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all of twenty-five.
    As Michelle ushers me into Luke’s office and shuts the door behind me, I can’t help but make a comment. “She’s really gorgeous,” I say.
    Luke glances up from a thick stack of papers on his desk. “Yeah, she is, huh?”
    “Are you sleeping with her?” I say the question as a joke, but it strikes me as the words come out that I’m serious. She’s exactly the kind of secretary that bosses all sleep with.
    “God, no,” Luke says, looking shocked by my question.
    I blush. “I was just kidding.”
    “Were you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Anyway, even if I were the kind of guy who slept with his secretaries, which I’m not, she’s not my type.”
    Not his type?  Michelle is pretty much everyone’s type. Hell, she’s even my type and I’m a heterosexual woman.
    When we head down in the elevator, I assume Luke’s going to get a car service to pick us up, so I’m surprised when we go to the garage in the basement. “Where are you leading me?” I ask him.
    “My car,” Luke says.
    His car? I watch Luke push himself out of the elevator and I can’t figure how he’s going to be able to drive a car. Even though I’m less shocked by his appearance than I was yesterday, I still think that he looks very impaired. The weirdest thing is his posture. Luke used to have a ramrod-straight spine, to the point where I felt like I could put a book on his head in the morning and it would still be there in the evening. But now it’s like he has no muscles at all in his trunk. I can tell he’s aware of it because he frequently pushes his hand against his thigh in order to straighten himself out. I mean, it’s not awful or anything. To be honest, he may still have better posture than me. But when I think of that night in college when I saw Luke naked and how effortlessly perfect his body was, I imagine it must kill him the way he looks right now.
    Luke’s car is a Mercedes. Naturally. I watch as he lifts his body from his wheelchair into the front seat, then pops the wheels off his chair and tosses it behind him into the back seat. As I get into the car next to him, I guess he notices I’m staring, because he says, “What?”
    “I thought…” I bite my lip. “To be honest, I figured you’d need help getting into a car.”
    “You wouldn’t be the first,” he says. He smiles at my questioning look. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Most people think quadriplegics can’t do anything for themselves, but that’s not the reality for a low-level injury like mine.”
    “Also,” I say, blushing slightly. “I just figured you’d have a chauffeur.”
    Luke laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”
    “Well…”
    He starts up the car and places his right hand on what seems to be an accelerator of some sort. Obviously, he doesn’t have full use of his hands and I’m a little worried about being in this car with him, but he’s my boss so I guess I don’t have a choice. “I don’t really like having everything done for me,” he says.
    I can’t resist: “So do you scrub your own toilet, then?” 
    Luke grins. “Wow, Ellie. You haven’t changed at all.”
    I furrow my brow. Is that an insult?  It must be. I was so lame back in college. “Yes, I have.”
    He glances at me as he pulls out of the garage. “Well, your hair is different. It looks nice.”
    “Thanks…”
    “Although I liked it before.”
    I roll my eyes. “Okay, now I know you’re putting me on. I looked like Roseanne Roseannadanna.”
    “Who?”
    “You know,” I say. “That character Gilda Radner used to play on Saturday Night Live with the gigantic frizzy hair?”
    “Oh,” Luke says. “Yeah, I guess you did kind of look like that. But it was adorable. You were like one big giant pouf of hair.”
    I groan. “Thanks a lot.”
    He shrugs. “Well, anyway, you’ve changed less than I have.”
    “Yeah, I have to say… I’m kind of impressed. I never would have thought you’d be able to handle… you know, all