by Kade Charest
Derrick let go of the knob. He backed up and hit the wall opposite the door, sliding down to a crouching position. He would wait. It was really his only option. He had fucked up a lot, and now he needed to wait for her.
He’d been waiting for years. What was a little more time?
Taylor had combed and dried her hair, taken all the clothes out of the bag and refolded them, put them back in, flipped through a thousand stations on the TV, and now she was sitting on the bed and stewing in anger.
And she had killed maybe two hours at most.
Her plan was to sit and think this whole situation through, really get a strategy together to handle everything, but now her stomach was growling. She was going to have to give in on this one. Despite how much she wanted to sit and be mad and formulate a perfectly fantastic plan on how to save Preston Corp. and not marry Derrick, the fact was she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. She couldn’t fix the world on an empty stomach; there had to be a kitchen somewhere in this place, and she was going to have to find it.
When Taylor opened the door, she jumped back about four feet. Derrick was slumped on the floor across from the door, elbows braced across his knees, his head hanging low.
He looked up, and they stared at each other for a second. Taylor’s stomach growled crazy loud, and Derrick’s eyes went to her abdomen, his eyebrows raised.
“Where’s the kitchen?” Taylor demanded.
Derrick sighed and stood up. He took a step toward Taylor, and it took everything in her power to stand still. She wanted to maintain distance from him, but stepping back showed fear, and she was not afraid of Derrick. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. Taking a breath, he did it again. It seemed he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get it out. Finally he shook his head and turned away, leaving whatever he wanted to say unspoken.
“This way,” he said, leading Taylor down the hallway with a wave.
Taylor followed behind, looking at her feet as they plodded down the hardwood hall. When they got to stairs, she looked up and stopped in shock.
They were one floor up, and the level they were on overlooked an open floor plan below. There were floor-to-ceiling two-story windows all around the space looking out over the L.A. skyline. Beyond the windows was an outdoor balcony that appeared to wrap around the entire apartment. The interior was bright, thanks to the natural light from the windows, enhanced with rich hardwoods and warm neutral paint tones.
Derrick stopped on the stairs to look at her, “What?”
“This place is gorgeous,” Taylor whispered to him.
He smiled slightly before turning back. “I like it,” he said, continuing down the stairs.
Taylor broke from her trance and followed him downstairs to a kitchen that was just as warm and beautiful as the rest of the apartment.
Derrick opened the fridge and pulled out a tray of fruit and cheese then set it on the granite island.
Taylor slid into one of the high-back distressed leather stools and plucked some grapes from the platter. “Thanks.”
“We need to talk,” Derrick said, sliding crackers onto the counter as Taylor stuffed her face with all the grapes she could get her hands on.
Taylor kept chewing and ignored Derrick, instead looking over her options on the fruit tray. She reached out for some cantaloupe, and Derrick slid the tray away.
She threw him the meanest look she could manage and took her time chewing and swallowing the food she managed to grab.
“What would you like to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Can we move on?”
Derrick huffed in frustration. “No,” he said shortly. “Goddamn it, Taylor, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about bringing you back. I’m sorry about your phone. I’m sorry for not calling—”
“Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. She didn’t want to go there, all the way back there. She didn’t want to think about anything back there. “I get it. No problem. Now give me the food,” she said, reaching out.
“No,” Derrick said, annoyed. He was gripping the tray so hard his knuckles were white. “See, it would be fine if that was the truth and it was okay, but it’s not.”
“What do you want from me, Derrick?” Taylor questioned in frustration. “Want me to buy a billboard and say it’s okay? Fine, write a check to my company and we will get it done because you would have to pay for it anyway!”
“What I want is to explain! What I want is to apologize!”
“You did apologize!” For the love of Pete, this was becoming annoying.
“And now I want to explain.”
Taylor leaned forward, grabbed the edge of the tray, and pulled it out of his grip and toward her so she could grab an apple. “No,” she said simply.
“No?”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Taylor said. “Let’s move on.”
Derrick moved quickly. One second he was across the island from her, and the next he was spinning her stool around and caging her in with his arms.
“I am done asking for permission,” he said tersely. “I found you because I needed to know you were okay.”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Derrick,” she emphasized. If he uttered one more syllable, she was ready to cover her ears, however childish that might be.
“Too bad, Taylor!” Derrick yelled. “You know what? I want to move on from it too, but we need to talk about this first.”
Taylor sat as far back in the stool as she could, folded her arms over her chest, and looked off to the side. He could talk, but she wasn’t going to listen, or at least she was going to pretend not to listen.
“That night after my mom died—”
The mere mention of the memory had Taylor pushing Derrick with all her might. She caught him off guard, and he went flying, hitting the opposite counter. Taylor got up and put herself on the other side of the island.
“Taylor!” Derrick called after regaining his balance. He moved to come after her.
“No! You don’t get to just bring up shit that I want to forget!”
