Hostile Contact

by Tamala Callaway

  “That does sound strange, but then again, she seems a bit strange anyway,” he sort of chuckled it off. “Have you eaten anything yet?” he asked.

  She shook her head no. Not sure if she could eat anything while her stomach was tied in knots with worry. Symóne didn't want to take any chances on getting sick and vomiting all over Trevor's immaculate bathroom.

  “How about I make dinner?” he offered.

  “You…cook?”

  “Yes. I know my way around a kitchen. I can definitely put a little something together if you'd like?” he smiled.

  She was glaring at him, disbelieving, as she gave him a once over. The sudden smirk on her face was that of challenge. She had to see this, so she shrugged and got up when he did.

  Trevor waited at the door of the bedroom for Symóne, letting her lead the way to the kitchen. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs at the dining room table. He then unbuttoned his dress shirt and took it off too, leaving on his white undershirt. Symóne had sat on a bar stool at the counter that was directly across the kitchen from the stove top and double wall ovens.

  He took out a tender loin from the fridge, a few large potatoes, two stalks of celery, two carrots, and a bag of green baby Lima beans. Something he had obviously gotten recently for his next meal anyway. After washing off the vegetables and retrieving a cutting board to began preparing dinner, he opened the cupboard beside the fridge and took out a can of broth, a bottle of red cooking wine, and a few seasonings.

  Symóne was impressed with how much Trevor seemed to know how to handle himself in a kitchen. His next move had her wide eyed with her mouth opened in shock. He began to chop vegetables with such care and detail, she figured that he had to have taken a few cooking classes somewhere.

  She had to ask, “Okay, so where did you learn to maneuver so well in the kitchen?”

  “My mother,” he continued to chop, then peeled the potatoes and cut them into medium sized chunks.

  “Your mom? Does she live near here?” she asked.

  “No. I'm originally from Georgia. She lives in Smyrna, but she comes to visit three or four times a year,” he answered, putting the tender loin in the deep baking pan, along with the vegetables, broth, and wine. He then covered the dish with its matching lid and put it into the preheated oven, then turned to face her.

  She looked as though she wanted to know more, but decided not to insinuate she wanted to get to know his story.

  He felt differently and began to tell her a little bit about his life. “I have a brother, he's seventeen and was born with Down Syndrome. My dad passed away ten years ago in a car accident,” he paused because Symóne gasped. She never thought of him as having a real life, family, or anything of the sort. When she looked at Trevor, all she saw was a well dressed, intelligent business man with colleagues. She never thought of him having parents or a brother. He suddenly became human to her; she was intrigued.

  “How did the accident happen?” she asked.

  “I was a Junior in college, here at the University of Texas, and the Longhorns were in the playoffs at the home field. My dad had never been to a college football game and was a fan, no matter who was playing,” he sort of smiled at the thought, then continued. “Since Drew, my brother, was terrified of planes, they decided to take a road trip. Drew was excited to be coming to Texas, mostly to see me. They had planned to stay a few days to do a little site seeing. My brother is a huge fan of lizards and wanted us to have identical pets. So the next day after the game, we went to a pet store that sold bearded dragons and got two, and habitats for them. He was so excited that mom and dad let him get a pet knowing they had a long road trip back home. When they packed up to leave, my mom began the early stages of an anxiety attack. That usually meant something was about to happen, but they were all anxious to get back home. I should have insisted they wait another day, because my mom has a knack for sensing trouble or just the opposite,” he paused, turning to check on dinner. He'd returned to stand on the other side of the counter from her and continued his story, noticing how intrigued she had become.

  “Well, not to go into too many details, an elderly woman was traveling west on the eastbound lane of I-10. It wasn't until the truck in front of their car swerved to avoid the woman, when my dad saw her, but it was too late. With the both of them going about seventy-five in a head on collision, it was a miracle that my mom and Drew survived. My dad died instantly and so did the elderly woman. My mom suffered a broken shoulder and wrist, along with many cuts and bruises to her head, face, and arms. My brother only suffered a few bruises and mental trauma, but he's okay now,” he held back his true emotions and made her a drink. He took out a wine glass and asked her preference.

  “Cranberry cocktail or orange juice and ginger ale?” he smiled at the surprised look on her face.

  “I'll have the cranberry cocktail?” she smiled.

  He reached inside the fridge and grabbed the bottle of juice and poured her and himself a glass, then handed one of the glasses to her. She took a sip and couldn't help but feel relaxed.

  “I don't know why, but this is the best cranberry cocktail I've ever tasted,” she chimed with a giggle. He smiled also and took a sip of his drink as well.

  “I don't drink alcohol, so I don't keep it in the house,” he explained.

  “I used to when I was with…” she withdrew. It was obvious that her past was extremely difficult for her to deal with. The hardened mask returned, but Trevor quickly reacted.

  “You're much too relaxed and fun to be around to need alcohol anyway,” he came to stand right across from her. The only thing between them was the bar counter.

