54 Elena
Elena
Elena feels her phone vibrate.
Relief moves through her, and she reaches into her pocket, happy to deflect what seems now to be an overt sexual advancement.
Are all men the same? It’s the kind of thing she hates to think because she has a son, and it’s not fair to judge half the people in the world based on a handful of shitty interactions.
But here she is, judging. The look in Cal’s eye is darkening, pupils dilating.
His hunger for her is obvious, though his smile is placid, which, to be completely honest, is throwing her.
She thinks it’s desire she sees in his face, but maybe she’s misreading it. Maybe it’s just the harsh lighting.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling out the phone and fumbling to unlock the screen. “One sec.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation, during which she’s not sure he’s going to back away. But then he ducks his head politely and reaches for his drink. “Take your time,” he says, reverting back to the relaxed professional she spent all afternoon with.
The first text she sees is from Barbara. Will you be here for dinner? I’m making chicken.
Elena is temporarily grateful for the connection to someone else who’s not in this room.
Cal is good-looking, obviously. He’s probably one of the most famous, well-regarded men on the planet.
He’s kind and real. Honestly, it would take a will of steel to say no.
But she really doesn’t want to sleep with him.
The second text she reads is from Gael. I know who the guy is that’s been following you, it says. A square pops up on her screen with a little circle to show that a picture should be loading. She stares for a few seconds, but it’s taking forever.
She pockets her phone, deciding that it’s time for her to leave anyway. She’s about to say so when Cal places his glass back on the table and picks something up. It’s the little glass sculpture of the mountains. The one that was missing from the shelf.
“I really like that piece,” she says, stealing a glance past him toward the door. Where did she put her stuff?
“I had it commissioned,” he says. “It’s the Three Elks.” He touches each of the points in succession and then looks at her. Elena senses that he’s going to make a move any minute now.
“I think I should go,” she says quickly, placing her cup on the bookshelf. There’s no coaster under it, and she sees him frown. “I’m meeting someone for dinner.”
She expects him to say something awkward, to look bummed, or to ask her if she’d like to stay for one last drink.
She does not expect him to take a step toward her. Far too close to be considered polite.
An alarm bell inside Elena’s head begins to trill.