Sasha’s First Day, a Donovan and Sabrina Bonus Scene

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I pause from the email I’m typing to look at the second monitor on my desk where my security cameras feed. There are several views I can flip through, but it’s currently displaying my preferred setting—several feeds from the Reach day care center, the playroom and nursery from the apartment, and a feed from Sabrina’s office.

My wife is working away at her desk, as to be expected for ten fifteen on a Monday. Liam, my precocious two-year-old, appears to be bargaining with the day care attendant for more Cheerios, which is typical behavior for the boy. But all I can think about is what the cameras don’t show.

I told myself I wouldn’t do it, but I find myself reaching for my desk phone and dialing Sabrina’s direct number. “Tell me again why we couldn’t send the teddy bear with the nanny cam with Sasha to preschool?” I ask when she answers.

“Hello, Donovan.”

“Would we really have gotten sued if they’d found it?”

“The contract we signed said outside surveillance isn’t permissible.”

“And why did we decide to sign that contract?”

“Because it’s a fairly reasonable term.” To her credit, she doesn’t sound annoyed, even though she’s explained this to me at least a dozen times since we finalized Sasha’s enrollment in preschool.

It’s bullshit, is what it is.

“If they aren’t going to allow cameras, then I should definitely be allowed to call and check in.”

“And you can,” she reminds me. “One time. One time only.”

“You said I could call twice on her first day.”

“I did, and you already called once, and she was fine.”

“I’m going to call again.”

“We only dropped her off two hours ago. Are you sure you want to use your second call already?” Her patience is maddening. I’m supposed to be the one who has everything under control. I really don’t appreciate the role reversal.

“Fine. I’ll wait.” I should probably hang up now, but this call has not been satisfying. “But if I called an extra time, just today—”

“I already gave you an extra call today!” She sighs, a sign that maybe her patience is wearing after all. “Look at it this way—the more the day care attendants have to take time away to talk to you, the less time they have to devote to taking care of Sasha.”

“Which is why they should just agree to a nanny cam. Saves everyone time.” Honestly, I’m not sure why I ever let her talk me into preschool. The Reach day care gave Sasha plenty of opportunity to socialize with others, and not only could I watch her on the camera, I only had to travel down three floors if I wanted to see her in person.

It’s as if Sabrina can read my mind. “She was bored, Donovan. She’s too smart for our day care. She needed something more challenging.”

“This is your fault for being so brilliant. Couldn’t you have passed down some less intelligent genes?”

She laughs. “Intelligence is as much your fault as it is mine.”

“Well, sure, but I was always going to pass on brilliance. I was hoping you had something dormant lying in your genetic makeup that might sneak through and dominate.”

“I’m not sure if that was an insult or not—”

“Never.”

“—but I do know you’re being crazy right now. You wouldn’t want Sasha any other way.”

“Then we should have revamped the day care and made it more her level.”

“Oh, right. Because we’re in the business of running preschools.” She’s being sarcastic, but that doesn’t stop her from telling me the practical obstacles. “We’d need even more certifications and inspections and then we’d have to decide on a teaching method, and not everyone who has kids here would want the same kind of program.”

None of that seems too outrageous to me.

“And anyway,” she says, seemingly exhausted just from talking about the idea. “She needs some space. It isn’t healthy for either of you to have this level of attachment.”

“Says who?”

“Says your wife.” Somewhere inside my brain, I know she’s right.

Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“But—” I’m not even sure I know where I’m going with that but before she’s cut me off.

“Distract yourself. You still have Liam to obsess over. And what about me? I’m starting to feel unloved.”

As if I could ever “unlove” Sabrina.

At the mention of his name, though, I glance at Liam on the screen. Snack time has evolved to story time, and he’s entranced as can be, which I’d normally find quite engaging.

Today, all I can give it is a weak smile before I’m once again fretting about my little Sashafras.

“You’re going to get through this, Donovan.”

Obviously, Sabrina is not supportive.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up before she can give me some other useless advice.

By the time the phone hits the cradle, I have an idea. The preschool has a state-of-the-art security system. You have to have a fingerprint scan to even get in the front door. I highly approve, of course.

Along with that security system, there are high tech cameras. The kind of high tech that is nearly impossible to hack.

I’ve always found the word impossible to be a sort of challenge.

