And with that, we drove away. Away from him, and I’ll be honest with you, as good as it felt to yell at him and let it all out, I now feel even worse than I had, before I met up with him. Even today, as I’m writing this to unknown faces and unknown followers, I feel alone, and I miss him even more. I can’t even put into words how much I love him, and yet I’m still so angry. My thoughts are torn. My mind keeps telling me to cut the strings and get over him, but my heart and my body disagree vehemently.
I don’t know what to do, followers. What do I do?
Chapter 11
Alex
I’d waited a week and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. It had been seven days since the funeral, and I hadn’t heard from Charlotte outside of her blog post, although I had a feeling that if she knew that I was reading it, I wouldn’t have that connection either. It broke my heart and healed it, all at once. I couldn’t believe how incredibly in tune we were with each other. Going back over everything that happened at the service, every word of her post, was like a mirror to my own thoughts. It was, alarmingly, in sync.
Too bad the last chapter of her blog ripped me into two pieces. The love she expressed was the same love I had been feeling every day, but I didn’t know what I could do to make her understand that. I needed to figure out a way to get her back, and fight for this crazy love that we shared. I almost contemplated writing her a comment on her blog as “anonymous”, telling her to give “him” another chance, but if she ever found out about that, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live through the pain of losing her again. I vowed to myself I would never downright lie to her again.
I had never felt so agitated, as I paced in front of my desk in my home office. I hadn’t gone to work for three days because I just couldn’t concentrate on anything. I thanked my lucky stars the company could run itself in my absence, or else I would have been fucked, and as much as I loathed admitting it, Bridgette had been a great asset and a damn good personal assistant. I was still weary of her past and potential future involvement with Robert Nelson, but so far, she had proven herself useful at Porter Industries.
Over the last few days, I had spent countless hours going through ways I could get a hold of her and really talk to her. Honestly, I just wanted to call her and hear her voice again, but I knew she wasn’t going to answer, and even if she did answer, she’d want more from me than I was able to give her. I wanted to tell her what my suspicions were at the cafe, but the last thing I wanted to do was scare her further, especially without proper proof.
Now that I had confirmation that someone had, indeed, tampered with the brakes on her father’s car, I was sparing nothing to find out how it happened, and by who, although I still had a sneaking suspicion that I already knew who had done it. When we didn’t find Robert after the hotel debacle, I put out feelers everywhere, trying to locate him, or a sign from him, but everything so far had turned up empty. I don’t know how I knew he was behind the accident. I had no proof, and no one had seen anyone messing with the car, but I knew it had to be him. The gut feeling in my stomach was rarely wrong. I needed to warn her, but carefully.
So, here I was, back at the crux of my problem. How to speak with her, but not scare her. How to give her only the information she needed to stay safe, but not lie to her, and most importantly, how to convince her that we were meant to be together. Inwardly, I sighed once again, and continued pacing around my home office, creating a groove in my polished, hard wood flooring. I needed a drink, but 10am was hardly the time to be pulling out the sauce.
Grabbing my phone, I left the office and headed towards the gym. Maybe a run would clear my thoughts enough to come up with a plan. I hadn’t even made it to the door when the device in my hand started buzzing. I looked at the screen and a smile immediately overtook my face. It was probably a sinister smile, and really, I should have been ashamed with myself for the direction of my thoughts, but I couldn’t help it. If I couldn’t get Charlotte to listen to me, maybe her mom could convince her.
“Ms. Hightower, how lovely to hear from you,” I cooed into the phone, lacing my words with as much sincere charm as I could muster. Charlotte’s mom really was a sweet woman, but she was incredibly bright and a spitfire, and she’d be able to spot fakeness at any point.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Alex Porter, to call me Lizzie!” she scolded playfully, making me chuckle into the phone.
“I’m sorry. Lizzie, how lovely to hear from you. How are you?” I asked, genuinely interested in knowing, hoping maybe she would divulge some clues as to how Charlotte was really doing, or what I needed to do to get her back.
