Page 28 of His Good Girl

“Alive. We covered this.”

I tried to take a sip of my coffee and nearly missed the straw. My hands were still not entirely steady. Jules noticed, but instead of softening immediately, she reached across the table and stole the top corner of my croissant.

“Start with the office,” she ordered. “Was it luxurious?”

“It was restrained luxury.”

“Oh, the worst kind.”

“Glass walls. Black desk. City view. Architectural models. Everything expensive enough to look simple. His pen was aligned with the edge of a legal pad.”

“Terrifying.”

“Extremely.”

“And him?”

I looked at my coffee. The straw had a lipstick mark on it already.

“He was kind,” I tried to say the words without a sigh.

Jules was quiet for a second, which was how I knew she had heard the part I did not say.

Then she said, “Kind how?”

“Not let-me-save-the-poor-little-orphan-out-of-pity kind. Just…” I searched for the right word and hated every option because none of them did the thing justice. “But nice. He asked real questions. He didn’t let me make everything into a joke, but he didn’t punish me for joking either. He made me talk about what I did wrong, which was awful and rude and probably healthy.”

“Men should not be allowed to be hot and emotionally literate.”

“He is not?—”

“Avery.”

I stopped and Jules raised one perfect eyebrow.

“He’s attractive,” I said carefully.

“A generous understatement. The man looks like he was carved out of granite storm clouds and unresolved issues.”

“That’s oddly accurate.”

“I have a gift.” She took another piece of croissant. “Was he wearing a suit?”

“Yes.”

“Tie?”

“No.”

“Oh, illegal.”

“White shirt. Open at the throat. Charcoal suit.”

“Prison.”

“Jules.”

“Immediate prison. No trial. The open throat alone is evidence.”