“So, what was that all about?” Kate asks as we leave Mason Group.
“What was what all about?” I ask, playing dumb, knowing full well what she’s asking.
She stops in the middle of the sidewalk and gives me that look. Sadie stops, looks up at me and barks like she knows what I’m up to as well.
“You may think you’re fooling me, but I see it.” Then she gets a huge smile on her face and continues, “Or maybe you don’t even see it yet. Oh my God, you don’t! In that case, this is going to be fun!” she says, letting me go.
“Um . . . OK. I . . . uh, I have to go home and shower before work. I’ll talk to you later,” I say, giving her a strange look.
“See ya,” she says with a big smile, then leans in, and gives me a tight, squeezing hug.
I stiffen while her warm arms wrap around me. She squeezes me so hard my boobs pucker out the top of my sports bra. It doesn’t matter how much my life has changed or how much time has passed, I’m still not used to people showing me affection. It’s not something I grew up with, and I’m not sure it’s something I’ll ever be comfortable having done to me. She releases me, then her and Sadie walk back inside the studio.
I climb into my van that smells like sugar and spice, and everything nice, then I head toward home. I need to be at California Chef in forty-five minutes for our morning meeting before I head off to my first client’s house. The entire drive home, all I can think about is how horrified I was when Stephen wanted me to sit down on one of his uber expensive leather chairs. I had some serious ass crack sweat going on! Leather isn’t exactly a breathable surface and if I didn’t cover my ass with my hands, I would have for sure left a line of ass crack sweat on the seat cushion in the shape of a not so friendly smile. All I could do was sit on my hands and pray to God it was enough of a gap so air could circulate and keep the dreaded ass crack sweat away.
I pull into the driveway and park my van, get out, then walk up to the front door. I slide my key into the lock, and it never fails, I always have to pause, take a deep breath, and ask myself three things. Good things just don’t happen to me, and this . . . this house is definitely something good. First question, is this really mine? Second question, is this truly my life now? And third question, when will it all be taken away from me?
I stare at the keys hanging from the lock, and I still remember the day Joss and Nina gave them to me. I had just dented Nina’s van when I hit a mailbox leaving a client’s house. I thought for sure they were going to fire me. Instead of firing me, they gave me a key to their house on a beautiful camera keychain so I could come and go as I pleased.
I pull a solicitation flyer off my door for lawn care service, then walk inside. I walk over to the trash can and toss it in, then smile when I see my camera sitting on the counter. I run my finger over the matte black surface, then run my finger over the frayed, worn strap. I’ve started another camera fund for a brand new camera and one day, I’ll be the proud owner of a never before owned, semiprofessional camera—because let’s not get crazy here, a professional camera is just amazeballs crazy priced—AND it will have a strap that doesn’t look like the garbage disposal ate it twenty times over.
I’ve been taking a photography class at the local community college at night, and I’ve been learning a lot about the technical side of photography. On days I don’t have class after work, I like to go for a walk or a short drive and take as many pictures as my small memory card will hold. When I’m not at work or at photography class, I’m thinking about photography and all the places I want to go, so I can capture everything.
As ugly as my childhood was, I always found beauty in nature. Nothing I ever owned was beautiful, but beauty could always be found within short walking distance. Even a weed, which is something most people hate and say is a nuisance to their lawn, is beautiful. If you get down on your hands and knees and position yourself just right with the sun, then look through the lens at a fluffy white dandelion, it will light up like an orb and glow magnificently. When the shutter clicks, and you know in your heart you just took an amazing picture, it turns that something ugly into something breathtaking and beautiful. Not just the weed but my heart, too. When I upload the pictures to my computer and see a radiant dandelion with a beautiful, sunny blue, white puffy cloud sky, it rights my upside down past.
I grab my work uniform of black pants, a plain white t-shirt, and my chef jacket, then lay them on my bed. I strip out of my workout clothes, toss them in the hamper, then go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The room quickly fills with steam and I get in.