I pull my cell out of my pocket as I get up and cross to my open office door. “Hold everything for a bit, will you, Simone?”

I shut the door and dial. While the phone rings, I turn the window from clear to opaque, just in case Sabrina were to come check on me and could magically read lips all of a sudden. It sounds paranoid, but she’s pretty fucking incredible, and I wouldn’t put anything past her.

Though it would be a bit surprising that I’d only just be finding out about this talent fifteen-plus years into my fascination with the woman.

Point is, no one can see through when my P.I., Ferris, answers the phone. “No,” he says before I can even say hello.

“What do you mean no? I have you on retainer, and you don’t even know why I’m calling.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He’s been cranky lately, particularly when I try to use the phone to communicate when I “know damn well” he prefers to do everything in person—his words, and I’ve heard them frequently.

Clearly, this is a case that requires an exception. “Just hear me out.” I pace as I talk. “I need you to get into a camera system and draw a feed to my computer. Nothing insane. Just a little minor hacking. It’s for the betterment of society.”

“The betterment of society, how?”

“I will be better fit to be a man in society.”

“Really don’t think that’s what the statement means, and like I said before, I’m not doing it.”

“...and why, may I ask, are you turning this work down?” It’s not like the man has morals. I’ve had him do some pretty illegal shit in the past.

“Because Sabrina already hired me to not do whatever you ask me to do this week.”

I practically choke. “She…what?”

“Hired me. To not do. Whatever it is that you want me to do.”

I really resent being spoken to like I’m an idiot. I doubly resent my damn wife trying to predict my moves. I triply resent that her predictions were right.

Dammit, Sabrina.

“Whatever she’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

“You can’t beat her offer.”

Like hell I can’t. I name a price that’s ten times his usual rate.

“Her offer’s still better.”

“What exactly is her offer?”

“Her offer is whatever you offer except I don’t have to do anything. Now which one would you choose?”

I’m equally annoyed and turned on. Her brain is a fucking masterpiece for many reasons, especially because she not only has the audacity to try to keep up with mine, but also because she often succeeds.

I can still be pissed at Ferris. “Where’s your loyalty, man?”

“Where’s your dignity?”

My dignity is in a first-floor preschool room in a building ten city blocks away, probably covered with finger paint and graham cracker crumbs, wondering if she’ll ever see her daddy again.

Hyperbole, perhaps, but she’s only three. And this is her first day with new people. Never mind that we attended a practice day with her not once, but twice, over the last two weeks, and everything was fine.

Not just fine. She actually had two of the best days of her life, according to the Sashkatoon herself.

Again, she’s three. Her scope of comparison is real small.

I hang up on Ferris. I don’t say goodbye, but fuck him right now. He chose wrong. I dial Sabrina, this time from my cell, pacing again until she answers. “But how do you know she’s fine?”

“Because if she wasn’t fine, the front office would have called us.”

“What if she doesn’t know how to tell them she’s not fine, and she’s secretly being shredded to tiny pieces on the inside?”

“Are you still talking about Sasha or are you talking about you?”

I come to the shut door and lean my forehead against the cool metal framing. “How am I supposed to do this, Sabrina? Day after day? Year after year? Just let her go out into the world and hope that she comes back okay? There are bad people out there. Do you know how bad?”

“I do know how bad.”

I’m an asshole. “I know you do. I didn’t mean that you didn’t.”

“It’s a real concern. There are bad people, and there are good people who sometimes do bad things, and sometimes it will even be our kids who are doing the bad things.”

An image of a teenage version of my Sashstruga flashes before my eyes, her head lolled back and a needle sticking out of her arm. “Is this supposed to be helpful?”

“It’s supposed to be reality. All we can do is build a foundation. We teach them how to be decent. We surround them with people who will show them how to be resilient and strong. We love them. In the end, we trust them.”

“Trust them. That doesn’t mean trust everyone.”

“And we don’t trust everyone. We did thorough background checks on her preschool, just like we’ve done on every nanny and caretaker she’s ever had. But after that, we have to let her go out into the world. She’ll never know she can fly if you keep her in a cage.”

I groan. “I feel attacked by cliché.”

She laughs. “You feel attacked because it’s true.” When she speaks again, she’s serious. “You’re always going to worry, Donovan. But you don’t have to let it consume you.”

