“Good,” I say. “So… Anything else?”
He looks at me dispassionately for a moment. “How’s the cider?”
I study him, disappointment welling at his ridiculous obtuseness. Then I notice the amusement in his eyes, and I shake my head. “You’re awful.”
“For wanting to know how the cake is?”
I don’t respond. He isn’t fooling me with his innocent act. In the last few weeks I’ve learned that he’s a master of feigning obliviousness when he doesn’t want to do something. The thing is, even when you know he’s faking it, you can’t do anything about it. The man is like an old silverback gorilla set in its ways.
“I ordered that cake,” he continues. “If you said it was awful, I was going to leave a bad review on their website.”
I smile. “It’s good.” Better than good. Any cake would’ve gotten raving praise from me because this isn’t about cake, but about the fact that Tolyan ordered it for me and I’m okay enough to celebrate my birthday. And I haven’t received anything from Roy.
“Then I’ll leave them a nice review.”
I give up. He’s not going to wish me happy birthday, even though he ordered the cake for the occasion. Before I can roll my eyes, Tolyan looks at his phone, then frowns slightly. “Excuse me. I need to deal with this.”
He leaves, and the room’s energy seems to drop a notch. Or maybe it’s just me feeling the weight of disappointment that he can’t stay.
Oh, come on, Angelika! He probably has something very urgent to do. Although his official title at the foundation is Elizabeth’s assistant, he seems to do a lot of things beyond answering her calls and managing her calendar.
Rhonda and a bunch of women I only vaguely remember meeting come over, ostensibly to chat. What they really want is gossip about Tolyan. It’s no secret that he’s the man of mystery at the foundation. I learned that very quickly when I started my internship because everyone looked at me like I was the most popular kid in class.
“He’s been around forever,” one says.
“Yeah. But none of us really know him,” another one says.
I look at her. I think she’s from accounting, although I can’t quite remember her name. So I merely smile and nod, hoping she doesn’t notice, and wait for more elaboration.
“We know he has a son and some dogs. He’s been Elizabeth’s assistant for years, but he’s never been promoted.”
“His son’s in college,” I point out slowly, thinking that’s probably okay to share.
“We know that,” Rhonda says. “We just don’t know anything else about him.”
“He’s so private. Like you need a security clearance to know more.”
I give a polite smile, but I don’t think he’s that bad… Or is he? My smile slips as I think back on my interactions with him. I know he has an armory, although I haven’t actually seen it. He has a lot of cream of corn that’s really C-4. And his home is booby-trapped and he has a parachute you can use to jump off the balcony if anything goes wrong. Like his home getting breached—although I think chances of anything like tha
t happening are so low, I might get hit by lightning first.
But it’s true—even though we’ve been living together for weeks, I know very little about him personally. I don’t even know if he’s been married. And there hasn’t really been a chance to find out; Tolyan is usually so aloof in his demeanor that I don’t think he appreciates personal questions.
But does any of that really matter? I can know somebody pretty well, and they can be a literal psychopath, like Roy. No personal detail or hidden closet skeleton is going to change the fact that Tolyan’s been good to me.
He doesn’t return for the rest of the celebration. Things eventually wind down, and I help everyone clean up. Although it’s only a little after four thirty, Elizabeth gives a big wave and says, “Have a great weekend!”
People start to leave in twos and threes, talking about weekend plans. I walk out, wondering how serious the problem Tolyan had to take care of was.
He’s—still?—on the phone, speaking in a low, tight voice. I let my purse hang on my arm and wait for him a few desks away so as not to eavesdrop. Even though I am curious what it’s about. His eyebrows are pinched and his mouth set in a flat line, which is very unusual. Basically, he looks like he wants to kick some ass.
Finally, he hangs up and stands. “Ready?” he says across the desks.
I nod, and he comes over and places a protective hand at my elbow. If I hadn’t seen his “I so wanna kick your ass” expression just moments ago, I would assume he’s a complete gentleman.
And I feel terribly corrupted for wanting more than just an escorting touch.
Today I’m in a sleeveless top, so we have direct contact. Hot and callused, the feel of his skin against mine is doing something wicked to my system, something that makes my pulse pick up its pace.