my car, and as I walked, and as I turned in my desk chair
to pul files from the drawer.
Paul was not out of the office today, but he hadn't come
out yet this morning. Not even for coffee. Him hiding away
with his door closed was not unusual, but him not at least
caling out to me for a mug was.
Two weeks ago it wouldn't have occurred to me to think
he was stil angry with me for screwing up the files the day
before. Two weeks ago I wouldn't have much cared.
Now, I listened hard for the sound of his voice and stared
at my computer screen without typing anything.
'Paige.' Paul stood in his doorway. I'd been so
'Paige.' Paul stood in his doorway. I'd been so
preoccupied, I hadn't even heard him. 'Can you come in
here, please?'
I nodded, but was clumsy when I stood. I knocked a pile
of folders, so the papers inside slid across my desk in a
messy heap. Paul stopped me when I tried to gather them.
'Now, please.'
I nodded again and folowed him into his office. He didn't
tel me to sit, so I didn't. I could tel nothing from the look
on his face, which was carefuly blank. Over his shoulder, I
could see the red numbers of his clock radio, tuned to a
station playing soft jazz. I swalowed hard, my nerves on
fire.
'I think we need to have an understanding.'
I said nothing, not trusting my voice.
Paul cleared his throat and folded his hands together on
the desk. He didn't look at me. I couldn't look away.
'I believe I have a reputation for being…difficult. To work
for.'
for.'
'I don't think so.' The pulse beat in my throat, forcing my voice to deepen.
He looked at me then, straight in the eye. His hands on the
desk tightened inside each other as though he wanted to
be holding something else, something precious, but was
afraid he might drop it. I lifted my chin and met his gaze.
Without speaking, he unfolded his hands and pushed a
piece of paper across the desk to me. Neither of us
looked at the paper. We looked at each other.
I didn't look at it when I touched the tips of my fingers to
the paper, nor when I puled it toward me, or when I
clasped it in my hand. I didn't look at it until I sat at my
desk and laid it down in front of me.
The list.
I sat at my desk and looked at the list. It took up the entire
sheet of ruled paper. It was insultingly long and infuriatingly
detailed. He hadn't yeled at me yesterday, he'd done this
instead, and it was infinitely worse than if he'd caled me on
the carpet.