As the hot water hits my head, I close my eyes and my mind quickly goes back to photography. The world is filled with an abundance of beauty, yet it never seems to find its way to me.
Just as a weed is beautiful, so is the weathered face of a homeless woman sitting on a park bench. One morning, I chose to go for a very early morning walk with my camera to get a bagel and a hot cup of coffee. I took it to go and on the way home, I saw an elderly homeless woman sitting on a park bench with her eyes closed. After what was a very cold night, her dark, tanned, sun-kissed face was raised up toward the warm rising sun. Her wire cart with all of her belongings was sitting next to her, and her hand protectively gripped the edge. Each of her deep wrinkles on her face told a heartbreaking story about her life. Even though she was dirty, and her hair was matted to her head, she was beautiful. I had to stop and sit on a bench on the other side of the walkway. I set my bagel and coffee down, then I lifted my camera and snapped a photo. A fraction of a second before the shutter clicked the woman’s lips tipped upward into a small smile. After the photo was taken, her striking blue eyes opened and she looked directly at me. Her smile grew on her face, and her eyes sparkled. I’ve never shown anyone that photo, and I think it’s the most poignant photo I’ve ever taken. I grabbed my bagel and coffee, then I stood up and walked over to her. I set them both next to her leg and smiled at her. Before my hand could leave the bag, she gently placed her hand on mine. I looked into her esoteric eyes, then placed my other hand on top of hers. I know what it’s like to be homeless. I know what it’s like to have all of your worldly possessions fit into a small shopping cart, or in my case, a simple backpack. If I look hard enough at the photo and look deep into her eyes, I see a reflection of myself. The very next day at the exact same time, I made the trip again. I bought another cup of coffee and a bagel to give to her, but she wasn’t sitting on the park bench. I never did see her again.
Turning off the shower, I grab a soft, fluffy, clean towel and dry myself off. I put on my pants and shirt, then quickly dry my hair and put it into a bun on the top of my head. I dab on minimal makeup, then I grab my chef jacket and put it on. I walk back into the bathroom to dab on some lip gloss, but I catch my happy reflection in the mirror. Turning toward the mirror, I look at the woman staring back at me. The woman staring back at me is such a stark difference than the one I was only a few years ago. I look at my name elegantly embroidered on the pocket of my chef jacket, then I look up and stare into my own eyes. Then something that hasn’t happened since my tampon box was stolen . . . happens. A hot tear sears down my cheek. Again, it’s not because of loss, but because I’m happy. It’s so very dangerous for me to allow myself to be happy. It always has been. I wipe away the tear, then get in my van and drive to California Chef for my morning meeting.
At noon, there’s a knock on my door and I look at my watch confused. Maddy said she’d be here around one. Where’s my secretary? Before I can get up to find out who it is or to see where Caleigh is, the door opens. It’s Josh. It’s my daily—River would like to extend his heartfelt invitation for you to join him for lunch—visit. Heartfelt—my ass! He doesn’t want me there any more than I want to be there myself. I’d rather go to the dentist and get all of my teeth pulled—without Novocain. It’s like sitting in front of a firing squad being in River’s office with him and Josh staring at me from the other side of the desk like I’m some sort of a freakish e
nigma. River likes to taunt me every chance he gets. He doesn’t think I do a damn thing at this company, but what that spoiled, rich boy doesn’t understand is, without me doing the actual work, this company would have tanked years ago.
River never sees the behind the scenes work that goes on. He thinks he has the most important job, and he can’t see past his own flawed perfection. He doesn’t do it anymore since he met Joss, but while he was out gallivanting at fundraiser galas or escorting women around town, I was at the office working. While he was soaking up corporate gifts and doing meaningless publicity bullshit, I was knee deep in doing actual work, sometimes until the sun came up. Then I’d hear word that he was running his mouth because I didn’t come in until nine in the morning after only getting a few hours of sleep.
