Page 21 of His Wall

At 7:00 p.m., I needed a printout from his desk. The Halberg & Vance executive bios. He had pulled them earlier and left them on the corner.

I got up. I crossed to him. He was bent over his keyboard with one hand braced flat on the desk and his sandy hair fell forward over his brow.

"Bios, please."

He turned his head without lifting it.

"Top of the stack."

I leaned over his shoulder to reach for them. I did not mean to lean that close. I aimed for the stack, and my hip ended up an inch from his arm, and the smell of him — clean shirt, warm under the back of his collar — was right there.

His head turned. His face was 4 in. from my forearm.

He looked up at me.

I looked down at him.

I had the printout in my hand. I did not move.

His hazel eyes had small flecks of brown in the green that I had not seen in any meeting. His mouth was a little open. His pen was in his other hand.

"Got it?" he said.

"Got it."

I straightened. I walked the four steps back to my chair. I sat down, put the bios on the table, stared at the first page, and did not read a single word for a full minute.

He cleared his throat. I heard him do it.

We worked.

The light through the west window went from orange to red to nothing. The desk lamp became the only warm thing in the room. The cleaning crew finished the floor, the vacuum stopped, and the building was quiet.

He passed me a printout. His fingers brushed mine on the handoff. He did not pull his hand back right away.

I did.

He asked me what I thought of the goodwill number on page four. I told him. He listened. He wrote it down. He looked at me when he wrote it down. At some point, I needed the comparable transaction binder.

I got up.

The binder was on the second shelf of the cabinet by the window. I crossed to the cabinet at a normal pace. My low heels made a small sound on the carpet. I bent at the waist to read the spines on the second shelf. I straightened. I pivoted on my left foot.

My right heel caught the edge of the rug. I stumbled sideways but caught myself — right hand on the shelf, left hand braced against the cabinet top. The binder I was already pulling fell flat at my feet.

"Claire — "

He was up.

He was at my elbow before I had my balance back, his hand under my arm, his other hand on my shoulder. The warmth of him at my side close enough that his scent came in over the cotton of his collar.

"I'm fine. I'm okay."

"Sit down."

"It's nothing — "

"Claire. Sit down."