“I’m not gay.” Simon’s huffed words pulled her out of her head.
Damn it. Had she said that out loud? “What? I asked ‘what did you say’? Sorry. I missed it.”
He stared at her for a moment as though trying to decide if she was for real. She gave him her best dumb smile. She didn’t have to pretend. She felt really dumb. Socially awkward. She’d spent so much time alone, she sometimes talked out loud. It had worked when she was in the hospital and rehab for years at a time. No one questioned the insane woman who talked to herself. In the real world, she was odd to say the least, but she’d somehow managed to find a weird place for herself here in London.
Simon’s flushed face turned back to perfectly charming. “I was saying the Fund’s been more interesting with you around.”
“Is it because I routinely pratfall and tumble down the stairs?” Her leg gave out at the oddest of times. The staff had taken to calling her the Amazing Falling Woman. She gave regular shows at nine and noon. Everyone was welcome.
Simon frowned. “I don’t think that’s very amusing. You have a bad leg. People shouldn’t comment on it.”
She sighed. Why was he here when they were so obviously not suited? He was very proper, and she was a walking Three Stooges movie. “It’s the reality of the situation.”
“If the staff is making fun of you, I shall talk to Molina and have them fired.”
Yes, this was the heart of the problem. Half the time she was sure what Simon felt for her was sympathy. The other half she wondered if he wasn’t trying to move up the chain by getting close to the boss. “They’re not making fun of me. They’re helping me to laugh about it. It’s funny, Simon. I can be talking about the most serious subject in the world and sounding deeply intellectual and then I’m on the floor. Sometimes it takes a few steps for the person I was talking with to realize I’m no longer with them. It would be different if they were letting me lie there and laughing at me. They help me up.”
He sat back in his chair, his jaw a mulish line. “Still, I don’t know that it’s a laughing matter.”
If she couldn’t laugh, she would cry, and she was so tired of crying. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to work. It felt good to explore a whole world she’d never imagined she would see.
And lately she was wondering if it would feel good to explore more than museums and parks. She’d started to wonder if she could explore intimacy. But she knew damn well she wouldn’t be exploring it with Simon. Though he was truly a handsome man, with broad shoulders and lean muscle, there was no heat in his eyes when he looked at her.
And she needed to be wanted.
She decided to change the subject. “So you needed me to look at something?”
He nodded and reached into his briefcase. “Sorry. You didn’t answer your phone and this just came up. It’s a potential donor, but he wants to meet with Molina. We all know that you’re the one who gets to decide who meets with Molina. It’s a substantial donation.”
He passed the file to her. Two million and change. Yes, that was substantial. She glanced at the name. Lachlan Bates. She had no idea who that was. Molina was a bit of an introvert. There were only a few people he regularly met with. A few friends, like the one he’d come to London to see. She thought it rather funny that her very prissy boss made time once a week to meet his friend at a fish and chips place on the Thames beside the Tate Modern. She would have guessed Thomas wouldn’t eat anything so common as fish and chips. He was a caviar and foie gras kind of guy.
Simon pointed to his file. “He claims to be a self-made millionaire. Something about software or something.”
“I’ll take a look at the file and talk to Thomas about it. It’s odd, though. Usually donations this large go through Monica. I’m surprised it got on your desk.” She rarely dealt with actual donations, and it wasn’t Simon’s department at all.
He shrugged. “It just showed up on my desk with some other paperwork. Probably a mistake. I thought you would be the person to handle it. You’re the only one who calls him that, you know.”
She was well aware that Thomas Molina was misunderstood. For some reason the staff was completely intimidated by him, but he was sweet with her. Perhaps because of that wheelchair he would one day be confined to. She’d spent her time in one. They understood each other when it came to the pain of struggling just to walk. “It’s his name. I won’t wear it out.”
Simon stared at her. “I don’t get Americans sometimes. Come along. Let me walk you back. Perhaps I can convince you to have dinner with me.”