“Is this address on your resume current? Los Angeles?” he asks, glancing at it.
“I have a lease here in Chicago, actually,” I tell him, and when I give him the address in Wicker Park, he writes that down before looking up at me again.
“Ms. Moss, I need to inform you that you are required to answer each question in its entirety, or you will not be considered for this…opportunity. Do you understand and agree?”
What do I have to lose? “I do.”
That gets his attention for some reason. His head snaps up, his eyes searching mine for a beat before he clears his throat and looks back at the page. I realize then that he’s following a script that dictates exactly what he’s supposed to say. Odd.
“Great. Okay. Ms. Moss, have you had any recent or past health conditions which required medication or hospitalization?”
This is unusual, but thanks to the heads-up from the brunette in the waiting room, I’m not that surprised. I roll with it. “I had my tonsils out when I was twelve, my wisdom teeth out last year. I was on painkillers, but obviously it was temporary. Not currently taking any drugs, prescription or otherwise.”
“You’re currently healthy?” he prods.
“As a horse. Do you need me to fax over the results of my last yearly physical?”
He glances up, and the brief moment of eye contact makes my pulse ratchet up another notch. “Ah, that won’t be necessary.”
He seems tense, or maybe just a little embarrassed about all these questions, and it’s hard not to smirk at the effect I’m clearly having on him with my attitude. Serves him right.
“Would you say you follow a healthy dietary and exercise regimen?” he goes on.
I shrug. “I work out most days, take classes with friends. Cardio, cycling, kickboxing. So yeah. I’m mostly vegetarian, but I never turn down bacon. Or dessert. You only live once.”
The corners of his mouth turn up, but he seems to hold back from actually smiling as he scribbles a few things down. I can’t help wishing he’d look at me, like full-on look at me. I want him to remember who I am. I’d love to see the discomfort on his face when he remembers I’m the girl he fucked and ghosted all those years ago. Well, one of them.
“Are you involved in any charities, philanthropy, or other charitable work? Clubs, missionary work, volunteering programs?”
I smile. “Not sure missionary is my thing, to be honest.”
He clears his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind just answering.”
I’m kind of loving this, but I cut him a break.
“Actually, I’ve been part of Heart and Home Chicago since high school, and even though I’ve been in LA for a few years, I’m still active on the committee. We raise funds for area homeless shelters to provide maintenance, expansion, help with the food budget, that kind of thing.”
“Hmm.” His jaw works back and forth. “How active are you, exactly?”
“Very. I took over as the committee co-chair of fundraising last year. My face and bio are on the homepage, if that helps. I also founded a new program for domestic abuse survivors who’ve had to flee their homes and need a place to go and figure out their next steps,” I say, relaxing as I warm to this topic that’s so close to my heart. “Beyond meals and shelter, we offer specialized counseling, daycare, connect them with services. It’s been amazing.”
Luka scribbles furiously, nodding as he does so. I hope it’s a good sign.
“Are you currently using birth control?”
I’m thrown, and I can’t make an immediate answer pop out of my mouth. “Excuse me? What does that have to do with—”
“It’s a standard part of the medical questionnaire,” he says, spreading his hands.
“Fine. Yes, I am using birth control, not that it’s anyone’s business.” I fold my arms, trying to push back my annoyance. “Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Zoric?”
“As I said, it’s just a medical question, Ms. Moss. No judgement implied or intended.” He clears his throat again and moves his pen down the paper. I see he’s checking off boxes for each question. “Just a few more things, now. Do you have an arrest record?”
“No.”
“Any past or current narcotic addictions? History of mental illness?”
“No.”
He looks up then, searching my gaze, and my heart flips. Silence blossoms between us. That’s right, Luka. See me. But he goes back to his papers and I feel the loss like a snapped wire.
I need to get it together. Let this go. I mean, I thought I already had. I haven’t felt angry or resentful over our one-nighter in years. I put that bitch to bed. Seeing him has stirred up those emotions, though, and I’m not quite sure what to do with them.
“Can you tell me about your family? Mother, father? Siblings?”
Perfect. Nothing like talking about my parents to make me feel even worse. “I’m an only child. My parents live here in Chicago. We’re pretty close.”
“Do you drink alcohol, and how often?”
“Socially, mostly. I don’t know…maybe one or two drinks per week?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, seeming to ponder something before he writes on the paper. This checklist seems suspiciously family-friendly. Maybe this gig is for someone big with a strict morality clause, like the Disney Channel or American Girl. I can play the girl next door if I have to. I don’t care if it’s not my preferred type of gig; I just want to go national.
“How do you feel about living in the city?”
“Born and raised in Chicago. I currently reside in LA. That should be answer enough.”
He smiles. “Indeed. Do you rent or own your place in LA?”
“Rent, but the lease is up next month, and as I said, I have an apartment here for a while.”
“Great. And how do you feel about pets?”
There’s something about the way he says, “pets” that signals I’d better say that I don’t have any. I don’t, but I’m not opposed to having one in the future. Luka’s mouth pulls into a line and I go with the cues.
“No pets. No desire for any.”
He sets down his pen, then rises, his long, hard body stretching out before me, his shirt going tight over his sculpted torso. My pussy aches, just like that. He might as well have snapped his fingers and told me to come because I could. I seriously could, just from looking at him and remembering in vivid detail how loud he made me scream—
“Ms. Moss? Can you stand please?”
My cheeks heat as I realize he’d probably already asked that, and I’d been totally lost in the memory of fucking him. I get up and set my bag on the chair. Then Luka comes around the desk to me and holds out his hand. I have a flash of déjà vu, taking his hand and letting him lead me. My palm slides against his and his fingers curl around my hand, but I don’t grip him back. He can hold on to me, but I’m going to hold on to myself.
He takes me to the center of the room and positions me, then moves to stand beside me. Even though our arms are barely touching, I can feel his body heat and the firmness of his biceps, and being this close to him makes goosebumps break out all over my body. Damn him.