« Alison, » she lowered her voice. « I love Harold. But you’re a young widow on his payroll, and he’s practically living at your house. People are talking. Not mean talk. Just… talk. »
« They can talk. »
« He’s just being kind. »
« I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you. About how it looks. About what it does to your standing here. »
I waved her off and went back to my desk. But her words stuck like a burr in a sweater.
***
That afternoon, Harold invited the whole firm to his house for a pool party.
He’d told me to bring Mia because he knew I had no sitter.
« I’m worried about you. »
« She’ll love the pool, » my boss had said. « And she loves my kitchen, anyway. She keeps trying to steal Mike’s old travel mug off my counter every time you two visit. »
