Keeping His Secret

by Sienna Ciles

  Suddenly, my phone alarm buzzed on the table where I’d set it down. Dalton quickly removed his hand, and checked his watch. “Time to turn into a pumpkin?”

  “Yeah, I have to get to class.” I started to reluctantly pack up my books.

  “I have to get going too, got a lot on my to-do list for the rest of the day.” Dalton abruptly stood, almost knocking over the painting at his feet. He deftly caught it before it fell completely over, and hefted it under his arm. The paint still seemed to brush off against his skin, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t mind at all. He was a man who was not afraid to get dirty.

  I watched him pick up his coffee cup and hesitate for a moment, hovering over the table with his wide shoulders and blocking the light from the windows behind him.

  “I know you’re pretty busy following the good ol’ college path for ‘daddy’ and looking for that father-approved suitor,” Dalton teased, “but if you’ve got any time this week, I know this cool art spot nearby that I know you’d like if you’d care to join me? You know, to see if maybe you can revive that artistic part of you?”

  I finished putting away my class supplies before replying. I took one last sip of my tea, realizing now I should tell him no. I should turn down this distraction from the path I’ve been blazing, this man who would dash my father’s hopes of me marrying a decent man, squander all the time I’d invested in not making stupid decisions like going out with a man who lives on the opposite side of my apartment wall and fixes sinks while getting his hands dirty daily. I could listen to my father’s desires, or I could listen to Talia’s voice still present in the back of my head telling me to leap.

  “I am pretty busy, but maybe I’ll have some time this weekend…we’ll see.”

  “Friday, eight o’clock?”

  My mind knew that the right thing for me to do was say no and leave it at that, to forget the kiss in the hallway, forget the past. But the kiss wouldn’t stop resurfacing in my mind, begging to be repeated. “I can’t this Friday, maybe next week would be better,” I finally managed to say.

  Dalton nodded with a smile. “If not, I understand, but you should still check out this place nearby. I know it would be right up your alley.” He rocked back on his feet, removing the toothpick from his mouth and sticking it back behind his ear. “Now be a good girl and get to class.” He winked, then turned around and left with the painting under his arm.

  “Fine, Daddy,” I snapped, trying to be funny and point out how Dalton had said something that could have come from my father, but realizing what I had actually said too late. I could feel myself blushing, but luckily Dalton didn’t turn around. After giving him a few minutes of a head start to make sure I didn’t awkwardly run into him on my way out, I made my way toward campus.

  Josephine, one of my friends from class, was waiting for me outside the auditorium while the previous lecture wrapped up.

  “You’re all smiles today. Where’d you just come from?” she asked, glancing up from the textbook she had open in her lap.

  “I just ran into my apartment manager. I’m just not sure if it was creepy or cute.” I started to bring out my own notes to squeeze in a few more minutes of review before the auditorium doors opened. Yet, here I was again, distracted by that inked man next door. “I wasn’t sure if he was stalking me, or if somehow we’re just on the same wavelength.”

  “Well, if he’s a stalker the easy part is over, doesn’t him being your apartment manager mean he lives in your building?”

  “I don’t think he’s a stalker...” I let myself trail off, remembering how he knew everyone in the building by name. “I think that’s just how apartment managers are, they have to know a lot about you so they can make sure you’re not some stranger walking into the building they protect, like a guard dog.”

  “Does Mr. Guard Dog Apartment Manager have a name?”

  “Dalton Jones.”

  “The dead billionaire, Dalton Jones the II?”

  “What? No, he’s the third. Who are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know a lot about the Jones family since there’s a lot of conflicting news stories, but the dead billionaire’s son, Allen Jones, has loaded pockets. I’ve never heard of this Dalton the third, but from what I know about Dalton the second and his son Allen, then this Dalton the III guy must be filthy rich if they’re related.”

  “My parents know the Jones family, they seem well off, but they don’t talk about money much. What I read online makes it seem that they own a small country, but that can’t be accurate.”

  “One hundred percent bona fide truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if this apartment manager of yours is swimming in the dough like a duck in a downpour.” Josephine jumped up after finishing her thought as the auditorium doors flung open, releasing a flood of students.

  I remained seated, thinking about what she had said. I had known that August Jones and his wife Mariah were billionaires, and I had known that Dalton was their son, but it had never really sunk in that this handyman trapped on the first floor of my building at the beck and call of his tenants could actually be a financially well-off man, something my own father would be very proud to know. He’d be happy Dalton wasn’t just some broke fixer-upper, although not too ecstatic that he’d earned none of it himself and had it all passed down to him.

  Yet, something about this assessment didn’t feel right. Dalton wasn’t the rich son of a billionaire with all of his accomplishments racked up to the fact that his father had been successful so that Dalton didn’t have to be. Something told me that Dalton was more than that. He had more integrity, and his attractiveness was less about the chance of him being rich and more about how he persevered with his own hands blazing his own path the hard way.

  Maybe my intuition was flawed, and I couldn’t see who Dalton truly was, but if I kept concerning myself with what secrets he held, I would never finish school. I grabbed my things and rushed into the classroom.

