The scent of coffee usualy brought him out from the cave

if he hadn't already caffeinated on the way to work, but

since I needed to talk to him anyway I fixed his cup and

rapped on his door.

"Paul? I need to—" I stopped just inside the door, at first convinced he wasn't in there, after al.

convinced he wasn't in there, after al.

He'd puled the blinds down al the way instead of just half.

The overhead lights, as usual, weren't on, but the table

lamp wasn't on, either. The only light came from the blue-

white shine off the computer monitor. I blinked, my eyes

adjusting, and the gleam of Paul's eyes made me realize he

was, indeed, sitting at his desk. He wore his suit coat, his

tie tight to his throat, his shirt startling and white in the

room's dimness. He reached at once to turn on the table

lamp when I entered, but not even his smile could convince

me nothing was wrong.

I didn't spil the coffee, but I did set it down so hard on the

corner of his desk that I sloshed it over the rim. I went

around the corner of the desk and knelt in front of him as

he turned in the swivel chair to stare at me. I reached for

his hands before I knew it, and he took them, his fingers

strong and warm and heavy in mine.

"What's wrong, Paul?"

"I can't make these figures work," he said calmly. Solemn.

His fingers tightened briefly, a twitch.

I squeezed back, gently. "Do you need me to take a look

I squeezed back, gently. "Do you need me to take a look

at them?"

"No," he said. "I just need to sit here for a few more minutes to get them straight. Okay?"

Whatever this was, it wasn't normal, but it didn't feel

wrong. He trembled briefly, the twitch of his fingers

echoing in his entire body before he stiled. I saw the effort

in his eyes, what it took to stop himself from shaking.

I had known since the first week I worked for him that

Paul needed more attention than any other boss I'd ever

had. I'd been warned, but for the wrong reasons, and we'd

gotten along more than fine. Great. We'd made an

understanding. I didn't know what was wrong with him

right now, but it didn't realy matter. I had to take care of

him.

"Do you want me to cal your wife?"

He blinked and sighed. His shoulders hunched. "Paige, I'm

just so very, very…overwhelmed."

I looked past him to the computer, where a few windows

spread out across the screen. I stood and reached past

him to click them al closed, one by one, until al that

him to click them al closed, one by one, until al that

remained was the plain blue walpaper and tiny icons of his

desktop. Paul didn't move until I moved back to lean

against the desk. Then he swiveled his chair away from

me.

In profile, he looked older than he had before. He was a

man who wore his age in the lines of his face and his

frown, and in his heavy sigh.

"I just need a few minutes," he said quietly.

"How long has this been going on?"

He looked at me then and managed a smile. "A long time.

My whole life."

"Do you take meds for it?" I kept my voice soft, and if the intrusive question offended him he didn't show it.

"Yes."

"Aren't they working?"

Paul sighed, but smiled a little broader. "Not today, I

guess."

"Can I help you?" I asked without reaching for him again,

though I wanted to run a hand over his hair and cup his

cheek. Something smal and soft to comfort him. The way

my mom used to touch me when I was upset.

"You've helped me so much, you don't even know." Paul

took a deep, long breath and squared his shoulders. "Just

having you here has been such a…pleasure, Paige."

I smiled at his hesitation. "Uh-huh."

He rumpled his hair, and some of his tension eased with

that simple act. He took another slow breath and let it out.

He looked at me with naked eyes. "I find, sometimes,

knowing that you're there with my coffee is enough to

keep me on the right track. You never balked, Paige. Not

at anything I asked you. You never made me feel like a

tyrant for needing things a certain way."

"Of course not."

He half lifted a brow. "Others did."

"I know they did."

We shared some silence.

We shared some silence.

"You realy know me, Paige," Paul said finaly. "I'l be sorry when you leave."

This time I did reach for him, if only to give his tie a gentle

tug. "I'm not going anywhere."