“We need—”
Taylor stamped her feet, very maturely of course, and lost it. “I am so, so sick of everyone telling me what I need! I have been in a bubble my entire life! And even when I tried to escape and leave it behind, I just put myself into another damn bubble, hiding from it all! And now all anyone can do is tell me what I need to do for Preston Corp! Fuck off!”
She wasn’t going to cry. In fact, she chanted Don’t cry over and over in her head. But the tears came anyway.
“Taylor,” Derrick said and stepped toward her. Taylor stepped back, still trying to hold her ground. She didn’t want Derrick anywhere near her at that moment. But when Derrick reached her and pulled her into his arms, she realized she might not want him close but she needed the comfort he offered. She couldn’t help it; she melted.
All the tension and stress she was holding in her body came out in the tears. And it wasn’t just the current situation, but the years of drama and trauma and death had taken their toll too. Soon she was shaking as she fisted her hands into Derrick’s shirt and drenched it with her tears.
Through her sobs, Taylor said, “I don’t want to do this.”
“I know,” Derrick said. “I’m so sorry.”
And really that was all he could say, because there was no way out for her, and if anyone would know that, it was Derrick. He was her only ally in this charade they were playing.
“I just want to make my own decisions. I want to run my life. I want to figure out what is right or wrong for me on my own,” she said, head still burrowed.
“So do it,” Derrick answered simply.
Taylor pulled her head back and evaluated Derrick to see if he was on the same planet as she was. When she confirmed he was, she gave him the are-you-crazy look.
“Start making decisions that work for you,” Derrick answered. “Yes, you need to run Preston Corp., but you don’t even know th
at you won’t do well at it. You just feel like you can’t because you haven’t been given permission.”
Taylor did not want anything Derrick said to make sense. If it made sense it just validated the fact that he understood her, and then they would be on a level playing field. And she had made him the enemy.
But he was right.
And as much as Taylor wanted to go it alone, she knew how hard that was. She had done it for years. And this wasn’t just hiding in a coffee shop; this was taking on a corporation that possessed worldwide power.
“Run your life, Taylor. Don’t run from it.”
“I’m not running.”
“You got a wig, glasses, and colored contacts, moved halfway across the country, and changed your name,” Derrick gently reminded her.
Taylor pushed herself away from him and walked over to the closest wall of windows, taking in the view. She touched the glass. The cool surface was soothing to her hot palm, so Taylor rested her forehead on it, trying to focus her thoughts.
“Let me help you, Taylor. Let me be there for you.” Derrick pleaded softly behind her.
Taylor closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “You hurt me, Derrick,” she said, turning toward him and opening her eyes. “And not just once.”
Derrick nodded. “I know, but I want to explain.”
Taylor turned her forehead back against the glass and looked down, shaking her head. This was not an answer to her troubles now.
“It will help you to understand where I was at. And before you say it, I know that it doesn’t make it right, any of it. It was wrong, but I am not that kid anymore, Taylor. And you know,” Derrick paused, searching for the words, “that stuff I said about not knowing you, when I was a kid, I didn’t mean it. I was mad, and I just, I don’t know—”
“Just prove it to me now, then,” Taylor countered, silencing him. She turned to him again, “Because I am tired of reliving the past.” He was right—she was in charge, and she was calling the shots in her life, starting now.
Derrick looked in her eyes, searched them. “You gotta stop treating me like an asshole then,” he finally said.
Taylor was mulling that over when the buzzer went off, sending her jumping. Derrick looked over at the door, complete irritation in his features. And then the buzzing sounded again, and again, and then longer. The intercom kept buzzing with only the slightest pause, the shrill sound filling the apartment. Derrick stiffened and stalked over to the wall.
Jabbing a tense finger in the intercom, he barked, “Yeah.”
A bored and irritated voice came back, “Express delivery.” The voice was all yeah-you-ordered-it-and-now-I’m-waiting.
“Come up,” Derrick replied through his teeth, apparently not pleased by the interruption or the lack of apology from the delivery person. He turned to Taylor, “I am going to handle this. Go watch TV. You can’t be seen from there.”
“Can’t be seen?”
“Nobody is supposed to know you’re back yet, right?” Derrick reminded her.
“Oh yeah,” Taylor said and turned, heading to the room with couches and chairs that looked like a TV should be in there, but she couldn’t find it. There were remotes on the coffee table, though, so it had to be here somewhere, right? She picked up one of the remotes and hit TV On. The artwork on the wall disappeared, and the TV glowed in its place. Taylor smiled in spite of herself. She had one of these at home and had forgotten all about it. Then she froze as she realized by home she meant the mansion. She had not considered that place home in a long, long time.
God, she really was back, she realized as she dropped onto the couch.
Taylor was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the doorbell, only the bored-with-life messenger’s voice. “You Mr. F?” the bored voice asked and then was followed by, “Hey, you’re—” That must have been when Mr. Personality looked at Derrick and recognized him, but he was cut off. Taylor heard the sound of something falling.
Taylor leaned back and could see just far enough to glimpse the scene in the other room. Derrick’s hands were gripping both sides of the messenger’s jacket, holding him off the ground, the kid’s feet dangling on the floor.
