by Lisa Heaton
As they ate, John explained some of his ideas for how he would utilize her at work. Primarily, he wanted her to oversee charitable contributions, as he was determined to make a shift in the way he was currently donating. She was to do the research on each organization, ensuring they were reputable, and provide recommendations to him and Mark regarding what percentage of the whole they should give to each. Her responsibilities would also include following through with how the money was utilized and reporting back that information. Another idea he had was that she find something that the staff could be a part of. After such gratification while helping in even a small way in Sydney, John had a sense that most everyone would feel the same if given the opportunity to reach out to others.
“You do understand, this is just through April?”
A lump formed in Chelsea’s throat and she dropped her fork. Everything she was feeling, even the afterglow of his kiss diminished. Once again, he had to remind her of their terms. Of course she understood. He made sure of it. “I understand.”
From that point on, her lunch did not taste quite as good. The excitement she felt over the internship was overshadowed by the fact that he felt it necessary to remind her so often. She knew. She knew.
Back at the KI building, Chelsea was given a small cubicle on the same floor where John’s office was located. From that point forward, Irene helped her get her desk set up and ready to work, providing her with a computer and a phone. After that Chelsea was on her own to figure things out. Mostly, her research would be done online, so technically, she needed little else and had no reason to interact with others around her. Immediately, she felt like an island, excited, but a bit awkward as people tried to not-so-subtly find out what she did for KI. There were many questions, ones she wasn’t able to answer. The more she tried to dodge how she landed the internship, the more suspicious she must have seemed.
Later in the afternoon, she was called into a meeting with John and several other executives. Prior to walking into the meeting, he whispered to her, “You are just here to listen and learn. Anything you don’t understand or have questions about, write it down and we’ll discuss it later.” Other than those words, he didn’t address her at all throughout the meeting. Instead, he was more like the man she watched during the meetings in Sydney. Just as there, she could see that John commanded the respect of everyone in the room.
Mark was there, and just as their meeting had been that first time, their encounter this day felt a bit uncomfortable. Though she was certain no one else in the room knew the circumstances of their “arrangement,” Mark knew, and that caused Chelsea to feel a bit embarrassed. He was very kind, though, and seemed much more pleasant than that first meeting, but the fact that he knew would certainly keep him from taking her seriously. For as long as Chelsea was at KI, she had a sense that she would always feel like a fraud rather than someone who deserved the position. That feeling put a damper on her spirits nearly as much as the reminder that John felt obligated to give.
Over the next two weeks, Chelsea’s time at work was similar to her first day. She eagerly researched possibilities for donations, and every day John would send for her to attend one meeting or another. For the most part, he hardly ever addressed her while a meeting was in progress, but later in the afternoon, he would answer any questions she may have stemming from what she had heard. Next, they would discuss her research. The charities she suggested ranged from local Christian based-meal programs to clean water campaigns in Africa.
During that time, they saw each other frequently outside of the office. They attended one dinner party that was clearly business, one birthday party, again, business, but other than those, they mostly had dinner alone. Usually, he’d call at the last minute to see if she was available. He worked each night until at least seven. Not once had she known him to leave any earlier than that, and more often than not, he stayed until nine or past ten. What she at first deemed being driven, she presently considered being a workaholic. There was no other person at the company who arrived before John or left after him. Mark left at a normal hour along with everyone else, but John felt, for some reason, compelled to remain.
One night while she was cooking dinner for herself, he called to see if she wanted to have dinner out. When she told him she was cooking and invited him over, he seemed eager to come. She had never offered to cook for him since that would be outside the bounds of their agreement. She had feared he would detect the depth of her feelings for him if she made such an offer, but his call at just the right time made it a casual invitation rather than something that might seem more romantic in nature.
When John walked through the door, the aroma of garlic and onion in the air took him back to the smells of home. In that moment, he was amused by how often Chelsea reminded him of his mother. Decades apart in age, still, they were similar women in many ways, especially the ones that mattered. Walking into the kitchen, he found her there shucking corn. Smiling at her, he said, “Hi, farmer’s daughter.”
“Hi, rancher’s son.” She grinned at him. There he was looking as if he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine and nothing like a rancher’s son. He was still wearing his jacket, which he normally shed as soon as he walked through the door. When he walked nearer and moved in to kiss her on the cheek, she tilted her head allowing him easier access. Something about the gesture shook her up on the inside. It was the most natural thing in the world to be making dinner for John. It seemed just as natural for him to come in from work and kiss her hello. How could he not see the intimacy that was forming? Sure, there was no physical intimacy, but there was a connection between them, something so comfortable and familiar that he had to take note of it.
Opening the oven door, the smell of chicken pot pie cooking in an iron skillet washed over him. “My mother makes hers in a skillet, too.”
“So does mine.” Handing him an ear of corn, she said, “I have a feeling your mom has handed you an ear or two of corn to shuck.”
“You better believe she has. When I was little, I can remember standing on a stool by the kitchen counter trying my best to get the silks off. They always frustrated me.”