“Let something not consume me? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Like I said earlier, obsess about something else. I’m sure you have other objects of affection to dote on.”

I don’t say it often—who needs words when there can be action—but I tell her now, “I love you.”

“Of course you do,” she says. “I’m amazing.”

I hang up, feeling not quite soothed, but acceptant. Seriously, it’s only ten thirty? I can’t pour a drink this early. Maybe I need another bad habit.

Or I could just keep my head down and focus on my work.

I open the door again, then trudge back to my desk. My abandoned email is waiting for me on my main screen, the cursor blinking where I left off mid-sentence. I finish up the message and send it off. This time when my eyes drift to the second monitor, I’m thinking of Sabrina, and all that she means to me. How I couldn’t be a father without her at my side. How I couldn’t be a husband to anyone but her.

I find the square on the screen that holds the view of her office, and my pulse skyrockets. “What the fuck…?”

I shut down the image immediately, in case anyone were to walk in and see what I just saw. Then I get up from my desk, march out of my office, past Simone, who calls something after me that I’m ignoring, and down the hall to Sabrina’s office.

“She’s not to be disturbed,” Roxie says, but I ignore her too. Sabrina’s office door is locked, so I use my key and open the door only far enough so that I can slip in. When I close it behind me, I lock it.

“Would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?” I ask my wife. My very naked wife, who must have heard me coming because she has moved from behind her desk, where I saw her on camera, to on top of it.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her breasts soft and tear-shaped, her legs crossed, hiding the gold mine between them.

“Waiting for you to notice me,” she says. Knife through my gut, because I honestly thought my problem was that I never stopped noticing her. “It doesn’t usually take you so long.” Then, as if she hasn’t already gotten my attention, she spreads her legs wide.

Need I mention that I’m hard?

“I’ll tell you what I’m noticing right now—that clit of yours is swollen and begging to be sucked.”

“Is it? I know you’re distracted and all. Maybe I have bad timing.” She starts to close her legs, but I cross quickly and stop her knees before they meet.

“Oh, no you don’t. I think you have perfect timing.” I draw my finger up her seam, skimming past her plump bud before lifting my hand to my mouth so I can suck my finger clean. “It’s a little early for lunch, but I can make an exception.”

“And then after lunch, it might even be late enough in the day to make your second phone call.”

“You seriously underestimate how hungry I am. Lunch could last until we get to pick her up.”

“Donovan,” she says as I get down on my knees to worship her pussy, “you’re such a dirty, filthy man.”

Luckily, that’s just the way she loves me.

Thanks for spending this time with Donovan and my Dirty Universe. I have more books with alpha heroes you’re bound to love. Have you had a chance to meet Hudson Pierce? Keep reading for a free chapter one excerpt of my bestselling book Fixed on You.

I felt alive.

The alternating flashes of dark and soft lights, the throbbing pulse from an Ellie Goulding club mix, the movement of sweaty bodies dancing, grinding, enjoying each other—The Sky Launch Nightclub got into my blood and turned me on in a way that I hadn’t let anyone or anything else do in quite some time. When I was there—working the bar, assisting the wait staff, attending to the DJs—I felt more free than at any other time of my day. The club held magic. 

And, for me, healing. 

For all its vibrancy and life, the club was a safe haven for me. It was a place I could attach myself without worry of going overboard. No one was going to sue me for focusing too hard or long on my job. But rumor was The Sky Launch, which had been up for sale for quite some time, was about to be sold. A new owner could change everything.

“Laynie.” Sasha, the waitress working the upper floor, pulled me from my thoughts and back to my job. “I need a vodka tonic, a White Russian, and two butterballs.”

“Got it.” I pulled the vodka from the shelf behind me. 

“I can’t believe how busy we are for a Thursday,” she said as I worked on her order. 

“It’s the summer crowd. Give it a week, and the place will explode.” I couldn’t wait. Summer at the club was a total blast.  

“That’s when things around here get fun.” David Lindt, the general manager of the club, joined our conversation, a sparkle showing in his eyes as the bright white light that lit the bar illuminated his face.

“Real fun.” I gave David a wide smile and winked while I placed the drinks on Sasha’s tray, my stomach tensing with a flicker of desire.   

He answered my wink with one of his own, stirring the flicker in my belly to a low flame.

