“Why did you come back?” I ask again. This time with a desperation that wasn’t there before.
He brings his gaze back to mine, and through the cigarette in his mouth, says, “Maybe I missed you.”
Forcing myself to break his stare, I look down. My Mary Janes are lying on the ground, one on its side and the other some distance away from it. Abandoned. Marooned and astray. Kind of like me, right now.
I need to get away.
Shaking my head, I bend down and pick up my shoes. “I’m leaving.”
“Nice uniform, by the way.”
I stop.
Hugging my shoes to my chest, I return his stare. His jaw is clamped. I can see the tic in his facial muscles.
Is he pissed off that I work for his family now?
Tough luck.
As if I like this arrangement. As if I’d ever set foot inside the house where he grew up.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling falsely and smoothing a hand down my skirt. “I think so, too.”
Zach looks away from me as he lets his finished blunt fall to the ground and crushes it under his boots.
“Never thought doing dishes and mopping floors were part of your life goals.”
I knew he was going to say something insulting. He’s Zach.
But still, I flinch.
Life goals.
What does he know about goals and ambitions? What does he know about what happens when they’re snatched away from you in one blink?
Even though it stings, I keep my voice calm and casual. “Well, you don’t know everything about me now, do you? And it’s called a job. That’s how responsible people buy stuff.”
“Responsible, huh?”
“Yes.”
Straightening up and away from the wall, Zach comes to his full height. Cocking his head to the side, he asks as if he’s so curious, “What else do responsible people do? Besides changing bedsheets for a job and breaking and entering into their place of work.”
My eyes widen. “It was… you.”
Oh God.
So, he is an asshole pervert. He was watching me last night.
“It was. You were cute in your little black outfit. Stupid but cute. Did you really think no one would recognize you?” He chuckles. “As cute as you were, I hate to break it to you though. You’ve got no future in espionage. You’re a little too…” He looks me up and down. “Visible for that. So maybe it’s good that you get to change sheets and mop floors. Gotta keep your options open.”
And there it is. A little dig at my body along with other insults.
Nothing has changed, has it? He’s still the same. Only now, I’m more vulnerable. I have more to lose. Like my job and eventually, my house.
“Thanks for your concern about my career choices.”
“Don’t mention it.”