“They frustrate everyone.”
Taking his corn and those she had already shucked, she rinsed and dried them, then placed them in a plastic bag, poured olive oil on them, and rolled them around so they were all evenly coated. Placing the bag in the microwave, she found him watching her intently. “You’ll see. It’s good this way.” Handing him plates and silverware, she sent him out to set the table.
The meal was wonderful. Another victory over his mother’s cooking, and he told her so. As they ate, John watched her every move, hardly believing how he felt when he was with her, hardly believing she was so young. Soon after meeting her, he knew she was an old soul. He didn’t know many other women her age, really only Megan and Brittney, but he knew Chelsea was tremendously mature for her age. Mark’s girls were nowhere near as mature. Maybe being raised with such excess was to blame. While Mark and Karen raised them well, Chelsea’s upbringing on a farm made her an entirely different young woman. She was remarkable in every way.
Since she had been at the office daily, he had the opportunity to evaluate her skills in business. She was astute to be sure. Never once did he doubt her ability to do any job set before her. Her insight over most matters surprised him. When they met each afternoon, rather than asking questions as she did at first, she began to make observations and assessments. He was extremely proud of her. Still, if there was any fault to be found, it was the fact that she was much too kind. In comparison with many women executives he had known, Tracy included, Chelsea was maybe a little too timid to meet a man across a boardroom and gain his respect.
What she had gained, though, was the attention of many of the younger men at the office. Every single man under forty was interested. It was a source of constant wonder as to the relationship between Chelsea and John. Some supposed her to be his niece or maybe a family friend. He knew this becau
se Irene kept him apprised of the water cooler talk. Of course Irene never divulged their relationship to anyone, since, as she put it, she wouldn’t begin to know how to explain it. For John, as much as he laughed such talk off when Irene told him about it, inside, it really was beginning to bother him. What if someone asked her out and she accepted? That would make for an awkward work environment, dating two men at the same company. He mostly convinced himself that she’d never consider such a thing, but the possibility still came to mind from time to time. Out of fear of that happening, he was sure to be around much more for her. Looking for any occasion to ask her to dinner or for her to accompany him to a party, he hoped to keep her busy enough so that she wouldn’t feel it necessary to date.
After dinner and once the dishes were done, they sat together on the sofa. John had been wondering when he might receive an invitation to hear her sing at church. So he asked, “When will you be singing?”
“This weekend. Are you coming?”
“You better believe it.” It was Thursday, so it was not so far away. “Do you get nervous before you sing?”
“No. I used to when I was younger, but not anymore.”
“How long have you sung in church?”
“Since I was seven.”
“Seven? Who sings in church at seven?”
“Chelsea Whittaker, that’s who.” While they were talking, he reached over and moved her bangs out of her eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever done so, but this time, it felt distinctly intimate. There was that feeling of relationship again. Quickly, she looked down, fearing he would see her all googlie-eyed over him. It was one of those perfect moments where, if it had been a movie, he would have leaned in and kissed her softly. The thought of it caused her to look back up at him and wish he would. Instead, he said the one thing that could ruin what had been the most magical evening they had ever shared together.
“We only have a month before school begins. We should do some traveling.” And then he added, “There are so many places I’d like to show you before April.”
Immediately tears began to sting her eyes. Unwilling for him to see how his words affected her, she stood quickly. “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
When she jumped up the way she did, John could see something was clearly the matter, but he hadn’t a clue what. “Doing what?”
“You don’t have to remind me over and over that this will end in April. I get it!” Her last words were sharper than she intended. Softening her tone a bit, she added, “You don’t have to worry about me hanging on once our agreement expires. I can think of no other reason you would feel the need to constantly bring it up.” Already, she was moving to her small desk. It sat behind the loveseat that ran at a right angle near the sofa where John was still sitting. Taking out a sheet of paper, she began rummaging around, looking for a marker.
Shocked by her outburst, John stammered, “I didn’t really mean it as a reminder. I’m sorry.” Actually, the more he thought about it, maybe he did. Maybe he needed the reminder as much as he feared she did. Just the fact that he was there for a home-cooked meal and afterwards he was nestled in on the sofa with her proved it. Since returning from Sydney, he needed the reminder daily.
“Trust me; I know this is not real,” she snapped again. “You’ve made that perfectly clear from the very beginning.” She found the large black marker and began to write.
The smell of the marker wafted through the air. He could only wonder what she was writing, but wouldn’t dare ask. Having never seen her angry, or more likely hurt, he could only appreciate how she was so willing to speak her mind. Wasn’t that what he wanted for her, to find her voice? Only once had she come close to doing such a thing, and this time, she had certainly found her voice. Intrigued, he continued to watch her as she took the paper, spun around, and marched off to the kitchen. Once in there, he heard the distinct sound of duct tape unwinding. Curious beyond what he was able to bear, he stood and walked into the kitchen. She was taping a note to the refrigerator that read: John and Chelsea expire on 4/19.
