You almost laugh. “I work here.”
A corner of his mouth moves, the beginning of something like a smile, then disappears.
“Right. Of course.” He gestures to the chair across from the table. “Please sit.”
You do not sit.
“I’d rather stand, sir.”
The word sir lands between you like a fence. He hears it. You can tell. His jaw tightens for a brief second before he nods.
“All right,” he says. “Then I’ll stand too.”
That should not matter. It does.
He sets the mug down. “I owe you an apology. What I did yesterday was invasive and inappropriate. Following you was wrong.”
You cross your arms, partly because you are cold, partly because it keeps your hands from showing how tense you are. “Then why did you do it?”
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