Once everyone was gone, Benedict took off his coat and draped it over me. It was so long it covered the tops of my feet.
"Let's go."
I followed him. My bare feet made soft slapping sounds against the floor with every step.
A few paces in, I heard quick footsteps behind us.
His assistant set a beautiful pair of heels on the ground in front of me.
"Mr. Fox asked me to find these the moment he saw you."
"He keeps women's shoes in the car, all different sizes. You're a size seven, right?"
Wait. How did he know my shoe size?
A flash of memory cut through me: my sister's pretty feet. Could he still remember her size?
"Put them on. The floor's cold."
Benedict crouched down, lifted my foot, his movements practiced, like he'd done this a hundred times before.
He slipped my foot into the shoe.
His hands were warm too.
So this was how a man could treat a woman.
But for some reason, that effortless tenderness, so polished it felt rehearsed, sent a faint chill through me that I couldn't quite name.
In the car, a paper bag sat on the passenger seat.
"What's this?"
He didn't answer, but he didn't stop me from looking.
Inside was a to-go cup of warm ginger tea.