David wasn’t the love of my life—not even the love of the moment—but his shared passion for the club sparked something in me. My interest in learning more and moving up from bartending had seemed to interest him as well. More than one late night of showing me the ropes had ended in heavy make-out sessions. Though I hadn’t been instantly attracted to him, his small stature, curly blond hair, and blue eyes had grown on me. Also, his keen business sense and exceptional management style were qualities I required in a man. And, truthfully, the lack of effect he had on my emotions provided half the draw. We had decent chemistry, but he didn’t have me freaking out all over him like I had over other guys. He was safe and solid, and that was my definition of the perfect man. 

I rang up Sasha’s order while David filled shot glasses—Todd’s order, I suspected, another waiter standing next to Sasha. David rarely stepped behind the bar anymore, but we were short-staffed for the night, and I welcomed his help. Especially with the way we were picking up. A regular and his friends had leaned against the bar waiting for my attention, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a suit taking a spot at the far end of the counter.

I handed Sasha her ticket, but David stopped her before she could take off. “Hold on. While there’s at least a few of us here, I think we should toast to Laynie.” He passed around the shots he’d been filling. Tequila—my liquor of choice.

I peered at him suspiciously. While it wasn’t unusual to have a shot or two while working a shift, it was always kept on the down-low, never in front of our manager, and certainly not at his encouragement.

“No worries,” David said, bumping my shoulder with his. “It’s a special occasion.”

With a shrug, I smiled and took the shot he offered me. “You’re the boss.”

“We’re too busy for a proper toast, so let’s just say this is to Laynie. We’re proud of you, girl.”

I blushed and clinked glasses as everyone around, including the regular customer and his friends, shouted out “hear, hear” and “cheers.”

“Woo-hoo!” I screamed my own excitement. I’d worked hard to get my degree. I was proud of myself too. I slammed the shot back, enjoying the burn as it lined my throat and spread through my veins. “Goddamn, that’s nice!”

Aware that the crowd was getting antsy, Sasha took off with her order while David filled Todd’s. I turned my attention first to the regular, a guy whose name deserted me. He leaned in to give me a hug, which I returned. I might not remember him, but I knew how to earn my tips.

“Four of whatever’s on tap,” he said, raising his voice over the music, which seemed to have gotten louder in the last few minutes. “Where’s Liesl?” 

I handed him his first two mugs and began work on the next two. “Since she’s covering all my shifts next week, she has tonight off.” That’s right—this was the guy who usually flirted with Liesl, another bartender. 

“That’s cool. So what are you doing on your vacation?” With Liesl not around, Regular turned his charm on me. His eyes traveled to my breasts that were admittedly hard to miss. Especially with my low-cut neckline. I had some nice girls—who could blame me for showing them off? 

“Absolutely nothing.” I hoped my delivery sounded like I was looking forward to my vacation. Truth was, I’d taken the time off so I could go home and spend time with my older brother. But only that morning, Brian had called the trip off, saying that he was too swamped with work. He wouldn’t even be able to make it to my graduation.

I swallowed the emotions that threatened to show on my face. On top of being disappointed, I was terrified. Me with nothing to occupy my time was not an attractive me. I’d almost told David several times to go ahead and put me on the schedule, but every time I started, I felt like a total loser. Maybe a week off would be good for me. I could handle it. Right? 

Now wasn’t the time to fret about the week to come. I finished the transaction with Regular and slid down the bar to take care of the suit at the end of the counter.

“Now what can I get…you…?” My words trailed off as my eyes met the suit’s, the air leaving my lungs, suddenly sucked out by the sight that met me. The man… He was…gorgeous. 

Incredibly gorgeous. 

I couldn’t look away, his appearance magnetizing. Which meant he was exactly the type of man I should avoid.

After the numerous heartaches that had dotted my past, I’d discovered that I could divide the men I was attracted to into two categories. The first category could be described as fuck and forget. These were the men who got me going in the bedroom but were easy to leave behind if necessary. It was the only group I bothered with anymore. They were the safe ones. David fell into this category.  

Then there were the men who were anything but safe. They weren’t fuck and forget—they were, “Oh, fuck!” They drew me to them so intensely that I became consumed by them, absolutely focused on everything they did, said, and were. I ran from these men, far and fast. 

Two seconds after locking eyes with this man, I knew I should be running. 

