"I thought you might say that."

That, or something like it, and she shifts in her chair, amusement draining away to something cynical, mouth pressing into acceptance that her eyes and the barely there tensing of her shoulders and jaw labels an act. "Somehow, they never are, are they?"

Never boyfriends. Never girlfriends. They had a thing, and now he and Danny have a thing, and she's struck by a sudden sense of sympathy for Danny, and a faint hope that if he's just stepped into whatever limbo of an arrangement she's been shifted out of, that it doesn't get dragged out for years unless that's something he wants and can handle.

Judging by his reaction to seeing her there two weeks ago, and going on what little else she knows of the man, she doubts it.

But that's neither here nor there: she's not sitting at this table to cast judgment on whatever it is they are or aren't calling it, no matter how much of a blind eye Steve might be putting towards it. She crosses her forearms on the tabletop, leans forward over them, all humor put aside, like turning a card face down.

"He might not be your boyfriend, but he is your partner. Not to mention your employee. What are you thinking, Steve?"