The door cracks open, and a man enters the office. It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s Graham. A littleyounger, but with the same hair the color of sand and the same blue eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed frames. His face splits in a smile. “Hello, Ms. Strebel.”
“Please, Mr. Thurman,” I say. “Call me Tess.”
“Graham,” he says, as his hand fits into mine. He gives me a solid squeeze—not too hard and not like a limp fish—and very warm and dry. “It’s so nice to meet you, Tess.”
“Likewise,” I say. “Your references are amazing. I’d love to have you aboard.”
His eyes make steady contact with mine. “I’d love to work here. I read about your company inEntrepreneurmagazine, and what you’ve done is amazing.”
It’s hard not to notice how attractive this man is. Obviously, I’m already engaged to Harry, but I’m not interested for myself. Maybe he’s someone I could set up with Lucy. He is smart and handsome and well-liked, if his references are to be believed. He’s a catch.
I gesture at the chair in front of my desk. “Please have a seat. Let’s talk more about your future here.”
“I’d love to.”
He maintains eye contact as he takes a seat. He’s good at that. I always look at the other person’s forehead, but Graham seems like the sort of man who wouldn’t have any trouble looking straight into somebody’s eyes.
“So could you tell me a little about yourself, Graham?”
He smiles at me now, and I can’t help but notice that his teeth are straight and flawlessly white. If I ask him what his biggest weakness is, he’ll probably be able to answer honestly that he’s just too perfect.
“I’m originally from upstate New York,” he says. “I got my bachelor’s degree in accounting from Ithaca. I’m CPA certified, and I’ve been working at a firm in the city for the last five years.”
“Are you still with that firm?”
He hesitates for a beat. “Unfortunately, they had to make some cutbacks recently, so now I’m looking for something new.”
And he didn’t make the cut.
But Graham doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed or apologetic about the fact that he was laid off. He still maintains that steady eye contact. I can’t help but think to myself that this man doesn’t look like an accountant. He’s too confident, too personable, to spend his days crunching numbers.
“So what made you go into accounting?”
Just as Graham opens his mouth to answer my question, the office fades away again to white. And then I’m back in my living room, sitting on my leather sofa. Except the difference is that Camila is standing over me, a worried expression on her face.
“Tess?”
I rub my right temple. I feel dazed, like I just woke up. “What… what happened?”
There’s a deep crease between Camila’s eyebrows. “I think you had a seizure.”
I suck in a breath. Graham had mentioned the possibility of my having seizures earlier, when he said I couldn’t drive, but I thought he was exaggerating. “Aseizure?”
“You have them occasionally.” She looks worried, but not that worried, considering I just had a big old seizure. “They are like mini seizures. Graham calls them absence seizures. You zone out for a few seconds, sometimes right in the middle of a sentence.”
I’ve never had a seizure before, at least none that I remember. I didn’t enjoy it. But the scene that played out before my eyes felt so real. It felt like something that must’ve really happened to me—like I was living it all over again.
But that doesn’t make any sense. Because in that scenario, I was meeting Graham for the first time while he was applying for a job at my company. But that’s not how we met at all. So obviously, my damaged brain is playing tricks on me.
“I need some fresh air,” I manage. “Do… do you think I could take Ziggy for a walk outside?”
Camila cocks her head thoughtfully—I’m relieved she hasn’t immediately rejected my request right off the bat. “Maybe in a bit. I’ll let him out into the backyard. It’s fenced in.”
Ziggy clearly understands the word “backyard” because he is nearly levitating with excitement. He follows her to the back door, and so do I, although my legs are unsteady after what was apparently a seizure. I watch as she pulls a key from a chain around her neck. She fits the key into the lock on the back door and turns it. Ziggy bounds outside.
“I’ll go sit with him,” I say.
At first, I think she’s going to slam the door shut andlock it again, but instead, she steps back. “Go ahead.”
