“I’m sorry, Esther,” he says, but doesn’t really seem all that sorry with a grin on his face.
“We don’t have a pleasure relationship,” I argue.
He shrugs. “I’ve seen you naked.”
“That was the past.”
He leans forward again. “I still dream about it.”
Just like that, my blush returns full blast. This time, however, I hate myself for it. I need to get away from this impossible man, the sooner the better.
With that mentality, I grab the folder he discarded and stuff it back into my bag. “It was nice talking to you, Miles,” I lie, as politeness dictates.
“Don’t be angry,” he says.
“I’m not.” Anger doesn’t properly describe how I feel. Miles said no. I doubt his reasons are really involve dreaming about me naked, so whatever his true reasons are, he’s keeping them secret.
I can’t possibl