“I’d be better if I could get my daughter to answer the phone. Is she there with you, Alex?” she asked, confusing me.
“No, no, she’s not here right now,” I responded.
“Alright, well if you hear from her, can you let me know? I need to know she is ok. I haven’t heard from her since the funeral and I finally gave in and called you to find her. How is she, Alex? Truly?”
I opened my mouth several times to speak, but came up empty every time. Why did she think I would know how her daughter was? Didn’t she know that we were no longer together and Charlotte refused to even speak with me? Her next statement cleared my confusion.
“I take your silence as my answer. Is she really doing that bad? Has Robert tried contacting her since he got out?” Worry laced her voice.
“Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I have to go, can I call you back?” I asked. I needed to find out what was going on before I spilled the beans to her mother. Was it possible that Charlotte’s mother had no idea what was going on? Didn’t she read Charlotte’s blog?
“Uh, sure, Just please ask Charlie to call me ok. I’m worried about her.”
I could hear the worry in her voice, and I didn’t want that. Not for Elizabeth Hightower. I would find out what was going on, and resolve it for her, for Charlotte and for myself.
“I will, Lizzie. Talk to you soon,” I promised.
I hung up, more confused than I had been when I answered the phone. Not only did Charlotte's mom have no idea that we had broken up, it sounded as if she had no idea about the showdown with Robert in New York.
From the multitude of conversations Charlotte and I had had, I knew that Charlotte told her mom everything. Hell, for years, her mom was the only one who knew what had gone down at the frat party all of that time ago, so I couldn’t understand why her mom was clearly in the dark over the events of the past month.
She didn’t know we’d broken up, she didn’t know that Robert almost killed her, and she obviously didn’t know that I would have no idea where Charlotte was or what she was doing. The thoughts floating around my brain gave me a sense of hope. Maybe if she hadn’t confided in her mom, there was still hope for us. If she couldn’t tell her mom, maybe she was having second thoughts and didn’t want to involve her mom until she made up her mind.
I turned around and headed back to my office, and to my computer. If I knew anything about Charlotte, I knew that small gestures were something she would enjoy. She wouldn’t be into anything too grand or too big. I needed to be subtle when it came to winning her heart back. I loved her, and she loved me. Sitting down in my chair, I did the only thing I could think of. I prayed to every deity imaginable that this didn’t blow up in my face.
I punched in my selected number, and waited for it to ring.
“That was quick, Alex, did you find Charlotte?” Lizzie asked, clearly surprised I had called her back so soon.
Taking a deep breath, I told her everything. I told her about the threats from Robert she didn’t know about, and I told her about the kidnapping. I told her about my presence at the frat party, as well as Charlotte’s reaction, and the breakup. Lastly, I told her about Dimitri’s car, and then I waited, and I prayed.
“Oh God, Alex. My Poor Charlie,” she said through sniffles.
“Lizzie, I need you to know that I love Charlotte, with all of my heart, and I will nev
er let anyone hurt her. I am protecting her, I promise you, and I don’t know how, but I will gain her trust back.” I sucked in a breath and waited for her reply.
“Slowly,” was all she said.
“Slowly?” I questioned.
“Yes, Charlotte is quick to trust everyone and see the good in everybody, but once you’ve broken that trust, you’ll have to move slowly. Show her you care. Small gestures of love. She’ll come around.”
I was in shock. My admissions had worked. Her mom was helping me win her back. As much as I had hoped this would be the reaction, I was still shocked it had been. Maybe Lizzie saw something in me after all.
“Thank you, Lizzie. Thank you so much,” I sputtered out, completely taken aback.
“Oh and Alex?” she asked
“Hmm?”
“If you hurt my baby girl again, I will kill you.” And with that, she hung up.
I held the phone to my ear for a little while longer, blown away with the turnout of that phone call. Finally, pulling myself away from the shock, I put down my phone and leaned back in my chair, plotting my way back into Charlotte’s heart.
