He deflected for a moment, rummaging in the bag and pulling out containers, checking one or two with an eager face.
"Now you're just stalling," I said, unable to contain myself. "I'm now expecting an amazing request, the way you're building it up."
"It's actually a business thing," he said, his nose still in the bag. "I want to be sure things are going well, that you––and Matilda, of course––are okay."
This was not the direction I was anticipating. I couldn't help feeling disappointed. With my skin still scorching in places where his lips touched me, I was assuming it was something more carnal in nature.
Hoping even.
I tried to arrange my features into the more professional-feeling face I had when I made pitches or talked to the headmistresses of the orphanages.
"What exactly do you