He seemed familiar—he must have been in the club before. But if he had been, I couldn’t imagine that I’d have forgotten. He was the most breathtaking man on the planet. His chiseled cheekbones and strong jaw sat beneath perfectly floppy brown hair and the most intense gray eyes I’d ever seen. His five o’clock shadow made my skin itch, yearning to feel the burn of it against my face—against my inner thighs. From what I could see, his expensive three-piece navy suit was fitted and of excellent taste. And his smell—a distinct fragrance of unscented soap and aftershave and pure male goodness—nearly had me sniffing at the air in front of him like a dog in heat.

But it wasn’t just his incomparable beauty and exquisite display of male sex that had me burning between my legs and searching for the nearest exit. It was how he looked at me, in a way that no man had ever looked at me—a hungry possessiveness present in his stare, as if he not only had undressed me in his mind, but had claimed me to be sated by no one ever again except him. 

I wanted him instantly, a prickle of fixation taking root in my belly—an old familiar feeling. But that I desired him didn’t matter. The expression on his face said that he would have me whether I wanted it or not, that it was as inevitable as if it had already happened. 

It scared the hell out of me. The hair on my skin stood up as witness to my fear. 

Or perhaps it rose in delight. 

Oh, fuck.

“Single-malt Scotch. Neat, please.” 

I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to be serving him. And the idea of serving him seemed so sexy that when he reminded me of my job, I nearly fell over myself to get his drink. “I have a 12-year-old Macallan.” 

“Fine.” It was all he said, but the delivery in his low, thick voice had my pulse fluttering. 

As I handed him his Scotch, his fingers brushed mine, and I shivered. Visibly. His eyebrows rose ever so slightly at my reaction, as if he were pleased. 

I jerked my hand back, tucking it against the bodice of my sheath dress, as if the fabric could erase the warmth that had already traveled from where he’d touched me to the needy core between my legs.

I never brushed fingers with customers. Why had I done that? 

Because I couldn’t not touch him. I was so drawn to him, so eager for something I couldn’t name, that I’d take whatever contact I could get. 

Not this again. Not now.

Not ever.

I moved away from him. Far and fast. Well, as far as I could get, curling into the opposite corner of the bar. David could serve the guy if he wanted anything else. I needed to be nowhere near him. 

And then, as if on cue in the bad luck life I led, Sasha returned. “David, that group in bubble five is harassing the waitress again.”

“On it.” He turned to me. “You can handle it for a minute?”

“I so got this.” I so didn’t have it. Not with Mr. Draw-Laynie-To-Me-Whatever-The-Cost-To-Her-Sanity sitting at the end of the bar.

But my declaration was convincing. David slipped out from behind the counter, leaving me alone with the suit. Even Regular and his friends had joined a group of giggly girls at a nearby table. I scanned the dance floor, hoping I could attract customers by glaring at the sea of faces. I needed drink orders. Otherwise, Suit might think I was avoiding him by hiding in my corner, which, of course, I was. But honestly, the distance between us did nothing to dim the tight ball of desire rolling around in my stomach. It was pointless avoidance.

I sighed and wiped down the counter in front of me, though it didn’t seem to need it, just to keep myself occupied. When I braved a glance over at the hottie who had invaded my space, I noticed his Scotch was nearing empty. 

I also noticed his eyes pinned on me. His penetrating gaze felt more than the typical stare of a customer trying to attract the bartender, but knowing I had a tendency to exaggerate the meanings of other people’s actions, I dismissed the idea. Summoning my courage, I forced myself over to check on him.  

Who was I kidding? No forcing was necessary. I glided to him as if he were pulling me with an invisible rope. “Another?” 

“No, I’m good.” He handed me a hundred. Of course. I’d been hoping he’d give me a credit card so I could glean his name. 

No, no, I was not hoping for that. I did not care for his name. Nor did I notice that his left hand was absent of any ring. Or that he was still watching my every move as I took the cash he’d given me and rang his order into the register. 

“Special occasion?” he asked.

I furrowed my brow, then remembered he’d seen our toast. “Uh, yeah. My graduation. I walk tomorrow for my MBA.”

His face lit up in honest admiration. “Congratulations. Here’s to your every success.” He raised his drink toward me and downed the final swallow. 