Chapter 12
Daydreamer Musings
August 2, 2015
Followers- 198
How is it possible I have close to 200 followers? Who is sharing this page? Is my life really as interesting as it seems to be? I was never a popular person, preferring to stay in the shadows as a kid, so, having this many people interested in me, will take some getting used to. But, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, so welcome, one and all!
I’m really starting to get into this blogging thing, and I think even after I get past my issues, and I don’t need my doctor anymore, I will continue to post on here. It’s cathartic that people who have no idea who I am want to know the ins and outs of my life. It feels good to just type and let it all out. I guess it’s like a real life soap opera on paper? (Or in this case, on the computer screen)
I feel bad that I still haven’t told my mom anything. She doesn’t know about the breakup with him or the betrayal he dealt me. I want to tell her, I really do, but right now, I don’t feel like I can really talk to anyone, except my best friend, and you faceless strangers. I’ve never kept anything from my mom, and I’ll admit, it feels a little weird, but if I know anything about her, she’ll either freak out and try to fly out to me, or she’ll contact him, and that’s the LAST thing I need right now. So, for now, she’ll stay clueless.
So, I have a lot of you reaching out, wondering if ‘He’ has made contact since our impromptu failure of a coffee date, and the answer is... YES! But I’ll be honest,
I. AM. SCARED. SHITLESS.
Let me back up and explain. Our coffee meeting was on the day of my father’s funeral, Thursday, July 23rd. I thought for sure I would hear from him over the weekend, but I didn’t. I was still super angry, so it was probably a great idea that he didn’t reach out. By Monday, when I headed into work, I was ok, for the most part. Well, I wasn’t angry anymore.
When I walked up to my desk, I was irritated at first. There was a coffee cup on my desk that someone had just blatantly left there. Who does that? Who leaves their coffee cup on someone else’s desk. I was wrong…..so wrong. When I went to pick it up and throw it away, I glanced at the name to see who had been so careless. The name showed ‘Daydreamer’, which was the nickname that he had for me.
I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. I wanted to be angry that he was still trying, even after I have made it clear several times that we are over. But an overwhelming portion of me felt…..giddy. He was trying to woo me. I know, I know. Coffee doesn’t sound like wooing, but trust me, if you knew him, you would know, he was wooing. He doesn’t do romance. Ever. It’s just not in him.
I cried. I sat down at my desk, with a cup of coffee in my hand, and I cried. I know I freaked my boss out, but when she saw what I was holding, she smiled at me and went back to her desk. I don’t know how long I sat there crying, but I finally pulled myself together and got some work done. I felt better, more light hearted, but I was also scared. Could I let him back into my life? I needed time to think without his influence, and you’d all be surprised to hear that just seeing that coffee cup all day sitting there was a huge influence.
I didn’t get that needed time. When I came in on Tuesday, anxiously, my eyes flew to my desk. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew what I got; a small travel first aid kit. Now I know you guys won’t understand why that is significant so I’ll sum up. The first time the both of us were close, I had fallen down the stairs and he had to patch me up. There was also another cup of coffee, and this time it was labeled “Broken Daydreamer”, I didn’t cry as much as I had on Monday, but there were still some tears. How he had come up with something so ridiculous, but so romantic, was surprising, and I couldn’t stop the few tears that leaked out.
On Wednesday, I had a set of matches from Morton’s Steakhouse (Our first real date), and a coffee labeled “Carnivore Daydreamer.” I didn’t cry at all on Wednesday.
Thursday brought a playbill to ‘Wicked’ (the Broadway show he took me to) and a coffee labeled ‘Popular Daydreamer.’ Which, for those of you who have never seen Wicked, is a play on words. My favorite song from the play is called ‘Popular’. On Thursday, I smiled, I smiled a lot. I haven’t smiled that much in a really long time.
By Friday, I couldn’t contain myself driving to work. I was happy, and excited, to see what other trip down memory lane he was going to take me on, but this time there was no paraphernalia from our past, instead there was a solitary rose and a cup labeled “MY Daydreamer”, with lots of lines under the word ‘MY.’ I cried again on Friday, but this time my tears were happy tears, well, happy tears and scared tears.