“If you ever,” Derrick ground out, “hit a buzzer like you have the answer to jeopardy again, I will break all your fingers. Do. You. Understand. Me?”
The messenger said nothing. Derrick shook him a little and then started to rattle off, “I, ah, I just wanted, uh … you ordered it express, and they said.”
“And,” Derrick continued talking over the stuttering kid, “if you don’t straighten up your fucking attitude, I will make sure that you are fired and not hired by any messenger service in the continental and non-contiguous United States. Am I clear?”
“Crystal, sir,” he responded, this time not missing a beat.
Derrick set the kid down, and the messenger scrambled to retrieve the dropped package, handing it to Derrick with shaky hands. Once he’d passed it off, he backed slowly out of the apartment, “Don’t I have to sign?” Derrick asked in sarcastic tone.
“Uh yeah, oh, sorry. Just sign, I mean, please sign right here, sir.” The kid stuttered through it, and Taylor bit her lip as she watched the whole thing unfold. When Derrick thrust the signature device back at him, the kid turned and ran.
Derrick turned around, and Taylor spoke before she could even help herself, “You are mean, Fletcher. That kid is going to piss himself in the elevator now.”
Derrick still looked monumentally aggravated, “Good.”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “When did you get such a mean streak?” she asked and looked back at the TV as a laugh track went off on whatever sitcom Taylor had landed on.
Derrick started laughing as he caught the next line from the show on his way to sit in the living room with Taylor. Taylor looked over at him as he watched the show. His face was relaxed now, the most carefree she had seen it since last night. He looked so much like he did when they would watch movies together as kids, when they had been friends.
He turned and saw her looking at him. “Taylor, I really think we should talk, clear the air—”
Taylor held up one hand to silence him. “No, Derrick. I can’t go there. That is a time filled with all kinds of things I can’t deal with right now.”
“You can’t just sweep it under the rug, Taylor. It happened, and we should talk about it if we are going to move forward with this—”
“Look,” Taylor cut in, looking at him wild-eyed and agitated. “I’m not going there. Period. I have to move away from it so that I can focus on all this,” she said, making a sweeping motion with her hand. “So please—”
“I thought you were going to stop running, Taylor,” Derrick prodded her softly. He was hitting a nerve, and he knew it. Taylor scowled at him, mouth closed, nostrils flaring, and finally Derrick passed the delivered package to her. “Here, I got this for you.”
Taylor raised her brow as she accepted the box that had just been delivered. “What is it?”
“Taylor,” Derrick said in mock annoyance, “you have to open gifts. You don’t just tell the person what it is. Jeez, has it been that long since you’ve gotten one?”
Taylor tried to remember the last time she had gotten a gift.
“It’s a peace offering. Now open it,” Derrick said, sounding really annoyed and tapping his foot.
The box was about four inches wide and six inches long. Taylor flipped it back and forth between her hands, examining it from all sides, but the packaging was blank and gave nothing away. Carefully she ripped the seam of the packaging open and revealed a brand new iPhone. She looked up at Derrick in surprise.
“I’m sorry I broke your phone,” he said sheepishly. “I wanted to replace it and bring you into this century.”
Taylor smiled, but she tried to hide it and looked back down at the box, “I am in this century just having a cell phone, goober,” she retorted softly.
“Well, this year then,” he said.
Taylor loo
ked at him, knowing it was time to move forward. “Will you show me how to use it?”
Derrick looked surprised. “Yeah sure, but its, uh, it’s the new iPhone. It isn’t that different from the other iPhones—”
“Derrick, I have avoided any and all TV, radio, newspapers, and other forms of communication since I left. This,” she said, holding up the box, “is something I avoided. On purpose. I also only worked part time so I could not afford luxuries like this. The track phone you smashed was cheap, and sometimes I had no money to buy minutes for that because I had to pay for heat, so I am completely and truly out of touch.”
Derrick looked back at Taylor like she had slapped him again. “Heat? Jeez, Taylor, what about food? Did you have enough for that? Is that why you are so thin, could you even afford to eat?”
“Yes, I had enough to eat,” she replied, looking intently at her new phone. Though she hated to admit it, her appetite was always a little lacking, and that kept her from eating a whole lot. The stress of being seen, noticed, or found was always looming in the background, and it gave her indigestion.
“Why did you do that to yourself?” he asked in a whisper, still looking at her in disbelief.
Taylor stared back. “It was so freeing, Derrick. To be responsible for myself, to have to be the one to take care of me and not have to depend on others. Nobody telling me what to do, nobody following me, nobody messing with my stuff. It was complete and total independence, and I loved it,” she said. It saddened her to realize that luxury, the freedom of not having everything micromanaged was gone. “So,” she said to him, holding up the box, “show me.”
“Yeah,” he nodded to her, still appearing to take in what she had said. “You know you can still have all that independence. Like I said, you’re in charge—do it how you want.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “It’s different here. I have to do certain things a certain way, I have to act a certain way.”
“No, you’re in charge, Taylor,” he reminded her.