The cough interrupted us, and we both looked toward the

door. I didn't drop his tie, not at first. Not when I saw it

was Vivian, her blond hair freshly styled and her brows as

high as her heels. I let Paul's tie slide from my fingers as

slowly as I stood.

"I brought those files to go over, Paul." She didn't come

into the room.

"I thought you were going to cal me first," he said.

She and I both looked at him. I couldn't see her face, but I

knew my mouth had dropped a little. Paul, as a rule,

wasn't mean. Not even close. And he'd pretty much just

spanked her, and not in the good way. I wanted to laugh,

but settled for a smile he returned.

"I can come back in fifteen minutes," she said cooly.

"Would that suit?"

"Would that suit?"

"How about twenty? Paige and I were in the middle of a

meeting."

She left without saying anything, and his shoulders tensed

again, but he took another long, slow breath. When she'd

gone he ran a hand over his hair again and let it cover his

eyes for a minute. When he looked at me, though, his smile

seemed genuine and the horrific blank look in his gaze had

faded.

"She's going to think we're fucking," I said in a low voice.

It was perhaps an inappropriate thing to say, but we'd

moved beyond the pretense of formality.

He nodded. "She might."

"Is this going to be a problem for you?"

Paul didn't even look at the photos of his wife and family,

though his mouth tightened. I wondered if I'd been wrong

about him and Vivian. "It might be a problem for her. But

not me, no."

He paused. "It could make a difference when she's your

He paused. "It could make a difference when she's your

boss, though."

"I already told you, I'm not applying for that job."

I went to the bathroom to get a wet paper towel to take

care of the coffee dripping on the desk. When I came

back, Paul had moved the mug, contents half gone. He'd

puled out a pad of paper and his pen rested on it, though

he wasn't writing. I wiped the spots and tossed the paper

in the trash, then leaned over his shoulder to look at the list

as yet unwritten.

"Start with your e-mail," I said. He wrote it down. "Then sort through the mail in your in-box. Take care of what

needs done with those things."

He wrote that down, too, and the rest of the instructions I

gave him.

"Send me home early," I added, and he looked up, the

scratching of pen ceasing. "I have to be able to pick up my

little brother from the after-school-care program every day

this week. I'l need to leave by three, al right? I'l go

without a lunch break and come in earlier if I have to."

Paul slowly wrote down, Paige leaving early, and looked

Paul slowly wrote down, Paige leaving early, and looked

up at me again. "No, you don't have to. Just make sure

your work's done." Another pause. "As if I need to tel

you."

I leaned closer, just a bit, to say in a low voice, "Write it

down in a list for me. It wil make you feel better."

I left the office with Paul's chuckle ringing in my ears.

Chapter 32

"Can we have macaroni and cheese for dinner? Please?"

Arty clung to my hand like the monkey I'd always caled

him, then lifted his feet off the ground, so I staggered from

his sudden weight.

"Cut it out." I shook him off and set down my overnight

bag.

The living room smeled like my mom's perfume and

something else. Old Chinese food, maybe. I'd have to do a

search. My mom had been known to set down a container

or plate next to the couch while she watched TV and

forget about it. Arty tossed his shoes, coat and book bag

onto the floor by the front door in an amazing one-two-

three slingshot move I wouldn't have believed possible had

I not seen it in front of me. He was already off and running

toward the kitchen when I caled him back.

"Pick that stuff up!" I pointed.

"I need a snack!"

I happened to know they fed him at his after-school

I happened to know they fed him at his after-school

program, because my mom had told me how great it was

not to worry about him being hungry when she picked him

up. "Have a piece of fruit."

Arty stopped in midleap, so fast he skidded on the worn

carpet in the kitchen doorway. "Fruit?"

"Mom doesn't make you eat fruit?"

He made a face like I'd asked him to eat dung. "But I

wanted a Doodle."

I had no fucking clue what a Doodle was, but it didn't

sound pleasant. "Fruit. Or some crackers. I'l make dinner

in about twenty minutes, just let me get settled in."