  Chapter 9

  Dalton

  She definitely looked creeped out there for a bit, I told myself. I couldn’t believe I had described us as magnets. I swore to myself I just wouldn’t get coffee again that week, because I couldn’t risk running into her again. Somehow the questions she’d asked seemed so harmless, they’d loosened me up into almost revealing my dark truth. I needed to get a better mental lock on that box I kept under the ink above my heart. That lock needed to be impenetrable. I had people to answer to and if that box wasn’t locked, I could lose everything, and the only person I could blame for screwing that up would be myself. Why was Brittany someone who made me risk my second chance? I couldn’t believe I had even walked that far to the harbor and bought this cheap, ten-dollar painting.

  Walking back from the harbor, I lifted the painting under my arm up above a trashcan sitting on the sidewalk outside of a pizza joint. Inside, the arguing of a young man and woman caught my ear. They couldn’t be older than twenty, and the guy was berating who I assumed was his girlfriend while waving what I presumed to be her phone due to its pink case in her face. As they walked out of the restaurant, I heard the tail end of their yelling.

  “…watch your mouth and just wait till we get back, I swear,” he barked at her.

  “You better watch your back if you’re talking to anyone like that, kid.” I couldn’t help but snap at him as they passed. He whipped around quick, and since I was still holding the painting I instinctively held it up as a weapon. We stood there staring each other down. I could see in my peripheral vision that his girlfriend wanted to tell him to let it go, but no one spoke a word and I counted eight cars pass until the young man took his eyes off mine and glanced at the flimsy painting in my upheld hand.

  “What did you say?” he finally asked.

  “Can you just leave us alone, asshole?” the young woman yelled at me, then dragged her man away.

  He laughed at me, then threw his arm around her and they disappeared around the corner.

  Slowly, I lowered the paint
ing. In the past, I might have pursued them, and I would’ve probably done something so dark that I would never have been able to wash off that darkness. I might have also damaged this beautiful piece of local art I’d just purchased with cash I really could have used for lunch instead. I spent a precious meal for this. Thinking to myself for a moment, I knew exactly where I was going to hang it.

  I made sure it was securely under my arm, and then I turned my back on the trashcan and continued walking back to my building. A passerby I hadn’t noticed standing underneath the awning of the pizza joint noticeably backed away from me as I walked past. It made me realize how scary I must have seemed, ready to wield this large piece of wood and canvas as a weapon and hit a stranger. That was probably why Brittany seemed so put off, especially when I appeared at a second coffee shop she frequented out of the blue.

  Also, I realized, I might remind her of the man who caused her sister to die with such violence. No wonder she had turned me down to come with me and check out that art gallery the artist at the harbor had informed me about. Looking back, I hadn’t even explained it to her very well, either. I shouldn’t have gone for coffee and I definitely should not have come off so strongly toward her, but I think I got what she might be experiencing. She sensed the dark part of me I kept hidden, and she knew that this darkness in me couldn’t mix with her light.

  I turned the corner and came to the entryway of my building. I climbed the steps of the entryway and entered, passing the chairs near the windows where old Mrs. Curtis liked to read. She was there reading a dime novel so I said hello to her and then walked past my apartment and held up my newest addition to my building on the wall between my apartment, 1A, and Brittany’s 2A just down the hall.

  The art was made from a lot of orange and yellow splattered over what must have been a charcoal sketching due to all the black that had also rubbed off on my biceps. The charcoal in the middle depicted a small fire inside of a birdcage. I had picked it because it was the only one I could afford, and one of the least expensive ones I could find, but I realized then in that moment that it was perfect. Brittany was that light that lived in my building, the birdcage, a building I was tasked to maintain and protect.

  I vowed to myself right then to do everything in my power to make sure nothing bad happened to her like what had happened to her sister.

  I had bought this for her, I confessed to myself, knowing now for sure that she was the one who had been able to bust through the walls around my heart, the walls I thought I had built to be indestructible. It was a good thing she turned me down for Friday, because she could never accept the darkness that I’m hiding behind my walls. I didn’t need to worry about her getting any farther past my necessary barriers to what I truly was, because she didn’t want in. I could use that hidden, dark animal inside me to make sure no one ever raised a hand to her while she was living under our shared roof.

  But she could never meet my beast.

  I grabbed my tools and secured the painting to the wall. Mrs. Curtis walked up to the newly hung painting and nodded in approval. After chatting with her about the latest novel she was savoring, I spent most the rest of my day sifting through maintenance requests coming through the online portal.

  Near the end of the afternoon, I’d finished most of the work necessary to keep the building from falling apart. I pushed the table in my apartment and its chairs to the corner of the living room with the intention of doing my daily exercise in the privacy of my own home since I’d missed it this morning installing that wine bar down the hall. I had plenty of space, since the couch and coffee table didn’t occupy much of the real estate that made up my sparse living quarters.

  I removed my shirt and began my set of sit-ups while awaiting the allowed entry time Hans Tyrell in 2C had requested for maintenance, which wasn’t until eight in the evening when he must leave for work. After thirty repetitions, I slapped my stomach, enjoying the pain from my hit as well as from the previous crunches. As I held my torso up, I looked around at the blank white walls which made up my room. I really needed some paintings in here, I said to myself, getting up for a glass of water and wiping the sweat from my chest and abs on my shirt.

