Gentleman's Agreement

Prologue

I watch him stand in front of me with his face full of facial hair. His eyes scan that of my appearance for I assume that we have both grown more attractive over time. 

"This is business,"

"Not pleasure." I finish the sentence before him. "I fully understand for this is my job as well. I hope we can keep this strictly professional, Mr. Hale," I say softly placing each folder down on the conference table.

My pupils get a glimpse of him through my eye lashes watching each time I bend over the table slightly. "Mr. Hale?" I announce.

"Business."

I restate in case he didn't understand the first time. 

As much as I enjoyed looking at his physique I had to keep in mind of his abrupt leaving. It wasn't so easy to keep my composure at first. I wanted to probe him of questions of which will never be answered, so I stuck to silence.

Silence is the best form of response.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you for as long as I lived." He finally admits. "I suppose you would want an explanation as to why I left," his voice is low.

Could my thoughts be read that easily? Was I an open book? My facade useless. 

I inhale deeply and exhale softly before I stand up straight. "Actually," I pause for a moment to clear my head while I flatten out the wrinkles in my navy colored dress. "For a little while I did want to know why you left. It bugged the hell out of me. Then I moved forward. Like you wanted me to." The truth. I told the truth because that's where we were headed. 

Just like streets, each answer turned onto a new road, a new destination. I didn't want my mind to wonder on the possibility of it all. Closure is what I needed, and apparently it was what he needed as well.

"El-"

"Don't," I shush him closing my eyes. "I want to love you, and I want to cry. But I'm done. I'm all out of tears, and reasons to keep you around. So don't make this harder. Please..."

All of a sudden I am heading towards the office door when his swift moments have him just several inches apart. I could feel his heart beating through his starched shirt, and his fingers grabbing my small hand which held the steel handle of the glass door.

"I want you, again," he whispers through the strands of my hair covering my ear.