I wouldn’t blame him. This was going to be hard for me. But I had a feeling this was going to be even harder for him.
“You want to do this in here,” he asked without preamble.
My heart thudded against my ribcage, but I managed to keep my voice steady. “I was thinking the conference room.”
He nodded, and I stood up, but before I’d moved out from my desk he asked, “Do I need to go get it or are you already prepared?”
Now it felt like my heart was in my throat. He knew. He already knew what I had planned.
I blinked, unable to speak.
“Because you and I both know that I’d just as easily fuck you on the conference table as anywhere, so that can’t be the real reason you wanted to meet here.”
I nodded, acknowledging he was correct in his assumption. Acknowledging that we were here because I didn’t just want him to tell me about it, I wanted him to go through everything with me. I wanted all the details explained.
I wanted him to get the file.
“I didn’t want to go through your office,” I told him earnestly, sounding timid.
He cocked his head. “I think there’s some irony there, don’t you?”
“I’m well aware.” I swallowed. The air between us stretched taut and thick.
And his eyes, where they’d been so warm last night, seemed cold and shielded today. As though he didn’t want me to see anything inside of him.
I might not have walked in prepared, but he did.
“I’ll meet you in the conference room,” he said. Then he turned to walk to his office, and I turned and walked the other way.
Five minutes later he joined me, the overflowing manila file tucked under his arm. He studied me for a second. I’d chosen to sit at the middle of the table, unwilling to choose the head for myself, not wanting him to choose it either. In his eyes I could see him deliberate—should he sit next to me?
He chose to sit across from me. It was the right choice. We weren't here together today. At least, we hadn't come together. We might leave together—that remained to be seen—but for now, we were on opposite sides.
Donovan slid the folder across the table in my direction. I reached out to take it from him, my fingers on the edge closest to me, so far from where his hand still gripped the side, and pulled. He didn't let go, and I looked up to meet his eyes. They were empty, and I realized that might be the closest to afraid that I'd ever seen him.
It almost made me feel sorry for him.
Then I glanced back at the thick folder, its contents practically spilling out from its seams. This would be hard for us. But if we had any chance together, we had to get through it all.
My eyes still locked on his, I tugged on the folder again. This time he let go, and the whole thing slid easily to my side.
With a shaky hand, I opened up the front cover and smoothed it down onto the table.
"So," he said. "Where do you want to start?"
God, there was so much in there. So many papers and photos I had questions about. So much I needed to know. "How about the beginning?"
"A very good place to start." He leaned back in his chair, but he was by no means relaxed. His shoulders remained tense, his jaw tight.
That wasn't my problem.
I took the first paper out of the folder and scanned it. It appeared to be a receipt for a wire transfer from Donovan's bank to the mortgage account in my father's name dated shortly after his death.
I turned the paper around and scooted it toward him. "What's this?"
Donovan glanced quickly at it. "It seems to be proof of payment of some kind.”
I drew my eyes into narrow slits. "Is this really how you want to play this?” I asked. Admittedly, it was almost easier if he did want to be an asshole. Then I could be an asshole right back.
He cocked his head this way and that ever so slightly, and I understood it wasn't me he was wrestling with—it was his own need for control. His own drive to hold the reins. To deal the cards. To run the show.
Eventually he let out a short audible breath. "It's the payoff for your father's mortgage. I paid the balance after his death."
"Why?"
"For you.” For him, the answer was plain as day.
When my father died, everything had been left in my name. I'd been as surprised then to find out my childhood home had no mortgage outstanding as I was now to hear Donovan proclaim his reason for paying it off. I'd expected to be paying that loan for ten more years. When I didn’t receive a statement for several months after the funeral, I'd even gone to the bank and questioned it.
"The loan officer told me that my father had made extra payments over the years," I told Donovan. It seemed impossible at the time. My father had saved every extra penny to send me to Harvard. Where had he gotten the money to pay off his mortgage? But I hadn’t been about to argue with the bank.
His mouth twisted. His jaw ticked. "I have friends,” he admitted. “A friend. He made the register appear the way I wanted it to appear.” He was about to leave it at that, but then, as if realizing I’d demand more, he added, “I knew if there'd been a lump sum, you would've gotten suspicious."
"You didn't want me to find out it was you." I couldn't decide if I was mad or grateful. Having the mortgage paid off had been a real blessing. It would have been really hard for me to go back to college and pay for my sister's expenses with house payments on top of it.
But he’d done it behind my back! He’d done it in secret!
"Are you wanting me to thank you?" My words were sour, poisoning whatever gratitude I meant to show.
"No," he scoffed. "That's not why I did it."
"Then why did you do it? Why did you care about me enough to do that? Because of what happened in your office? Because we had sex?"
He frowned as though offended. "Do you really think that was when this began for me?"
No. I thought it began that night at The Keep.
But I wasn't giving him that. I wasn't giving him anything.
"How can I have any idea when you haven't told me shit?" My voice was already raised. I was already swearing, and we were only on the first item.
Good thing I had nowhere else to be, because I was going to stay until this was done. Until I knew everything I wanted to know. I hoped he was prepared for it to be a long day.
"I noticed you the first day you walked into that classroom, Sabrina," Donovan said. "That's when it began for me. And it never stopped."
Goose bumps scattered down my arms despite the sudden warmth that filled me inside.
We’d barely known each other, and yet he’d noticed me. Out of everyone. Out of an ocean of people, he’d found me.
But I had to ignore that—had to ignore the way it made me feel. It didn’t benefit me at the moment.
What I needed were facts. Details. Confessions. The more, the better. "So you anonymously paid for my house? So that I would…?"
"So that you would be taken care of," he said with pronounced candor.
I closed my eyes for a beat.
Then I opened them again. I couldn't spend too much time on this one thing, large as it was. There was simply too much to go through. I took the receipt back and put it face-down on the inside cover of the folder and moved on to the next item.