"Sienna," he said without turning around, his voice calm and steady, as if he had already decided how this conversation would go. "You might sit—"
"Yes," Sienna answered quickly. She moved toward the sofa and sat on it, her back straight, her hands resting politely on her lap.
From where she sat, she could see only his broad back. He still didn't move, and somehow that made everything worse.
Her eyes remained fixed on him, waiting. And waiting.
'Why does he act like this?' she thought, puzzled. 'Is this a test? Make you sit in silence until you confess your sins?'
The silence stretched so long that her thoughts began to form so many dramatic questions again, each one more dramatic than the last.
'Did I overcook the steak? Was the sauce too salty? Did I poison his son? Oh my god, Sienna, you're going to be fired on your first night working as a chef!'