  “So can you tell me a little about yourself—excluding the hard parts?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “There's nothing to tell. I have no one but Faye. She's my family and I earn money talking people through their technical woes,” she shrugged.

  “What about your sketch? You seem pretty decent at that?” he cocked his head to the side sarcastically. She instantly became defensive and snarled her answer.

  “Decent? Excuse me, I can throw down with a pencil and a sketch pad!”

  Trevor chuckled at her rant and nodded in agreement. He turned to check on dinner once more and decided it was ready and took it out from the oven.

  “I'd like to see more, if you have any,” he said without turning to face her. He had placed the dish on the stove top and took off the lid, then began slicing the very moist tenderloin until it was all sliced up.

  “I have so many sketches that I have stacks of them everywhere. Not only do I design interior rooms, but I sketch floor plans and exterior home front elevations as well,” she boasted.

  Trevor took out plates while Symóne spoke and served the food to the plates then took them to the table. Symóne took her glass and turned to join him at the table while he retrieved his own plate and they sat across from one another.

  “I would very much like to see some of them if you don't mind? But, I have to ask you something?” he began as they both began to eat. Symóne was pleasantly impressed with Trevor's cooking skills. He barely made a mess and cleaned as he worked. He was way too perfect to be single and something was definitely up with him.

  “Sure, I don't mind showing you some of them,” she shrugged. “What's your question?” she looked to him.

  “Why aren't you working for a design agency or a builder?”

  “I have my CPA, but I'm working to save for my own business. I didn't want to develop my clientele through someone else and feel like I'm stealing them from whomever I worked for. I want to build from the bottom up,” she explained.

  He seemed to be accepting of her explanation, but wondered how far along had she gotten.

  “What do you need to get started?”

  “Store and office space. Contracts with companies that specialize in furniture, accessories, drapes, and any other items I may need to set up a show room. People need to be able to see thi
ngs in order to want them in their homes. I have to have excellent credit to order those things to sell on consignment. Plus I'll need a business license and insurance. I have a plan, but I really don't want to take out a loan,” she breathed. “I'm almost there, just another two years, and I'll be ready to rock and roll!” she sounded excited.

  The look on her face as she spoke about her dream was breathtaking to him. He smiled at her smile as she drifted into her dreams.

  “Symóne, most people have to take out loans to start a business, or they have financial backing. You shouldn't put your own money into something this big up front unless you have a lot of it,” he began, peaking her curiosity.

  “Yeah well, I've already pitched my business plan to six different banks, and they all say that it's a tough business to get started. I have to continue to build my credit, which is seriously handicapping my funds, and get at least two companies to sign an agreement to work with my business. I can't even get an agreement from two distributors that would make things easier to get a good start. But…I have a strong marketing plan,” she didn't sound discouraged at all. Just anxious to get her business up and running.

  Trevor was thinking—he would be talking to his financial adviser in the morning. Although his firm was flourishing beyond his initial ten year plan, his personal income accounts were seriously bloated. With nothing but a condo and a vehicle to spend his money on, he had nothing else to do with his own money.

  “No!” she screeched loudly, startling him from his thought process.

  “What? What happened?” he looked around for what brought about that reaction.

  “I see that look in your eyes. I don't want your help Trevor. I can do this on my own!” she snapped. Symóne got up and rushed off to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  He decided not to go after her right away, allowing her time to calm down and get past her rant. He took their plates and glasses to the sink to empty and wash. He then put the leftovers in containers and put them in the fridge and wiped down the counters.

  Taking a deep breath, he headed to her room and knocked lightly.

  “Come in,” she muttered, her voice shaky.

  Trevor eased the door open and saw that Symóne was lying across the bed, face down. She sniffled then turned over and sat up against the headboard.

  “I'm sorry if I upset you Symóne. What did I do?” he asked.

  “You were about to make promises that you are sure to break,” she said quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were about to offer to help, weren't you?”

  “Well…yes,” he was confused.

  “I can't deal with another set back Trevor. I'm three years behind my original plan and I just can't deal with this anymore,” she griped.

  “I'm not understanding you Symóne. How would me helping you, set you back?”

  “Brent…promised me the same thing, then took everything I worked for. He had access, because he was adding to my savings, and then the bastard robbed me blind. Eighteen thousand dollars of that money was mine! Most of it was left from Momma's policy…” she cried into her hands.

  Trevor wasn't sure if it was okay for him to comfort her, since she was rebelling against her ex-boyfriend at the moment, but he couldn't bear to see her this way. He moved closer with caution and realized that she hadn't withdrew from him.

  He reached for her hand. “Symóne, I won't use the word promise since you don't trust it, but I'm a man of my word. I have no reason to take advantage of you. I've already built my empire and have everything I could possibly want, except one thing,” he looked away.

  “What in the world do you not have?” she demanded through her sniffles.

  “Someone to share everything with,” he said softly.

  Symóne frowned. How could someone as together as Trevor, not have someone to share his life with? What was wrong with him that no one would find everything he had to offer, attractive? She thought to herself.

  “Why not?” she questioned.

  “Not that there haven't been offers, but I wasn't ready until now,” his tone was insinuating.

