"Mr. Walton," she greeted, cool and composed.
I didn't respond at first. My eyes followed the guy's retreating back and then it dropped to the place he'd touched her. Her arm.
My voice came out flatter than I intended. "Who was that?"
She blinked. "A friend."
I finally looked at her.
She was tense, but standing firm. Meeting my eyes like she hadn't just been cozying up to some smiling bastard in the street.
"A friend?" I repeated. "Do friends often show up unannounced to your office during work hours and take you out to lunch?"
She didn't flinch. "You said I could go have lunch. So I did."
I noticed the way her jaw set. The challenge behind her calm tone. She was defensive.
Good. That made two of us.
"That wasn't the question."
My gaze dropped again. Her arm. That brief touch. A single point of contact — but it wouldn't stop playing on a loop in my head.
She crossed her arms. "Do I need to start submitting a list of who I eat with now?"
