FALLEN (NOW PUBLISHED ON AMAZON)

32.

"She seems to have put a lot of efforts in her hairdo."  I say, very pensive, but my attention drifts to look at Marcel the second I hear him chuckle.  "Don't laugh.  She is very elegant.  She has a sublime figure.  I'm sure she goes to the gym two times a week.  No kids.  She seems to be wearing a tailleur, which could mean she is very career oriented.  I might also guess that she doesn't cook.  She's a wine lover as well."

"Red or white?"  He quickly asks me, clearly amused.

"Red, obviously.  Surprisingly, I get the feeling that she knits.  She maybe has some anxiety issues with the pressure of being a woman in business, trying to work twice as much as her peers to be recognised."

"Now that's quite the argument.  Are you done?"

"I don't know.... I haven't settled if she's married or not.  If she doesn't cook, she needs to have somebody in her life that does... Look at her.  She must be wondering why she didn't bring a pair of slipper instead of walking in those heels all day.  Poor woman, her feet must be killing her right now.  And yet she doesn't show any of it.  Anyway...  So?  Wouldn't you agree to that?"  I turn to look at him and smile very genuinely, very proud of my impressions of her.

"I would, your descriptions were pretty thorough.  You even went as far as to guess her thoughts and her struggles.  Bravo!"

"Thank you."

"But!"

"Oh here we go..." I roll my eyes and grin to his fun to always argue everything I say, we seem to have only been doing that all week since we've been back from Manchester.

"If it would have been anyone else, I would have agreed, but that is Clémence.  She is the head of the financial department for the company next doors.  She, her husband and their three kids are very happy.  Yes, she keeps fit.  She has run last year's marathon with me.  That's why I know she prefers white wine.  I must admit the knitting detail was very entertaining and creative, but she is not really handy.  You were right, she doesn't cook, but it's not because she can't.  Her husband works from home.  He is a journalist.  So he takes care of the children and the cooking and all the chores."

"God..."  I look outside the window to the woman that has been the subject of my analyse.  "I can't believe how wrong I was."

I look down at the floor between us to gather the mess of empty take away food boxes.  We are on the floor, hidden behind his desk in his office, close to the window to overlook the city and its people.  He stops me before I get up.  I quickly throw the boxes into his bin and crawl back to him as he opens his arms for me to sneak between his legs.  I get comfortable against his chest and I take both of his hands to wrap his arms around me.

"Mmh.... This feels so good."  I moan silently and let my body move to the beat of his chest rising with every breath.

I turn my head suddenly when my phone rings once.  His embrace feels suddenly stronger, he clearly doesn't want me to move and I oblige when I feel his lips on my neck.  His kisses are very sweet and delicate, it has nothing sexual about it and I love just how he can be both lovers, the angel and the devil.

"Grace?  I need to tell you something."  He whispers against the skin of my neck and trails a few more kisses before resting his head against mine.

"What is it?"  I turn my head slightly, to have a better look at him.

"I lied to you.  I don't know who that woman is."  He looks down at me very seriously and I don't realise that he just messed with me until a fat smirk overtakes his lips.