  A loud banging erupted from outside the hall as I was bending down for another set. I quickly threw my sweat soaked shirt back on and rushed out the door to see what or who was causing the ruckus.

  It was Brittany, with a hammer in one hand, adjusting the painting I’d put up earlier. She looked fresh from the shower, her hair still slightly damp and tied up tight in a bun on her head. She was wearing a loose-fitting sweater and the neckline draped off the edges of her shoulders.

  After finishing her adjustments to the painting, she took a step back and admired her work. She craned her neck to the side and played with her hair falling across her collar bone. As she got lost deeper into the painting, she moved her fingers up from playing with her hair and began massaging the curve she made in her neck by tilting her head to the side, pressing hard against her smooth skin as she ran her hand down to the collarbone and over to her shoulder, diving into her sweater and pulling it slightly off of her chest. She had not noticed me because she was fully distracted by the painting. I could see her eyes, though, and how they seemed to glisten with dew as she squinted through a smile at the painting, one of those half smiles people give to themselves when they think they are alone.

  Trying not to startle her, I knocked on the wall before approaching her while clearing my throat.

  “Knock knock. I see you took it upon yourself to do some of my maintenance tasks for the night.”

  Brittany jumped the second I opened my mouth, but then she seemed to relax and lightly massaged the top of her chest in a calming gesture.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No, it’s okay, it’s not you, I’m just a little spooked tonight. This is absolutely gorgeous, by the way. You need to see it in the fading sunlight now that I’ve fixed its positioning.” She reached out and took my bicep in her hand, pulling me toward the painting. Leaning up to my cheek, she whispered in my ear, her breath hot against the hairs on my skin. “Look, do you see how in the fading light the color takes over the charcoal, it’s almost as if it were two paintings in one. A painting that can transform itself depending on its light.”

  “Wow, I never thought to look at it that way,” I said.

  She pointed at the painting with her chin, which she held next to mine so we could see the painting from the same angle. Feeling her breath so close to my cheek made me lose focus, and I couldn’t see the wall let alone the painting for a few seconds. Brittany lightly squeezed my bicep in excitement, bringing sharpness back to my senses.

  “The fire can escape the cage,” I realized out loud, unable to see the charcoal image at all in the dim light.

  The sun had now completely set. I could sense that Brittany had nodded beside me, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment so I kept staring ahead at the painting. If I moved, she would run back to her apartment. She had started to lean into me, the soft fabric of her sweater brushing up against my arm. The fabric stopped abruptly halfway up my bicep, giving way to the cool smoothness of her shoulder against me.

  In a shy voice, she said, “I looked at my calendar, and actually I am free on Friday. Let’s go check out that ‘cool art spot’ you mentioned. I want to find another piece like this for my room. But you’ll need to have the upmost professionalism,” she teased, leaning even closer into me and tapping me lightly on the chest with the hammer in her hand.

  My gut reaction was to grab her by the shoulders and push her up against the painting, sliding my hands into her sweater and pulling it off her in the process. My second reaction was to pull away, accepting the fact that I had fallen for a tenant and that I couldn’t let this go any further. I didn’t have time to do either, because she spoke again before I could reply.

  “Speaking of our professional relationship,” she said, “I do have a weird ten
ant question. How often do people park next to the building across the street and sit in their cars? Are there business offices nearby?”

  “It’s not unheard of. Why, did you notice someone parked outside the building today?” The hackles on the back of my neck rose and I instinctively reached for my phone. It had gone off earlier this morning but I had neglected to pick it up then because that was when I’d run into Brittany at the coffee shop near the harbor. Had I missed another call? I’d been on my apartment portal through my computer all day, and I’d completely forgotten about checking my phone for messages.

  “That’s why I was spooked earlier. There’s been a man sitting in his car since I got home two hours ago. I’ve actually had this hammer by my side since then.” She blushed after mentioning the last bit about the hammer, obviously having said more than she’d intended to.

  I took her by the shoulders and turned her toward me. Her green eyes grew wide. I smiled confidentially, shaking my head reassuringly.

  “It happens from time to time,” I said. “It’s nothing to get worried over. I’ll go out and double check, just in case. I want you to feel safe, no matter what.”

  She chewed her lower lip, nodding at me as a smile rose up her cheeks. “It’s okay, I’m freaking out over something benign. That really means a lot, though. Thank you, Dalton.” She tipped her chin toward the painting as she slipped out from under my hands. “Ya got good taste, kid,” she said with an exaggerated accent. “Goodnight, Mister ‘Professional.’”

  “Goodnight, Miss ‘I do my own maintenance in my neighbors’ hallway late in the evening.’”

  She giggled and shook her head at me before turning around to go back into her room. I watched as she arrived at her door and took her apartment key from her pocket, intentionally lifting her sweater high enough for me to get a peek at her slim stomach, the curve of her lower abs inviting my eyes lower down past her waistline. She glanced up at me, caught me staring, and smirked before disappearing into her room.