“I would say so. Then again, it’s…” I look at the watch on my wrist. “10 p.m.”
“And you’re calling me at this hour?”
Damn. I didn’t realise it was that late.
“Is that a problem?” I ask him, now not sure if I have acted appropriately.
“No, of course not. I was wondering how come… I mean… I’m working in a nightclub. Are you still at the office?”
“I took my work home with me.”
“Did you take me home?”
“Um…”
“Oh, God! What did I just say?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Your serious tone made me nervous.”
“This is the only tone I have.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do you always get so nervous so easily?”
“Only when I’m on the phone with a hot guy.”
“Um…”
“Oh, my God! I’m mortified. When I’m embarrassed, I speak without thinking! Actually, I often speak without thinking, but when I’m uncomfortable, I’m completely unfiltered.”
“You need to moderate that.”
“You’re right. It’s a problem. I understand.”
“Not for me.”
“Oh…”
“I mean…” I undo two buttons on the shirt I’m still wearing, then shift uncomfortably in my chair. “I’m used to dealing with all kinds of subjects. Almost nothing shocks me. For the trial, otherwise… It’s no good. If you babble at the bench trial…”
“Of course, I understand. I’ll do my best,” his tone drops. “Strange,” he then says.
“Hmm?”
“I always say that.”
“What?”
“That I’ll do my best.” He sighs deeply. “I’m afraid that sometimes it won’t be enough. That I have to do much better than my best.”
His tone became quite intimate.
When did this happen? And, more importantly, when did I let it happen?
“I don’t want to lie to you.”