All of my gifts are on my desk, and to any random person, they wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense, but to me, they are perfect. They give me butterflies in my stomach and they make my heart flutter. I couldn’t even bear to throw the coffee cups away. I rinsed them out and now they are sitting next to my other presents. I love him. I love him so much, and I think it’s time you knew his name.
Followers, the man I’m in love with, his name is Alex, and God, how I love him, but I am so scared. I’m so scared to give him my heart again. I almost didn’t survive the last time. I want to believe he’s sorry, and I want to believe he loves me, but I’m scared. He’s thawing my frozen heart, and I’m letting him. Do I let him? Can I stop my heart from letting him? No. I can’t. That’s the God’s honest truth.
So, there ya have it…. What do you think I should do? Because right now, I’m stumped, I’m terrified, and I’m in love.
Oh! By the way! I found an app, (ironic since I work in the app business), where I can post mini blogs from my phone! Maybe you’ll see more of me than once a week!
Love you all!
Chapter 13
Alex
For the first time in over a month, I was feeling light hearted and, for lack of better words, happy. I was chipping away at the hurt I had caused to Charlotte. I might have an actual chance to make things right with her and finally claim her as my own. Her most recent blog post had made me smile, almost to the the point of pain in my face, and I knew that anyone who might have looked at me as I was reading it, was probably confused as hell. Next time, I thought to myself, next time I’ll postpone the business meeting until after I read anything she writes.
Sitting at my desk now, alone with my own musings, I thought about the last few months. If you had told me six months ago that I would be chasing a fiery haired daydreaming personal assistant to the moon and back, I would have laughed in your face. This was not the Alex Porter people knew.
The Alex Porter that most people knew was a hardass in and out of the office. He was an eternal bachelor and a ladies man to boot. You never saw him with a steady woman on his arm, and you rarely saw him in anything but a full suit and tie. Even though it was highly cliché, all men wanted to be Alex Porter and all women
wanted him.
Why was I talking about myself in the third person? Wasn’t that a psychopathic trait? Even with a fucked up childhood, I wasn’t crazy. I shook away those thoughts and concentrated on Charlotte. My beautiful, wonderful Charlotte. Phase one of my plan had gone better than I had anticipated and I needed to activate phase two as soon as possible. I didn’t want there to be any lapse, or to give her more time to second guess herself. Charlotte was fiercely smart, but sometimes, she could get in her own way.
Picking up my office phone, I punched in the speed dial to Rachel Mansfield’s personal number at Mansfield Management, and waited for the ring. I couldn’t call the regular line, since I knew Charlotte would answer.
“Rachel Mansfield,” she answered.
“Rach, it’s me. Listen, how would you feel about getting lunch?” I asked.
“Hi Alex, nice to hear from you,” she said, mocking my extreme lack of phone manners. Sighing when I didn’t respond to her sarcasm, she continued, “Sure, I’d love to get lunch. When and where?”
“Anywhere away from the offices,” I said. I didn’t want any possibilities of an accidental run in with Charlotte only half way through my grand plans of getting her back. That would ruin everything. I wasn’t a romantic person, but damn if I was going to let the plans I did make be spoiled.
“Is everything alright, A?”
“Never better. I’ll pick you up in an hour,” I said happily into the phone.
I hung up with Rachel as I heard her giggling her goodbyes into the phone. I don’t know what I did or said to make her laugh, but I loved hearing it. She was, by all accounts, my mother. Not biologically, no, but she took me in when no one else would, and I owed her my life and more. Rachel Mansfield made me the man I was, and I could never repay her for her kindness.
The only issue I ever had with her was her stubborn and willful daughter. Ever since Rachel had brought me into the family fold, I had been constantly harassed and seduced by Sarah Mansfield. I tolerated her because of Rachel, but the sound of her voice put my teeth on edge. She was a spoiled child, and as much as she tried to convince me we were perfect for each other, I never gave her the time of day.
Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) Page 7
