Page 77 of The Grand Duel
“Well then, who?”
He looks up from the table, and I can see I’m pushing him. That he isn’t used to giving so much. “My friends and family. They’ve been through a lot over the past few years. My parents lost—well, we lost…my…umm…” He scratches at his brow and sits back in the seat, and it’s as if I can see his mind ticking over beyond his lowered brow, figuring out how much he wants to share. “I can’t help but want to fix everything for them sometimes.”
Plastering a warm smile on my face, I nod, wanting him to feel like he can speak to me. “I can understand that. Everything I do is for my sister and niece.” It’s why I get out of bed in the morning. What I fight for. Peace. For Jovie and Willow.
I don’t even think it’s a real thing anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through, and because of that, I feel like I’ll always want more for my baby sister.
“They make it hard to believe in sometimes,” he says, staring back down at the ice cream. “My friends are…messy.”
My heart flips, the fact he’s given me that little bit more. “Hard to believe in peace?”
He huffs a laugh and bobs his head. “They don’t make life easy for themselves.”
“You must fit with them well, then.” My lips twist up as I try to lighten the mood, sensing we both need it and feeling like I’ve just made a rather large dent in an impenetrable wall.
He gives me a look. “I’m not that bad. Little Miss Perfect.”
Warmth spreads through me at the jibe, how it feels like we’re testing the waters of something new.
“I’m far from perfect, but I can help you. I’m not a huge believer in peace myself, but as your assistant…” I smile across at him. “I can help balance the scales.”
He shakes his head, sceptical, but leans forward a little. “What do you have in mind?”
My lips twist up. “We could start with some rules.”
“God.” He rolls his eyes. “Go on.”
I chuckle and think for a minute. “No leaving the office past seven o’clock.”
“Seven is early,” he counters defensively.
“Seven is two hours past closed. Go with it.”
I see the moment he relents, eyes softening. “Alright. Seven.”
“Ice cream,” I say, and revel in the easy smile he gives me. “Once a week.”
“Twice.”
My eyes widen, and I sit forward as I chuckle. “Oh, look at you.”
He laughs with me, something that seems so foreign coming from him, it paralyses me.
Who is this man?
“What else?”
“Uh…” I blink, still five ticks of the clock behind. “Dates. You have to go on at least two dates a month.”
“No.”
I slow my racing thoughts, bringing myself back to the now. “What?”
“No. No dates.”
My stomach bottoms out. “Why?”
“I don’t date.” He shakes his head, smile long lost. “Hard limit.”