Page 37 of Miss Fortune

“If you think of it as a demand, then I would argue the relationship isn’t working. You should want to spend time with someone, not begrudge it.”

He stayed silent until we got to the ridge.

“This is fantastic.” I snapped some more photos of the vista.

“Here, let me take one of you,” he offered, taking my phone.

I posed in front of the view, smiling for him and the camera. It was tempting to ask if he would step in for a photo too, but I was sure he wouldn’t be a fan. Caleb Morrison was a complicated man.

After the hike, we stopped at a Mexican restaurant in Studio City. One taste of the salsa, and I was instantly a fan. “I’ve found my new food guide for the area. You’re two for two on the restaurants. The Thai food you brought over last Saturday was the best I’ve ever had.”

He took a chip with salsa for himself. “I like to order in or dine out over the weekend.”

“What about during the week?” I’d never seen him eat, go to the cafeteria, or bring any snacks into the office. Sometimes I’d wondered if he was human.

“I meal prep on Sunday afternoons and pre-make my meals in order to hit my macros. I have a small refrigerator and microwave in my office behind one of the cabinets.”

I paused, chip to my mouth, while I watched his face heat. Obviously the man had discipline to plan it out so well. “Sounds like you’re dedicated.”

“A high protein diet helps with my workouts.”

“Do you work out every day?” He certainly looked as though he did.

“I take the weekends off.”

“So the weekends are cheat days?”

“They’re real life days.”

Interesting choice of words. Almost as though he didn’t equate workdays with real life—or perhaps simply not the one he wanted to live. No wonder I enjoyed Caleb on the weekends a lot more than in the office.

“You should try the enchiladas. They’re incredible. Same with the burritos.”

“Sold on the enchiladas. The hike today was taking the day off for you, workout-wise?”

“It was movement without being a regimented workout.”

“What will you do tomorrow besides meal prep?”

He instantly stiffened. “I have plans.”

“Oh my God, I wasn’t inviting myself into them. I was only curious how you spent your weekends.”

He appeared contrite. “Sorry. Told you I was bad at friendship.”

“I’m sensing a theme when it comes to people putting demands on your time. Don’t worry. I won’t be one of them. I have more than enough to keep me busy without trying to insert myself into another person’s life.”

“You appear to welcome the burdens on your time. Babysitting, dog walking, filling in for a family friend.”

“That’s the difference, though. I don’t see those things as burdens.”

Chapter Seventeen

Caleb

We ate the rest of the meal in silence except for an occasion comment on how delicious the food was. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was terrible with friendship. I’d struggled socially since I was young, but my parents hadn’t wanted the stigma of a child who needed help. Nope, they’d simply shipped me off to an expensive boarding school by age ten, so my awkward behavior wouldn’t be noticeable to any of their neighbors or friends.

But despite my struggle with relationships and social situations, I excelled at my classes. Any concerns from my teachers over the years were ignored by my parents, since I kept pulling top grades. After all, how could a kid possibly have a disorder when he was a straight-A student? How could that same kid graduate at the top of his class at Stanford or become a top-earning partner at a large law firm if he had a form of autism?