He would want to check me out. He thought I was going to work for him, and so he’d be looking for signs of a well put together exterior, of professionalism, but as he did so, something happened. He didn’t let go of my hand, his grip tightening when I went to snatch it back, a small frown forming as the moment stretched on and on. I began to shift in my chair, a compulsion to say something, anything rising, but there was no elegant way to do that. Then I saw Lucien. He smiled then, really smiled, that slow, feline thing that had had me drenching my knickers back at the restaurant a few weeks
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