Page 31 of His Good Girl
“You were unemployed yesterday and in denial today. Busy week.”
“I am a serious employee.”
“You start tomorrow.”
“I am a serious future employee.”
“You are a serious future employee who wanted to be a very good girl for your new boss.”
“Stop saying words.”
“I will not. Words are my medium.”
I was laughing now, but the laughter had heat, embarrassment, and relief all tangled together. It felt obscene to say any of thisout loud in a café where two women beside us were comparing oat milk brands. It also felt necessary. The secret had been swelling all morning in me, pressing against my ribs. Speaking it out loud to Jules did not make it safe, exactly, but it made it less monstrous. Desire hated daylight. Jules dragged everything into daylight, then offered it some delicious baked goods.
She sat back and watched me over the rim of her coffee. “Was he?”
“Was he what?”
“Don’t play delicate with me. Was he affected?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“I suspect.”
“Suspect based on vibes or evidence?”
“Jules.”
“I’m asking in the interest of science.”
I stared into my coffee again. “There was a moment when he looked down at my resume for too long.”
“That is not evidence. Men love paper when frightened.”
“And when I said I understood it was a real job, his expression changed.”
“Changed how?”
“Like he had to… reset.”
Jules went very still, then leaned in. “Oh.”
“Maybe I imagined it.”
“You did not.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I don’t need to be at the scene to smell the smoke.”
“There wasn’t smoke.”
“Then why are we calling the fire department with our faces?”
I laughed again, helplessly. The waitress came by to refill Jules’s water and glanced between us with mild concern. Jules smiled up at her like an angel who had never once discussed a man’s visible internal conflict over brunch.