“River would like you to join us for lunch today,” Josh predictably says.
Like I didn’t know those words were coming.
“I already have plans for lunch,” I tell him, removing my thick, black rimmed glasses from my face.
Usually it’s a lie, but today it’s actually true.
“I’ll tell him,” he says with a high and mighty nod, then closes my door.
“You do that,” I say sarcastically out loud to the closed door, then rub my fingertips on my closed eyelids.
A sharp knuckle knocks hard twice on my door, then it opens. That’s Caleigh’s signature knock. Like the few people I allow in my life, in the beginning, it was hard to trust and let Caleigh see the real me. I’m fucked up in the head, but Caleigh knows how hard I work. I see it in her eyes when she looks at River or Josh when they talk down to me. Why don’t I just stand up for myself? Easy. That would include actually talking to them and talking can only lead to more talking, then I wouldn’t be able to control what’s been trying to escape past my lips for almost two decades. It’s just easier to let River think I’m a lazy ass piece of shit. I know I’m not, and I know how hard I work to keep my dad’s dream alive, and that’s good enough for me.
“Do you need anything before I go to lunch?” Caleigh asks.
“No, thank you. Have a good lunch,” I reply.
“Can I bring you anything back?” she asks.
She knows I’m always so bogged down with work, that I usually down a room temperature, pre-packaged, high-calorie protein shake from my drawer and work through lunch. She always offers to bring me something back, which I always decline. More times than not, she brings me something back anyway.
“No, thank you. Maddy will be stopping by with lunch around one when you get back. You can just send her in,” I tell her.
Her eyes immediately perk up, and her face lights up with a smile. I grab my glasses and slip them back on my nose, then say, “That will be all.”
She closes the door behind her, but not before she looks back at me one more time with a cheesy grin. Caleigh’s been my secretary since I started working here after I graduated from college. She’s in her mid-forties and has been married three times. She’s never had any children, and she is completely devoted to her job and me.
I go back to the report sitting in front of me, and my eyes start to cross looking at all of the numbers. I rip my glasses off, and with them still in my hand, I rub my forehead and the pounding headache that’s just starting to rear its ugly head.
“Stephen,” I hear whispered in front of me.
I open my eyes and see Maddy standing in front of my desk holding one of California Chef’s catering coolers. I set down my glasses, look at my watch and see that it’s after one o’clock. I quickly stand up, giving myself a headrush, then I walk around to her.
“Maddy, I didn’t hear you come in,” I say, removing the heavy bag from her hand.
“Are you alright?” she asks concerned, looking at me.
“I’m fine. I just have the beginnings of a headache. It’s nothing some food can’t fix,” I assure her.
“Here, sit,” she says, pointing to one of the dark brown, leather chairs in front of my desk.
She walks over to the wall of windows and partially closes the blinds, darkening the room to where I don’t have to squint with my headache. She comes back over and unzips the cooler I sat on the floor between the two chairs. She removes two containers, then peels the lid off one and hands it to me. She reaches in the side of the bag, then hands me a fork, a knife, and a napkin. The delicious smells instantly make my mouth water in anticipation. She reaches back into the bag and removes a chilled bottle of water, then twists off the cap. I dig into the chicken and the instant I close my mouth, the flavors explode on my tongue. It’s so good, I close my eyes and savor the mingling of flavors.
“This is amazing,” I say once I’ve swallowed, then I open my eyes and point at the chicken with my fork.
“Really? You like it?” she asks.
“Like it doesn’t come close to describing how good this is,” I say, looking at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask when she hasn’t taken the other container for herself yet.
“I will. I just want to make sure you’re good first,” she says, handing me the water.
