Houston dipped his head down to catch her attention. “And I am sorry.”

Romy reached across and squeezed his shoulder. “I know.”

She forgave him. But she wouldn’t forget.

The doctor nodded. And somehow Romy gathered that he knew she wouldn’t be telling him any more secrets.

“Then Atlas expects you directly after breakfast. You will go directly to jail, you will not pass GO, and you will not collect two hundred dollars.”

Romy gave him a puzzled glance.

Houston let out a manic cackle and strolled away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“You have things for me to do?” Romy asked quietly.

The door to Atlas’s secluded office was sitting open for the first time in weeks. Romy hovered by the entrance.

Atlas took a few seconds to answer, wiping his hands across the projections in front of him. What in all of space was he doing?

“Rosemary.”

Romy ground her teeth together. Top on her agenda was keeping her temper in check with the elusive man for as long as possible. She would not ask him questions, she would not kiss him, and she would not cry in front of him. Romy was going to be civil.

“You requested my presence, sir.” Romy stood to attention. Two could play that game.

He narrowed his eyes at her reply and stood from his desk.

“Has anyone ever told you, you can be fiercely stubborn?”

She pressed her lips together, refusing to voice a sarcastic response. Why was he so infuriating?

“I have a job for you,” he continued. “You may have noticed the extra bustle today. It’s because there’s a festival tonight.”

“Yes, N— Uh, yes, I heard.” Mentioning Nancy’s name wasn’t a good idea.

A half-smile graced his face for a fleeting moment.

“You can sort out the seating arrangements for the meal.”

Romy wrinkled her nose. “What? Why? Can’t people just sit anywhere?”

Atlas ran his hand through his dark hair. “You would think. However, there are politics in any place. Everyone gets on, but no one gets on.”

“That makes no sense.”

His lips quirked.

She approached and took a pile of papers from him. “Is this what you do in here all day?” she asked doubtfully. “Worry about festivals and guest lists?”

Another smile curved his full lips. “No. Not quite. Tina supplied this as I had nothing for you to do.”

“Then what do you do?” The question hung between them and she winced as his eyes turned away. An awkward silence strained between them.

Romy glanced down at the pile in her hands, blurting, “Wouldn’t a list suffice?”

“Tina thought not.” Atlas turned back to his desk space. “I’ll need you to work down the hall, in the debrief room.”

That must be the room with all the tables and chairs, she realised. Translation: I don’t want you to see what I’m doing.