I fight the urge to upend the bowl of salsa on his head. Three times a week. Then his words sink in, and I realize that something’s been nagging at me. “You’re here for a month. Why? What brings you to Highfield anyway?”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m taking a break. It was either sailing around the world or sitting on my ass by the lake. I chose the lazier option.”
“A month-long break?” Technically, I get three weeks of vacation. Except I’ve never taken it. We’re a small organization. It’s just not feasible for me to disappear for an extended period.
“What can I say? It's a family company. I’m one of the idle rich.”
I roll my eyes. Damien worked sixteen-hour days as a management consultant. Unless his personality has undergone a very drastic shift, he’s lying. “I very much doubt that. Your phone has not stopped ringing.”
He glances down at the offending instrument, which picks that moment to vibrate again. “Yes, it’s very annoying. Please excuse me for a minute.” He picks it up, gets to his feet, and vaults over the fence separating the patio from the parking lot. He tosses the phone into his SUV and returns to his seat. “As much as I’d like to fling it dramatically into the lake, Luis will just ship me another.”
“You’re avoiding my question, Damien.”
“I'm not the only one avoiding questions,” he retorts. Frustration fills his face. “What gives, Sophia? What the hell happened? I thought we had something that night. Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you tell me you got fired?” He glares at me. “And then you changed your phone number to avoid me? What the hell—”
Seriously? I stare at him, my own temper fraying at the edges. “Damien,” I cut in. “I have no idea how to tell you this, but the world does not revolve around you. I got fired. I couldn't make rent. I was desperately searching for another job. Sex with you was the last thing on my mind.”
Liar, my conscience whispers.
“And I didn't change my phone number to avoid you,” I continue angrily. “It got disconnected because I had no money to pay my bills.”
He goes very still. “Oh.”
He doesn't say much for the rest of our meal. He doesn’t needle me. He holds off on the innuendos. We talk instead about the health center. He asks me what our plans are, and I wax eloquent about our five-year roadmap. I tell him how his gift will be used. He listens seriously and asks intelligent, perceptive questions.
I should be relieved. I should be delighted. I tell myself it doesn't bother me that he's not flirting with me anymore.
But I’m lying.