SHOULD I?
Silly question—of course I should.
Will I?
Probably. Definitely.
In the two weeks or so since my hissy fit in the Italian restaurant, I have caught no more than a couple of glimpses of either of the Morgan brothers, once when I passed James coming out of the lift and again in the canteen. James had arrived just as I was scuttling out with my takeaway latte. He’d nodded to me and said ‘good morning’. I’d muttered something intended to be polite and scooted off. Another time, I’d spotted Daniel emerging from the meeting room on the fifth floor where I now work as clerical assistant to Mrs. Hedges. He didn’t see me, mainly because I dived behind the photocopier until he’d passed.
It’s not that I’m scared of the Morgans, or even especially embarrassed about what happened. It’s m
