He hesitated a moment. After a quick frown at his computer monitor, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “So all of that last night was real?” He kept his gaze on her face but raised his brows.
Goddess, she didn’t want to dash his hopes, but it was inevitable. She nodded. “One hundred percent, straight up from the you-can’t-make-this-shit-up files.”
Humor flickered in his eyes, but was quickly buried in favor of a more skeptical expression. “Better start at the beginning. Tell me about being a Muse.”
“I’m first came into existence in the sixth century. BC that is.” At the moment she felt every one of those years. “I am one of nine sisters endowed with the ability to inspire mortals. We each have our own specialty. Mine is comedy, and I have a twin, Melpomene, who inspires drama.” She shifted in her seat to get more comfortable. “I have some sub-specialties, like architecture and agriculture. Most of the great advancements in any of those fields are a result of my influence.”
Her stomach rumbled and she eyed the waste bin holding the last of her funnel cake. “Without my guidance, Jerry Seinfeld would still be working as a waiter in Brooklyn.” The episode where George dug a bear claw from the trash had been her idea, and one she was seriously contemplating re-enacting right now. “Also, Gregor Mendel would never have begun experimenting with plant genetics without a push from me.” Her belly growled again and she pressed her hand to it.
Ben reached into a small refrigerator next to his desk, pulled out a piece of fruit, and tossed it to her.
She snagged it mid-air. “Thanks.” Sweet flavor exploded in her mouth as she bit into the flesh of the apple.
While she chewed, he watched with a heated gaze. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “So you’ve been alive for what—eight thousand years?” His husky tone belied his direct, uncompromising stare.