“I’m not your enemy, Ben …”
Miss Goodnight looks calmly back along the line of my gaze which is focussed on the beautiful skin of her throat, where my second attempt to generate the flush of passion has just failed miserably.
“I would really like to get to know you better,” she says, unconsciously running the capped end of her fountain pen over her bottom lip, as though using a lipstick. I stare, fascinated at its movement – it would be comic were it not accidental.
“You would?” I ask, realising that I have to be present to this encounter and not treat it with the shield of passive-aggressive contempt I have been cultivating.
“Yes,” says Miss Goodnight. “It might even help you …”
“How would that work?” I try not to sound cynical.
She stands up and walks around the interview room. The heels are low but nevertheless still click…
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