I wasn’t sure I’d like the answer.

“Do you want me to order some lunch?” Cara asked after watching me lean back in my chair, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“What?”

“Well, I noticed you never seem to eat when you’re here, and I thought it would be nice for you to actually consume food at a decent hour for a change.”

“I consume food,” I replied. “Occasionally.”

“What was the last thing you ate? And when?”

“Does coffee count?” I asked wryly.

“No!” She laughed.

“Fine. Let me think,” I began.

“You have to think? That’s a bad sign.”

“I’m a busy guy. Not all of us live such a leisurely life,” I said, grinning.

Jesus, now, I was smiling like a freaking idiot.

“With all that money you have, you should be. What’s the point otherwise?”

What was the point indeed?

“Turkey sandwich. Last night around nine o’clock,” I finally replied.

“It’s one!” she said, shaking her head. “In the afternoon. The day after!”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re going to waste away.”

“Doubtful. But I appreciate the concern. I’ve made it this far, and I don’t think I’ve wasted away yet.” I caught her eyes roam down my body for a split second before she realized what she had been doing.

“From now on, I’m going to make sure you’re fed while you are here. Lunch and dinner, if needed. This isn’t healthy,” she rambled, feverishly taking notes, as her cheeks flamed red.

I contemplated whether to argue, but I knew it would do no good.

She was on a mission now.

At least it wasn’t another chair.

I listened as she quickly and efficiently placed meal orders for the two of us. I was acutely aware of the level of professionalism she held, despite her age and lack of experience. She handled herself well, but she was extremely polite and well mannered.

Something I probably lacked.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, drawing my attention away from the monotony on my computer screen.

I looked up to find her eyes dead set on mine. It was unnerving.

She usually tried to avoid direct eye contact with me. Maybe I intimidated her. Perhaps she found me attractive, and the idea of lusting after her boss bothered her.

Believe me, it bothered me, too.

In a very physical way.

“Go ahead,” I answered, unwilling to break the intimate connection she’d started.

“When you saw me… at the club that night,” she said, her eyes wavering just slightly, “what was it you saw in me? I mean, was it just the clothes?”

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Even though I’d said we’d never speak of what had happened that drunken night two weeks ago, I saw something in her eyes that said she needed an answer.

That she needed something more.

“Why are you asking?”