“Thank you.” I was transfixed on his mouth, his tongue darting out to clean the last drop of liquid off his lips. Yum.

When he set his glass down, I reached out my hand to give him his change, bracing myself for the thrill of contact that would inevitably happen when he took it from me.

But the contact never came. “Keep it.” 

“I can’t.” He’d given me a hundred. For one glass of Scotch. I couldn’t take that.

“You can, and you will.” His commanding tone should have rankled me, but instead it got my juices flowing. “Consider it a graduation gift.”

“Okay.” His demeanor took away my will to argue. “Thanks.” I turned to stuff the money into my tip jar on the back counter, pissed at myself for the effect this stranger had on me.

“Is this also a goodbye party?” his voice called from behind me, drawing me back to face him. “I don’t imagine you’ll be using your MBA to continue bartending.”

Of course, that’s what a suit would assume. He was probably some business type who shared the opinion of my brother—there were jobs worth having and jobs for other people. Bartending was the latter. 

But I loved bartending. More, I loved the club. I’d only started my graduate work because I needed more to do. Something to keep me “occupied” was what Brian had said when he offered to pay for my expenses beyond what my scholarship and financial aid covered.  

It was a good decision—the right decision—since it essentially stopped my life from spiraling out of control. For the past three years, I’d thrown my life into school and the nightclub. Problem was that graduation took most of my preoccupation away, and now bogged down with student loans, I had to figure out how to make ends meet without having to leave The Sky Launch. 

But I had a plan. I wanted a promotion. I’d been helping with supervisory duties for the last year but had been unable to get an official title since managers had to work full-time. Now that school was over, I was available for more hours. David had been grooming me for the position. The only wrinkle in my trajectory could be a new owner. But I wasn’t going to worry about that. Yet.

Explaining my intent to strangers was never easy, though. How wise was it to use an MBA from Stern for a career in nightclub management? Probably not wise at all. So I swallowed before answering the suit. “Actually, I’d like to move up here. I love the nightclub scene.”

To my surprise, he nodded, his eyes shimmering as he sat forward into the bright white light of the bar. “It makes you alive.”

“Exactly.” I couldn’t keep back my smile. How had he known?

“It shows.”

Hot, rich, and in tune with me. He was precisely the kind of man I could obsess over, and not in the healthy way.

“Laynie!” The shout of the Regular from earlier drew me away from the intense gray eyes of the stranger. “I’m out of here. Wanted to say congrats again, and good luck. And hey, here’s my number. Give me a call sometime. I can help you occupy your week off.”

“Thanks, uh,” I read the name he’d written on the napkin he’d handed me, “Matt.” I waited until he’d walked away before tossing it in the trash under the counter, catching the suit’s eye as I did so.

“Do you do that with every number you receive?” 

I paused. It wasn’t like I hadn’t hooked up with customers before, but never with regulars. That was a rule. I didn’t want to see them again. Too much temptation to go crazy over them. 

But I had no interest in having that conversation with the suit. And with his eyes constantly on me, I finally believed that my attraction to him wasn’t one-sided. Not when he’d tipped me so generously. “Are you trying to figure out if I’d throw away your number?” 

He laughed. “Maybe.”

His reaction made me smile and made the moisture between my thighs thicken. He was fun to flirt with. Too bad I had to end it. I placed my hands on the counter and leaned toward him so he could hear me better over the music, trying not to delight in the searing look he gave my bosom as I did so. “I wouldn’t throw yours away. I wouldn’t take yours at all.”

His eyes narrowed, but the laughter from earlier still danced in them. “Not your type?”

“Not necessarily.” Pretending I wasn’t attracted to him was futile. He had to be aware of my reaction to him.

“Why then?”

“Because you’re looking for something temporary. Something fun to play with.” I leaned even closer to deliver my punch line—the one that would deter even the horniest of men. “And I get attached.” I stood back up to my full height so I could take in his reaction. “Now doesn’t that just scare you shitless?”

I’d expected to see panic flash through his face. Instead, I saw a flicker of amusement. “You, Alayna Withers, do anything but scare me.” But despite his words, he stood, buttoning his suit coat as he did. “Congratulations again. Quite an accomplishment.”

I watched him for far too long as he walked away, more crestfallen about his abrupt departure than I wanted to admit. 

It took me a good five minutes after he left to realize I’d never given him my name.

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