CHAPTER 23
THE SOUND OF the front door closing made me jump, and I looked around guiltily even though I had every right to be there. That feeling of being unwelcome had become ingrained in me over the last few years. Selling yourself did that.
Shoes slapped on the tile in the hallway, and seconds later, Oliver strode into the kitchen and flicked on the rest of the lights. I’d tried to bundle my nasty hair into a ponytail, but I looked awful and no doubt smelled worse. In complete contrast, he still wore a tie, and despite the late hour, his suit didn’t have a single wrinkle.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked. “And eating cereal?”
“I couldn’t find the light switches, and I’m not so great at cooking at the moment.”
“Why didn’t you ask Bridget to help?”
What was I supposed to