  It was quiet for a long moment. Symóne looked away just as Trevor looked up at her. He scooted a little closer, but when she leaned away, he returned to his position.

  “Symóne…”

  “It's late. We have to get up early,” she interrupted him. She pulled back the covers and slid her legs down under them. He didn't push, just got up and walked toward the door.

  “Good night,” he spoke softly.

  She turned over and pulled the covers up to her face. He turned off the light and pulled her door closed and went into his bedroom.

  He checked her phone for more messages, seeing there were more, a lot more. They were threatening, so he called to file a report. There was a protocol to handling these type situations. Notifying law officials would make it an official complaint so that if this person were to make a move that endangered Symóne, self defense would be lawful.

  He showered and went to bed thinking good thoughts. He at least made great headway with her, since she was now sleeping in his condo.

  Chapter 7

  Morning came and Trevor's wake up call came through. He yawned big while stretching, then sat up and rubbed the palms of his hands across his eyes. He suddenly remembered that he wasn't alone, then wondered how late did Symóne sleep, or was she already awake? He didn't want to be rude or invasive by rushing to her room, and he really needed to relieve his bladder. He did that first then afterwards, crossing in front of the large vanity mirror in his bath, realized that he'd better brush his teeth and finger through his hair before he checked on her.

  Not wanting to waste too much time, he ultimately did rush to her door and knocked, calling out to her.

  “Symóne…are you awake?”

  He heard her yawn and get to her feet. He stood at the door waiting as her approach was apparent by the sound of her slippers scuffing across the floor with every step. The door knob turned and she pulled it open just enough to get an eye full of his bare chest and pajama bottoms draping across his bare feet.

  “Good morning,” he smiled at her wildly tousled hair.

  She quickly raised her hand over her mouth and spoke without breathing. “Morning,” she mumbled behind her hand. She turned and rushed to the bathroom and he left her to get ready while he got dressed for work as well.

  Surprisingly, she was ready when he was, and they headed out together along with the body guard that had changed out with Blake last night.

  “Are you ready to talk business yet?” he asked her.

  “What business?”

  “You starting yours, and me investing in a sure thing,” he smiled.

  “How can you be sure that I'm a sure thing?”

  “Your sketches alone give me confidence. Now, your people skills are a little on the needs work side, but your talent can't be denied or ignored,” he explained.

  Symóne snorted at the people skills jab, but knew that Trevor was right. She did need to become more sociable…likable, if she wanted to develop a relationship with clients that would get her word of mouth promotion. She inhaled and nodded in agreement.

  “So…does this mean we can work out an agreement?” he asked, noticing she hadn't shot him down just as she had last night.

  “We'll talk. No promises,” she tried not to smile. It was becoming more difficult to deny the trust she felt for this man. No matter what else was going wrong in her life, she felt safe in his presence. Now she needed to deal with Faye and let her in on the progress she's made with Trevor and get it over with.

  He pulled into the parking lot where Faye was waiting by her car, sort of happy and mad at the same time. When Symóne got out and started toward her, Faye rushed over to her.

  “What is wrong with your phone? I called you six times last night and twenty times this morning. It's going straight to voice mail!”

  Symóne sighed, “The texts kept coming
through, so Trevor has it now to see if he can get it traced again. He said I should get a new one with a new number,” Symóne responded calmly.

  She hooked her arm under Faye's and started walking with her. She missed her friend and actually wanted to talk for once. As they continued up the sidewalk, Symóne randomly glanced back over her shoulder at Trevor with a partial smile on her face. He'd wink, then look down at his tablet while walking a few paces behind them whenever Faye would look back. It was funny to him, but he let Symóne be the one to determine the status of whatever it was they had together.

  The girls reached the coffee shop and stood in line as they always had before, chatting away.

  “So did you get a piece of that?” Faye got right to the point.

  Symóne gasped and glared at her. “Faye! Really?” she was offended.

  She barely knew this man and didn't want him to over hear her friend being fresh. Instinctively, she looked around herself for any sign of Trevor, since he was known for sneaking up behind her in the coffee shop. Surprisingly, he wasn't there so she figured he had gone up to his office to get to work.

  Faye elbowed her out of her trance. “Well? Did you at least see him naked?” she pressed.

  “Not exactly,” she smiled and her mind drifted to this morning, seeing him in pajama bottoms only. His body was that of an athletic man, but could have come from working out at the gym three to four times a week.

  “Not exactly? How much of him did you see?”

  Symóne shrugged, but a blushing smile crept through.

  “He came to my room to wake me up this morning, wearing only pajama pants,” her smile grew.

  “Ah hah! I see that wicked bitch smile has returned. I'll bet Mr. Harrison is bringing that sexy back!” Faye chimed, leaning against Symóne as they both began to rile up before breakfast.

  “Well…he is smexy. I could stand to look at that every day!” she giggled.

  “What the hell is smexy?” Faye cocked her head to the side in confusion.

  “Smart and sexy. My two favorite traits in a man,” Symóne chimed.