And it reminds me with a thud to my chest that this is his job. This is what he does. He convinces people that he’s something other than he is.
It’s all fine. It’s exactly what I need, and he obviously does it very well.
I’m just palpably reminded that it’s all an act. This isn’t who the man is.
I have no idea who he is.
Melissa and Chelsea stand up to greet him. They shake hands and handle the introductions themselves, which is a good thing because I’m not lucid for a minute or two.
Eventually Melissa invites Damian to join us at the table, and he scoots into the booth next to me, sliding an arm around me.
“Hey there,” he murmurs in a softer, intimate tone. It’s exactly right. It sounds easy and affectionate without making a big deal about our supposed relationship.
“Hey.” I wonder if we should kiss—if that would look more convincing—but I’m not about to make that move.
Damian doesn’t either. His arm is warm and firm behind me, and he leaves it draped loosely.
“Do you want any coffee?” Chelsea asks him.
“No, thanks. I had some earlier.”
“So what have you been doing while we’ve been having coffee?” That’s Chelsea again. She obviously has no qualms about asking nosy questions, and she can get away with it without annoying or offending people.
“I’ve been browsing at a couple of used bookstores,” Damian answers. “Any new city I visit, that’s the first thing I do.”
I have to stop myself from expressing surprise at his declaration. I had no idea that’s what he’d be doing with his free time in Charleston this afternoon.
“Did you find anything good?” Melissa asks.
“Yeah. A couple of things.” His eyes move from Melissa to Chelsea. “I thought there were three of you. Was I wrong?” He glances over to me for confirmation.
“There are three. Sam couldn’t make it,” I tell him. “She’s the middle sister. You and she will probably get along really well. She’s working on her PhD in English too.”
“Oh yeah? I can’t wait to meet her. What about the two of you? What do you do?”
The question smoothly transitions us into casual conversation about our careers, which leads into plans for the future and reflections on college and our childhoods. I have no idea how Damian is able to lead the discussion so smoothly and easily. It’s soon obvious that both Chelsea and Melissa are charmed by him.
Charming women is clearly one of his gifts.
We hang out for another forty-five minutes until the others say they need to get going. Damian and I need to head for my mother’s apartment anyway. She’s making dinner for us tonight—fortunately just her and the two of us.
After we say goodbye and Melissa and Chelsea leave the coffee shop, Damian and I remain seated in the booth we’re sharing.
“I thought that went pretty well,” Damian says, turning to look down at me.
“Yeah.” I shift slightly.
His dark eyebrows pull together. “Didn’t you think so? They seemed to buy our relationship just fine.”
“They did. They totally did. And they really liked you.”
“Good. So that was a good first step. Now we just have to get through dinner with your mother.”
“I’m sure that will be fine too.” I’m focused on one of my hands, which is resting on the table.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh, Clarke?”
The sound of him saying my last name like that catches my attention enough for me to look up at him. “What?”
“Why do you look so uncomfortable? Is this not what you had in mind? I can change how I act. I’ll be whoever you want me to be. But you’ve got to be honest and tell me, or I can’t adapt.”
“You don’t have to adapt,” I admit, giving up my slight embarrassment with a long exhale. “It’s just weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“That it’s all an act. You’re really good at it.”
He’s frowning again. “It’s not all an act. Melissa and Chelsea seem like perfectly nice people, and I was interested in getting to know them. But this is my job. This is what I do. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. It’s exactly what I wanted. I just... I don’t know.” I’m not averse to telling him what I think. The problem is I’m having trouble putting my chaotic reaction into words.
“Clarke,” he says again, using the exact same tone he used before.
This time I give him a little scowl. “Why are you calling me by my last name? Everyone usually calls me Mel.”
“I know they do. But you’re used to that. I needed something to catch you off guard.”
“What? Why?”
“So you’ll listen to me.”
“I was listening to you.”
“No, you weren’t. You were wrapped up in your own thoughts. I know you’re brilliant, and it seems like you have a rich interior life. We certainly don’t have to be friends, but if you don’t let me in a little, I’m not going to be able to do a good job with this.” He’s back to his mild, professional manner. He’s dropped that warm charm like the facade it always was.
It’s a relief. I like him better this way. I manage to smile. “Okay. You’re right about me. I live mostly inside. But I know it’s not fair to let you flounder around, not knowing what to do, so I’ll try to be better about that.”
“Well, I’m not sure flounder is the right word.” He sounds slightly aggrieved. “I don’t think I ever flounder.”
I hear myself giggling. “I’m sure you don’t.”
“So tell me what you’re thinking. What’s bothering you about this afternoon?”
“Nothing. Seriously. You did a great job, and it was exactly right. It’s just freaking me out a little. To see how easy it is for you convince people. So maybe...”
He waits, his eyebrows lifted slightly.
I make myself finish the sentence. “Maybe don’t do that with me. Don’t put on an act. With me. I don’t want to be taken in by you.”
His expression relaxes as if he realizes the thing I’m worried about isn’t what he thought it might be. “Okay,” he murmurs, as cool and smooth as the iced coffee I’m drinking. “I understand. I can put on the act with everyone else, but not with you.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly.”
“It’s a deal.”
I’M EATING A BOWL OF cereal at my workstation in the main living area of my condo at six thirty in the morning two days later when Damian comes strolling in.
He really does stroll. Relaxed. Leisurely. As if he has no purpose or destination, even so early in the morning when he’s obviously just gotten up. Not even the coffeepot.
It’s a little annoying.
I’ve been up for over an hour, so I’ve already had two cups of coffee and am working on a glass of orange juice in addition to my multigrain Cheerios. I’ve always been a morning person, and ever since college I’ve gotten up before six and done some of my best work before most people get into the office.