Page 72 of His Good Girl
“Benjamin gave me water.”
“That’s not food.”
“He implied hydration was a privilege.”
“Sounds like him.”
“He’s a twat.”
Callum’s eyes lifted.
I froze. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”
“It was also accurate.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“He’ll grow on you,” Callum assured me.
“Like mold?”
“Like ivy. Destructive but elegant.”
I opened my salad and picked up the fork, needing something to do with my hands. “He’s already less terrifying than yesterday.”
“High praise.”
“I think he might not hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because he’s still insulting you to your face.”
“That’s affection?”
“With Benjamin, that’s practically a sonnet.”
I smiled down at my salad, then felt the smile fade before I could stop it. Callum noticed immediately.
“How is your first day going?” he asked.
I considered lying. Then I remembered every time he had dragged honesty out of me like a splinter and decided to save us both the time and effort.
“Boring,” I replied.
His eyebrows rose.
“Not bad,” I added quickly. “Just boring. Lots of videos. Policies. Forms. Passwords. A workplace conduct narrator who looks like she sleeps in an old musty carpet.”
Callum leaned back. “That sounds like training.”
“It is training. Which is fine. Training is important. I support training as a concept.”
“But?”
I stabbed a cucumber with more force than necessary. “But I thought I’d be doing something.”
