by Alex Rosa
“Come Louis, we have sights to see in town and property to view.”
Louis is all too willing to join in the game, leaning over my desk to extend his hand to me.
I open my mouth to counter their abrupt departure, thinking I have so much more to say and sell, not to mention, offer some sort of rebuttal to their slimy attitude. However, Julia comes springing into the conversation, cutting me off.
“—Its been such a delight to see you both. I’m sure Troy and I will devise a sinfully sweet plan to convince you on the potential of this city and our company.”
Damn her.
I plaster on my most charming grin, and reach for Louis’s waiting hand, shaking it firmly, knowing this is me sealing her statement. My guts squirm in prideful rebellion, but my heart beats excitedly at the feeling of actual teamwork.
“Absolument, mon amour Julia and my new friend Monsieur Troy. We look forward to it. You have two weeks.”
Julia extends her hand and, I swear, flicks her hair in such a way that her pheromones hit all three of us like a hurricane as she flashes us a sexy half smile.
She speaks with confidence that can’t be taught, “We won’t need that long.”
As if she spoke in code I don’t understand, I watch both men erupt in maniacal laughter as they make their way to the door to leave. Jacques turns around, his piercing, onyx eyes pinning me to the spot as he says, “Watch it with this one.”
It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Oh, I’m well aware.” It feels like the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
With both men already out the door, her audible huff is what has my eyes springing to hers.
Her lips twitch, as if her mouth is winding up for a verbal pounce.
“—Thank you,” I exhale, speaking before she does.
A small bubble of a gasp escapes her full lips as her face softens, her eyes rounding. The only thing I can do is respond with a smile at the sight. It’s almost cute.
I want to tell her I’m full of surprises, sometimes nasty, but sometimes pleasant, but I don’t.
“Y-you’re welcome,” she chirps, fiddling with her hands. I watch the small bob of her throat as she gulps, and I thoroughly enjoy watching her uneasy reaction at my unexpected gratefulness. Too cute, actually.
She gifts me a soft smile I have not yet witnessed before turning around and leaving my office.
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve won in more ways than one.
Even after leaving Troy’s office my insides burn with anxiety, while at the same time colliding with the misplaced beginnings of infatuation with a man who’s beyond infuriating. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get a grip.
I lift my hand to wipe the beads of sweat forming on my brow, while clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, trying to focus on my designs, but even I know it's a useless attempt to distract.
Maybe it’s his eyes. The way his baby-blues always feel deliberate. I get the sense Troy doesn’t waste anything. Nothing. Not when it comes to his words, his movements, his intentions. So, when his eyes drag heavily over me, I question what he’s playing at. Is he plotting, or appreciating? The dichotomy has me on the edge of my seat, but I swear to God, I will never admit that aloud.
I rub my temples as I stare at the three designs spread out on my desk. Regardless of his awkward “thank you,” if Troy isn’t going to play fair, then I have my own leads to follow and prepare for.
I don’t know what frustrates me more at the moment, the man with the office down the hall or the three illustrations in front of me.
I peer at the time to see it’s nearing seven o’clock. Claire left hours ago. She wished me a cute farewell while I was at the design table furiously coloring each sketch, and offered me a coffee as sustenance. She’s a good assistant and I keep telling myself I need to get to know her better.
The muted hiss of the wind murmuring outside has me thinking the chill tonight might be brutal for me, which will make the journey home torturous for this West Coast gal. I might have to cab it tonight.
I need to choose a design before I leave. The silence outside my office is calming at least, and this should be an easier decision then I’m making it.
After releasing a small huff I whisper, “Okay Jules, if you were a billionaire who likes fast cars and fast woman, and you were coming out with a new restaurant in NYC, which would you choose?”
The sound of short shuffles jolts my body, interrupting my focus. I thought I was alone. My eyes shoot to the doorway as it gets nearer.
I gulp at the adorable sight that appears, the corners of my mouth twitching in such a way that I can’t remember doing since being back home.
A little girl with striking, straight, raven hair to her shoulders and glowing blue eyes in the fluorescents stares up from the doorway, her body half hiding at maybe 3-4 feet tall.
Her lips are wiggling within a timid smile as we acknowledge one another, and I cannot help my mouth spreading into a smile of my own at the sight of her.
“Well, hello there.”
The little girl, as if waiting for this cue all along, making me wonder how long she was staring in the first place, quickly replies, “Hi-hi.”
Her voice is sweet and effortlessly confident for someone so young. I watch her bob on her feet during the small void of silence. I stand from my seat and walk around my desk.
“Would you like to come in?” I ask, gesturing elaborately.
She grins widely, revealing tiny white teeth with a funny gap to the right side of her smile. She strolls inside slowly, but looks around, taking it all in. I watch her with the same interest as I lean back against my desk, wondering to whom this child might belong. It’s so late. Who else is still here? Granted, I haven’t been here that long, and I don’t know too many people in the office within other departments yet.
She stops in front of me and juts out a pudgy arm from her sea green sweater that seems more adult when matched with her petite, designer jeans for a child, but the green does color bring out her bright eyes.
