrive on clutter, but I don’t. I find it annoying and distracting, so I