she shoved the door closed with her foot. She sat down opposite his desk and
looked him straight in the eye. Then she asked the question in a way that could
neither be laughed off nor avoided.
“Dragan, are you attracted to me?”
Armansky sat as if paralysed, while desperately wondering how to answer. His first
impulse was to pretend to be insulted. Then he saw her expression and it came to
him that this was the first time she had ever uttered any such personal question. It
was seriously meant, and if he tried to laugh it off she would take it as an affront.
She wanted to talk to him, and he wondered how long it had taken her to get up
the courage to ask that question. He slowly put down his pen and leaned back in
his chair. Finally he relaxed.
“What makes you think that?” he said.
“The way you look at me, and the way you don’t look at me. And the times you
were about to reach out your hand and touch me but stopped yourself.”
He smiled at her. “I reckon you’d bite off my hand if I laid a finger on you.”
She did not smile. She was waiting.
“Lisbeth, I’m your boss, and even if I were attracted to you, I’d never act on it.”
She was still waiting.
“Between us—yes, there have been times when I have felt attracted to you. I can’t
explain it, but that’s the way it is. For some reason I don’t really understand, I like
you a lot. But it’s not a physical thing.”
“That’s good. Because it’ll never happen.”
Armansky laughed. The first time she had said something personal and it was the
most disheartening news a man could imagine receiving. He struggled to find the
right words.
“Lisbeth, I understand that you’re not interested in an old man of fifty plus.”
“I’m not interested in an old man of fifty plus who’s my boss.” She held up a hand.
“Wait, let me speak. You’re sometimes stupid and maddeningly bureaucratic, but