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“Depends on how fast I run,” I said.
“You can’t outrun the cold,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” I began.
“I insist,” he said. “I won’t hear a word against it.”
I knew better than to try to argue. Hunter could be very determined, it was how he was so good at his job. But when it came to me, there seemed to be an extra spark in his attitude. If he thought he was doing something for my benefit or to protect me, it was like talking to a stone wall trying to convince him otherwise.
“Fine,” I said. “But I need to leave soon. If you’re driving, I probably have ten or so extra minutes.”
“Ten?” he laughed. “The bus takes over an hour to get you there.”
“Yes, but if I run once I get over the bay, I can be faster than the bus.”
“You run that fast?” he asked, smirking as he went to his desk and began gathering his things.
“Set the record for my high school hundred meters and long-distance.”
“Wow,” he said. “Impressive. You know, I was talking with the team over at—”
“I don’t care,” I said, holding one hand up. “I don’t really think I can take another story about how you hobnob with celebrities and famous people when I’m about to go work my second shift of the day at a bar with guys who idolize those people.”
“Got it,” he said, tossing his keys into his pocket. “No celebrity stories. Understood. Shall we?”
He opened the door for me and I slipped through, rolling my eyes. It seemed more like a brag to be told not to brag than just to go ahead and name-drop celebrities was. But that’s what Hunter was. He was rich and famous for being so rich. People flocked to him. And here I was, his personal assistant that he sometimes showed affection for and had fucked him on his desk. What did that make me?
I’d rather not think about it.
As we got downstairs, I noticed his Lincoln was there. He actually meant to drive me today, rather than us riding with his driver. I didn’t know if that made it better or worse. With the driver there, it would probably be a quiet, though pleasant ride, as I liked Wade and could use conversation with him to kill the emptiness. But a ride with Hunter might actually devolve into breaking down the ice that had grown between us and get to the bottom of the silence.
Or it would just be super uncomfortable.
Hunter started the car and got out of the parking lot before sighing, and I knew something heavy was coming after it.
“I wanted to drive you home tonight for multiple reasons. One, I don’t like you running late at night through that part of town, of course,” he said.
“Which I told you that you didn’t need to worry about,” I said.
“And the other,” he continued, seemingly ignoring me, “is that we need to talk about what happened last week.”
“Oh, we do?” I asked. “Now? Because I wanted to talk about it on Monday, and you shut me out.”
Despite everything I told myself about how I would act, the emotion started flowing immediately. I could feel my temples pulsing as the anger lit like a fuse.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
And then it evaporated.
Just like that, the anger was replaced by mute confusion. Hunter never apologized foranything.Ever. It was part of his whole schtick. He was a ruthless, brilliant businessman, who never backed down from anything. If he screwed up, he made amends, but apologies were just not something he did. He certainly hadn’t apologized to me before.
I was stunned. “What?”
It was all I could manage.
“I just, I’m sorry,” he said. “I felt like, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Youdidn’t know what to do?” I asked, incredulousness slipping into my voice. “Are you serious right now?”
