My throat is dry. My heart hammers out of control.
My hands on the table inch closer to Miles on the other side, seemingly of their own accord.
He stares at me, and I at him. Then, his mouth drops to my lips.
“Meet me in the bathroom,” he says. “The unisex solo stall at the end of the hall.”
The word, “Okay,” barely leaves my mouth before he’s standing. Motioning toward one of the security guards, they step forward.
“I’ll watch the table while you are gone, Miss,” they say.
It’s almost too much. Did Miles plan for this when he agreed to the interview?
Maybe I should reconsider… But my body begs me to follow Miles, remembering the feel of his hands on my skin.
I am utterly weak to Miles. He knows that. I can’t bring myself to care that he does.
So I stand and I follow him into the