I eye her little hand with pink nail polish on her nails, and this time I do laugh.
Her arm unwavering, she squints up at me. “My parent-th tell me I should always-th th-ay hello.”
The lisp that emerges from her lips only adds to her adorable demeanor. I lean down and kneel in front of her, putting us at eye level. Obviously, I don’t want to be rude.
I curve my hand around hers, shaking it lightly. “Pleasure to meet you.”
As if that was all she needed in the first place, she lets go to begin her exploring, and quickly finds herself at my design table in the corner. She veraciously climbs onto the leather chair in front of it, releasing little huffs as she pulls her body onto the cushion. Her eyes widen with glee as she eyes my large, blank sketchpad, and a messy scattering of markers.
Her eyes tell me she’s found a gold mine, but shocking me still, she fiddles with her own hands as if showing some sort of childlike restraint as she looks over at me graciously. I could get lost in those eyes: innocent and endless.
I decide to read her mind. “You can color if you want. Do you like coloring?”
She nods furiously, grinning again, and that gap in her smile makes me want to giggle every time.
The little girl grabs for the blue marker and uncaps it, staring at it like a pirate would a doubloon.
She begins a long broad stroke on the paper as she says, “My daddy never let-ths me play with his marker-ths.”
As I rise from the floor I nod my understanding of her father’s request. They’re expensive, but replaceable. Her smile and acquaintance is worth more than a costly writing utensil.
Now, not wanting to intrude on her art I stay put as I ask, “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Elizabeth.”
I grin wide. “I love that name. It’s the name of my favorite book character, but she tends to go by Lizzy.”
The sweet girl turns to look at me, her cheeks rosy as she says, “I like that. Lizzy, hmm.” She says it as if testing the name, and then nods her head as if to commit it to memory. I think she enjoys the ‘zz’ sound, finding that she can pronounce it much easier than an ‘s’
“What your name?” she asks.
“My name is Jules.”
“I like you,” she exclaims with conviction.
I let out more strings of laughter, finding this interaction has me forgetting about my hectic day.
My buzzing phone distracts me from the little girl, who promptly goes back to drawing, switching from blue to a yellow marker. I cringe slightly watching her tiny hand press firmly into the pad of paper and the tip of the felt pen smooches into a nub.
I grit my teeth before absentmindedly grabbing for my phone. As quickly as the cringe had come it’s just as quickly replaced with an ear-to-ear grin.
“Who’s Lizzy?” distracts me from my phone. I look up.
My heart’s all a flutter as I try to focus. “She’s a character named Elizabeth Bennet in a book called Pride & Prejudice, but she goes by Lizzy. She’s kind of a spitfire …” I scrunch of my nose, and the girls heavenly giggle emerge from her as I finish with, “… like you!”
I lean over the space between us and boop her on the nose with the tip of my finger, causing her cheeks to swell with unmistakable admiration.
“Who were you texting?” she asks.
Shock and awe that a little girl, who couldn’t be older than seven or eight, knows a term like ‘texting’ becomes evident on my face.
As if I’ve been giving her far less credit then this sweet creature deserves, she continues, “You th-miled big when you grabbed your phone. I’ve seen my mommy do that.”
I nod, trying to find a way to explain myself.
“—Was it a booyyyyy?” she whines, and now my laughter is out of control.
“How old are you … Lizzy!?” I ask dumbstruck and entranced.
She glows at the endearment, as if never having the pleasure of being called a nickname.
“I’m seven!” she squeals.
“You’re too wise!” I quip.
I nod my head and take a second to realize this is the closest I have felt to another human being since hitting the East Coast, and I don’t know whether to weep or laugh more.
“Well …?” she goads, capping her marker.
“If you must know, it was a boy.”
I’m unsure how to explain myself. Noah is so new. I don’t know what to say about him other than I’ve never known anyone to come across so ridiculously charming and can get me to laugh within a text message so soon. How do you explain friendly banter to a child? Or how do you explain a relationship that is merely a seedling, and not even close to a blooming flower, or even a burning forest fire?
I shrug, noting that the promise of seeing him this weekend was confirmed in that last text message, making all the previously stated chaos so worth every agonizing, anxious thought. I can’t wait to actually spend time with someone who, oddly enough, wants to spend time with me.
“Elizabeth!”
My back goes rigid at the sound of the angry, yet seductive brute undertone of Troy Dillinger echoing from down the hall. I look around, scrambling for a way out, and I cannot figure out why. My irrational self considers hiding under my desk just to avoid him, and then it hits me.
I lock eyes with Elizabeth who seems unfazed by the obvious anger being belt out. She handles it like an experienced professional, and if I’m not mistaken her mouth twitches with a smile. The little rascal.
It isn’t until he appears in my doorway that the family resemblance is overwhelming. How could I not recognize the crystal intensity of Elizabeth’s eyes? She’s so obviously her father’s daughter.
I should be stunned, and I am, but I’m distracted by something else.
Troy looks as if he’s run his hands through his hair hundreds of times this afternoon, the gel seemingly rubbed out of his hair, and now lays in soft disarray over his forehead.