Slapping the note twice, she offered, “There. Problem solved.” The look of regret in his eyes caused her to regret her outburst. Never had she thought he was saying those things to hurt her. Always she knew he was trying to protect her feelings. Clearly, her growing feelings for him had been obvious for some time. But if it concerned him so much, then why had he so willingly drawn nearer? And he had. Prior to their trip, he would have never come for dinner or stopped by just to invite her to dinner. Things were different. He was different. He was taking as many steps toward her, maybe even more, as she was toward him.
The sight of their expiration date caused his heart to plummet into his stomach. As much as he intended on sticking to the contractual end date, the sight of it in writing affected him more than he could have anticipated. Reaching for it, he said, “Don’t.”
She moved his hand, and with her voice barely above a whisper, said, “Leave it. I will see this every day, so you’ll never need to remind me again.” Leaving him there, she moved through the living room and toward the large doors leading out to her balcony. Knowing that tears would soon come, she wanted to be as far away from him as she could when that happened. She’d already made a fool of herself. If he saw her cry, she would feel even more humiliated.
For a moment more, John stood looking at the note on the refrigerator. Certainly, he’d never meant to hurt her. He never intended to feel what he felt for her, and he never intended for her to care about him the way her actions demonstrated. Still, no matter their feelings, it would have to end. It was ridiculous to think otherwise.
Finding her out on the balcony, he walked over and stood beside her. He leaned with his forearms against the railing and looked out over the landscape of Beverly Hills, sighing heavily. Without turning to look at her, he offered, “I’m very sorry I hurt you. I’ll never say it again.” Adding to his apology, he admitted, “I guess it was a reminder for both of us. But I never intended it to hurt you. I wanted to protect you.”
Hurriedly, she wiped a tear from her cheek before he could see it. His voice was soft and his words sincere. “I know you never meant to hurt me. But every time you bring up April, it makes me feel disposable. I hate that feeling.” Wiping her face again, she offered, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I was so proud that you said what you felt.” Reaching for her hand, he squeezed it, saying, “Chelsea, you’re anything but disposable.” That word rang again in his head. Chelsea wasn’t the first woman he made feel that way. Before, though, he honestly didn’t care. He could truly dispose of any woman without ever looking back. It was different with her. Just the idea that he made her feel that way caused him to physically ache inside. In that moment, he had a choice to make. Because she had developed feelings for him, just as he had for her, the wisest choice would be to simply walk away. No matter what he felt, there was no future for them, so to continue on would only bring her more pain in the long run. But the one time she dared to look up at him, those big brown eyes melted any resolve he may have had. Willing to do just about anything, he said, “Tell me what you want from me.”
She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. For just a moment, she feared voicing her hopes. What if she told him what she wanted and he walked away? What if it all ended that night and she never saw him again? Finally, no matter the possible outcome, she admitted, “I want this to be real. Even though I know it can’t be forever real. For now, I want it to be real.” When he slid his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, she said, “I like being with you, and I know you like being with me. If we have parameters set, why then can’t this be a real relationship? I want to know who I am to you. I hate to hear you introduce me as, ‘This is umm, Chelsea.’” What was first amusing soon became something that caused her a great deal of embarrassment.
She said it in a mocking tone, making him sound like a caveman. He actually found it rather humorous. Smiling,
he asked, “Is that what I sound like?”
Smiling back, she said, “That’s often what you sound like. There is this uncomfortable moment where you don’t know how to introduce me, and then once you do, everyone looks at me like, what is an umm Chelsea? At the office, I can hardly find honest excuses to turn down dates. I can’t exactly say I’m in a relationship, because I’m not. I don’t know what I am except your intern or your escort.”
John flinched at the mere possibility of her accepting a date from someone at work. The thought of her out with any other guy made him suddenly willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. Turning her to face him, he cupped her face in his hands. Softly, he asked, “What do you want to be?”
Without hesitation, Chelsea admitted, “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine, at least for now.”
He wanted that, too, but he knew how dangerous it would be for both of them. Already, their feelings were beyond what they agreed. How could they settle into a temporary relationship without being realistic enough to know how painful it would be to walk away from each other? “That’s what I want too, but Chelsea, if we do this, do you understand how hurtful it may be…” He didn’t dare mention April. Instead, he said, “This can’t be forever. I never intend to marry again. I’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”
“I know that. But it can be for now. No one goes into any relationship with the certainty of forever. For us, we just happen to know our end date. Honestly, it’ll hurt now or then. Can’t we just enjoy being together now?”
“There’s nothing I want more.” Pulling her into his arms, he held her tightly. Warning bells sounded loudly in his head. What a foolish thing to agree to. But the feel of her against him caused the alarm to fade quickly into the background of his mind. As much as he tried to ignore it, he’d often wondered what it would feel like to hold her, to really hold her, for more than comfort as he had in Vegas and the day he first brought her to the condo. Tonight, he held her intimately, with a different meaning entirely. With her so near, the sensation of it was beyond what he expected. He was at peace. Everything about Chelsea felt so right, even when he knew it could only be wrong.