I take a sip of water, then place the bottle on my desk. She stands up and starts to unbutton her heavy, white chef coat. My once moist mouth immediately goes dry watching her fingers work each button. She drags the coat over each of her shoulders, then carefully folds it in half and lays it over the back of the chair, revealing a somewhat tight t-shirt. Underneath her t-shirt, I can clearly see the outline of her lacy black bra. She grabs her container of food, then brings her legs up and sits crisscross on the chair. She peels the lid off, then she digs into her food. I watch as her pouty lips part and she takes the first bite. My thoughts instantly imagine those pouty lips wrapped around my cock and my pants begin to strain around my growing erection. Her eyes come to mine, and she raises her hand to cover her mouth while she chews. I bring my ankle up and rest it on my other knee to hide my hard on.
She swallows, then asks, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m much better now,” I say and smile at her.
I’m completely fascinated watching her eat.
Stephen’s secretary practically assaulted me when I walked up to her desk. She stood up so fast, that before I knew it, she had me in a vise grip like hug. Why do people just assume everyone else is a hugger? Shouldn’t that be something you ask before you just throw yourself onto another human being, then proceed to squeeze them so hard you need to adjust your boobs afterward? Not everyone is a hugger. She and Kate need to give each other hugs.
She told me I could go right in with a smile so big, I could see her wisdom teeth all the way in the back of her mouth. When I walked in, Stephen had his glasses off, and they were gripped tightly in his hand on his forehead. I could tell right away something was wrong. I’ve never seen Stephen without his glasses on, and oh boy, it made my stomach do a flip when his eyes came up to mine.
I’ve always been a protector. A protector of the few belongings I own, my food, people I allow in my life, and most importantly my heart. Seeing Stephen in what seemed to me, pain, made me go right into momma bear mode. I immediately closed the blinds and got his food as fast as I could. I’m good at taking care of other people almost to a fault, yet I hardly ever think about taking care of myself.
Stephen, by default of being a Mason, got placed on the list of people I care most about. This family, without ever asking where I came from, has given me so much. They’ve never judged me, and they’ve always given me my space when I clam up tighter than Fort Knox. I’m still surprised they’ve allowed me into the fold because I’m seriously one strange chick. I don’t like to talk about myself or my past, and I’m extremely awkward. I always calculate things in my head ranging from my words, my surroundings, my actions, and my behavior that most of the time I exude a leave me the hell alone vibe. Something essential you have to learn when you live in the foster care system and out on the streets.
“So, now I have to ask you. Are you alright?” Stephen
gently asks.
I snap out of it and realize I’m holding my fork loaded with food a few inches in front of my face, and I’ve been zoned out for I don’t know how long. I look at his face and see genuine concern and, honestly, it freaks me right the hell out. I feel the familiar panic building in my chest and the need to run quickly takes over.
“I . . . uh. No, I mean, yes, I’m fine. I need to get going,” I say as I feel the protective walls going up layer by layer.
“You’ve only eaten one bite,” he says, furrowing his brow showing concern.
There’s too much concern here and brick-by-brick my wall is quickly going higher and higher.
“I have to get going. I can’t be late for my next client,” I say, grabbing the lid to my food.
It isn’t all a lie. I do have another client, but I’m not at risk of being late. I quickly seal the container and shove it back in the bag. I take the strap of my catering bag and put it on my shoulder, then quickly race to the door. Before he can say anything else, I open the door and quickly close it behind me. Stephen’s secretary immediately stands and looks at me with another toothy smile. She moves toward me, but I plaster myself against Stephen’s closed door. She must sense my deer in the headlights look because she backs off. I scoot away from the door and quickly walk to the elevator. I continuously stab at the down button like it will make the elevator get here faster, and pray Stephen doesn’t come after me. I’m behaving like a crazy person, and I know it. I can’t help it, though. There’re too many emotions coming at me all at once and I desperately need air.
The elevator doors open, I thankfully get in and push the button for the ground floor, then continuously push the close door button until the doors close. I shut my eyes and feel instant relief when the doors finally close, and no one else gets on the elevator with me. As the elevator descends floors, so does my heart.
I Speak...Love (A Different Road Book 3) Page 3
