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“No. But you really taste the wine with your nose first. And the swirling of the glass means nothing. I just do it because it’s fun.”

He cocked his head. “I thought it tested the legs.”

“The legs don’t tell you if a wine is good or not. It just tells you if it has a high amount of alcohol. If you cover the glass, the legs disappear. See.” She demonstrated. “Just a weird fact.”

“Interesting.” He retrieved his laptop, then sat down in one of the leather dining seats that matched his sectional. “So, we got interrupted. Why do you believe your parents are more colorful than you?”

Her fingers jerked over the cracker, telling him she was surprised he’d continued with their conversation. He watched her stack a cube of cheese on top, then pluck a grape from the bunch. She placed them into her mouth with precision. She attacked every activity with a slow, deliberate purpose that drove some people nuts, but completely turned him on.

“They’re both actors,” she finally said after chewing and swallowing. “Colorful is a kind word to describe them. Let’s just say they believe the world is a stage, and live their lives that way.”

Shock hit him. He would’ve imagined she’d grown up in a household of accountants, computer techs, or teachers. He leaned in, fascinated. “How was it living with them?”

A small noise left her throat. Sort of a ladylike snort. “Complicated. We traveled a lot—they were known to take jobs all over the world—so there was little stability. They believed in expressing their opinions loudly, and our house of the moment was always filled with starving artists with no money and many good intentions.” Shadows fell across her face, but she avoided his gaze so he couldn’t tell how she really felt. “They were never boring.”

Her carefully phrased statements about her parents told him what he needed. “It must’ve been very hard to be so different,” he said softly.

“Sometimes. We didn’t understand each other, but I know they tried. I only wanted my books, my computer, and my private space. I loved school and libraries and did my best to stay away from the chaos of the theater. They hated institutions that provided, as they said, robotic thoughts and a narrow view on society, so they used to keep me away from school a lot. Said I’d get a real education experiencing life. I used to think I was adopted.”

He raised a brow. “Were you?”

“No. All children spin that fantasy when they don’t get along with their parents. I was no different.” She took another cracker, made a duplicate mini sandwich, and popped it into her mouth.

“When I was mad at my parents, I used to pray I’d get really sick,” he said. “I planned to end up in the hospital—near death, of course—so they’d beg for my forgiveness. Then I’d get anything I wanted for the rest of my life because they were so grateful I survived.”

There it was.

Her lips curved, and he caught the light pop in her big, brown eyes. “Another popular childhood fantasy.”

“Did you have any siblings?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Just me and endless aunts and uncles of the theater.”

“When did you finally get to pursue your own dream of college?”

“I left them when I was nineteen. Took my GED, applied to the local community college, and got a job working as a secretary. I taught myself to type and did the bills at home and for the current theater project they were involved in, so I had some skills. The rest was easy.”

She sipped at the wine, taking her time with the balance and flavor as she let it settle over her tongue and slip down her throat. He shifted in the chair, the heat suddenly strangling him. She was so damn sexy and had no clue. It made it so much harder not to touch her.

“How easy?” he asked.

“I got As, scored a scholarship to Cornell, then came to the city for a more interesting career.”

“Do you see your parents often?”

He wondered when she’d stop answering his questions. He was greedy for anything she’d share, but for now, she seemed open to talking. “No, but we chat on the phone, and when they came here last year for an off-off-Broadway play, they stayed with me for a week. We’re happier when we’re apart. Our personalities just never matched, but we love each other. We’re family.”

Her simple acceptance of her life humbled him. He knew she was no whiner, but it was more than that. She seemed to know who she was to the core and made no apologies—even to her parents. That type of strength and feminine confidence pulled at him. The man she took into her inner circle would be the luckiest bastard on Earth.

God, he wanted it to be him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he finally said, content to let what she gave him be enough. “I guess I realized we spend all this time together, but I knew nothing about your personal life.” Had he seemed greedy for information? Maybe it was better to ease off in case she was uncomfortable? “It’s nice to learn more about your important employees.”

She stiffened, and the wall slammed back up. “Our work relationship doesn’t warrant personal,” she said coolly. “And I don’t need to be another of your charities, Mr. Mayor. The way things have been between us has been just fine.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what did I say wrong? And you know it pisses me off when you don’t use my name.”

Her chin tilted up, and she gave him a cutting glare over the frame of her glasses. “Excuse me if I’m suspicious regarding your sudden interest in me. Are you concerned I won’t stick with you when you move on to governor? Are you experiencing guilt that you don’t know your team well enough to count on their loyalty? Forgive me if I don’t feel like being your first experiment in the heart-to-heart sharing segment. We should move on now.”