I like stoic, put together Troy just fine, but seeing this boyish side is a bit staggering. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
He loosens his tie as he examines the situation, and if I’m not mistaken, blushes slightly.
“Excuse me,” he says with unrecognizable manners as he turns to the design table. “Elizabeth!” he repeats.
A small squeak of a giggle escapes me at his endearing tone. The child’s name, surely a crisp demand, but obviously from a father that would never do a thing to upset his precious child. It’s too cute for words.
The girl lifts her head from her paper. “Look Daddy, Jule-th is letting me color!”
Is there a tone behind that? A little funny snark from someone so young? Who would’ve thought?
It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I think I know where she gets it from.”
He has the decency to laugh, this time pulling his tie completely off with an exhausting, distracting tug. “Yeah, and from her mother.”
“So, you’re married?”
I cover my mouth, turning scarlet. To think I would be embarrassed by my previous sly remark. This is by far worse.
“Sorry, it’s not my business,” I spew, and I want to add that I don’t really care, but for reasons unknown, I don’t.
He smiles knowingly, and I hate him for it. I hate even more how disgustingly charming he looks as he slowly unwinds from the workday. Could he not do that in front of me? I wonder if my struggle is as obvious as it feels. My eyebrows knit together as I watch him. Trying to figure out if the weird tugging feeling low in my belly is the want to pummel him, or something else I’m not willing to acknowledge.
He shrugs, more bashful than I assume he would be, though that smirk remains. “Divorced, actually. You know how it goes.”
Um, no I don’t, but I nod like I do. “Sorry to hear that.”
He shakes his head, as if immediately annoyed by the topic. “I’m sorry Elizabeth got into your markers.”
I wave my hands in front of me, probably a little more erratically than I’d like. “No, no, no. I invited her to color. It’s fine. She’s really adorable. Who knew you’d produce such likable offspring. Maybe I’d like her mother more than you.”
I release a loud cathartic laugh, but just as quickly cover my mouth as I watch Troy roll his eyes.
“Doubtful,” he replies. “I’m only this way because I’m used to dealing with stubborn women.”
My laughter chokes off in my throat as my patience with him evaporates, and a brief silence hangs between us. However, he’s smiling as he fiddles with the tie in his hands.
Damn him. Stop being cute.
It isn’t until we hear Elizabeth’s cherub like laughter that has our eyes leap to hers.
“You two are funny …” she chortles, shaking her head as if privy to her own private joke. Is she seven or thirty-five?
“She’s somethin’,” I say, turning to Troy.
He peers up from his hands, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah she is. Not sure how to handle her. What do you do when your daughter knows more than you before she hits the double-digits?”
For the first time Troy and I share a laugh, and it isn’t until I catch his calculating stare over my body as the corner of the left side of his mouths perks up, that my joints go numb, making me stumble a bit. I reach for my desk behind me, leaning back into it, playing it as cool as my body will allow.
“C’mon Elizabeth, Daddy has to spend the evening finding you a babysitter since Mommy is a raging flake.”
I gulp as I watch Troy take a few steps into my office, and leans over his daughter. Her little arms let go of the pens and stretch wide for him, waiting for her beloved. Troy, with perfect technique, briskly picks up his daughter, bringing her to his chest, and she quickly cuddles into his neck, becoming uncharacteristically shy.
I want to say something in
that moment of awe while witnessing his seemingly natural nurturing sensibilities. I want to tell him that I never pegged him as the fatherly type, but instead I strum my fingertips over my lips, and take a leap I’m sure will end in rejection. However, when someone already hates you, what do you have to lose?
“I could babysit if you need someone.”
Both individuals before me perk up and turn to me.
“Did you just offer to babysit?”
I sigh. “Yeah, I did. When do you need a babysitter?”
“Friday, but I’d hate to interrupt a date you might have.”
His eyes darken as he says it, and I don’t understand his snide tone.
My response comes naturally. “No, I’m seeing him Saturday, actually.”
I watch his eyes frost over as he lifts his stare to make eerie, emotionless contact with mine. “Oh.” His reply is crisp, and I decide this man is as mercurial as the weather. One moment he’s sweetly paternal, and the next moment he’s heartless. Who’s the real Troy?
I shake off his piercing look, wondering why my body squirms with the suspicion that his reaction is only a defensive form of jealousy. However, I know I’m looking into things too much. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he wants this conversation over so he can go home.
My body slumps at the thought. “Seriously though, if you need a babysitter, I really don’t mind.”
Elizabeth silently nods in her father’s arms. My mouth stretches into a smile as I tilt my head in comical recognition.
He looks away, as if to hide his own smile, and I get the sinking feeling that that is the version of Troy he works so hard to hide.
“Are you sure you don’t have big city plans with friends or something? It’s a Friday night, but it would really help me out.”
I release an unladylike huff. “Troy, if you want to know the truth, your daughter is more my first friend in this city than anyone else so far.”
The confession is embarrassing and all I can do is shrug.
He shakes his head back and forth, as if really considering my offer.
