Chapter 2 - The Husband Who Wouldn't Take a Hint
About three months in, Greg started showing up.
Diane's husband was tall, with a loose, easy grin. He was the type who held a handshake a beat too long and remembered how you took your coffee after meeting you exactly once.
The first time, he brought Diane lunch and lifted a hand at me from the doorway. The second time, he asked how I was settling in. By the fourth or fifth visit, Diane was almost always out at a client meeting when his SUV pulled into the lot.
"She told me she'd be back by three," he said one afternoon, sinking into the chair across from my desk without being asked. "Mind if I wait?"
"Of course not," I said, because what are you supposed to say to your boss's husband?
He asked about my weekend. My apartment. Whether I was seeing anybody.
I gave him short, polite answers and kept my eyes on my screen, hoping he'd get bored.
He didn't. He leaned back and looked at me the way you'd study a painting in a museum.
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"That blue's a good color on you. Brings out your eyes."
I laughed — that stiff, nervous laugh you use when nothing is funny — and mumbled something about a deadline. He left ten minutes later. The bad feeling stuck around the rest of the day.
