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Exhaling, she shakes her head slightly, whispering. “No. I used to work with her.”
“Charlie.” The woman’s voice is louder now, even though we’re no more than five feet from her, drawing attention from people at the nearby tables. “I’ve been so worried about you. How are you doing?”
Charlie straightens her shoulders and meets the blonde woman’s curious gaze. “I’m okay.” She pauses, forcing a weak smile. “How are you?”
“I was going to call you,” the woman says. “But then I thought you might not want to talk to anyone from work, that it might make you uncomfortable.”
The tension is radiating off Charlie in waves. “It’s fine.”
“Lydia.” It’s the blonde’s companion, a stocky man in an expensive-looking suit and a Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. His voice dips in warning. “We talked about this. Do you really want to be seen”—he casts a disdainful glance at Charlie—“talking to her?”
The blonde—Lydia—flushes. Keeping her attention on the man, she says something to him I can’t hear. Then she looks back at Charlie, her mouth pulling into a grimace. “Sorry. Kyle is right. If I want to make senior associate, I really shouldn’t… but I can call you. Or stop by.”
Before Charlie can respond, Kyle jumps in. “No offense, Charlie. But it’s better for Lydia if you don’t have any interaction with her. Her career and all…”
Charlie’s back is like steel under my hand, her face is working, and she looks to be about two seconds away from crying.
And now I have had it.
After walking around with Charlie for the last six hours—watching her deal with rejection and insults, people staring and whispering, never snapping at anyone, not giving up—there is no way I’m going to let this smug asshole get away with this.
“No offense taken, Kyle.” I pin him with my iciest stare, dropping my voice to match. “I think Charlie is much better off without talking to either of you, too.”
Wrapping my arm around Charlie, I guide her down the sidewalk, away from the smug asshole and his two-faced girlfriend. She’s silent and stiff, but doesn’t pull away, just moves passively along with me. As we make our way back to her apartment, I alternate between scanning the crowds of people and taking quick peeks at her face.
No tears, but she looks so sad my chest squeezes every time I look at her. I’m furious at the person who started this whole thing in the first place, I’m angry at all the people who treated Charlie so terribly, and there’s this desperate need to do something to make her feel better.
If she wasn’t a client, I’d give her a hug.
If she wasn’t a client, but a friend, I’d tell her how amazing I think she is, how brave, and how much I admire her strength. I’d rub her shoulders to work out the knots, buy her a bottle of wine or some beer, whatever she wants, and tell her how absolutely stupid I think each one of the people who rejected her is.
But Charlie is a client, a hurting and vulnerable one, at that, and I’ve only known her a few days—though after being with her twenty-four-seven it feels like longer. I like her a lot, though, and I’m not feeling okay with just bringing her home and watching her disappear into her bedroom to deal with this crappy day on her own.
Before we came here, I researched the Saratoga Springs area extensively. I always want to know the geographic layout of wherever I’ll be working, locations of hospitals, commercial and industrial areas, and—especially after Maya was nearly killed in a park—where all the lakes, rivers, and parks are.
So I’m mentally ticking through my options for a place to go with Charlie that might cheer her up. Or at least distract her from the shitty day she’s had so far.
When we get to her apartment building and I gently lead her past the entrance and toward the parking lot, Charlie lifts her head to look at me in confusion. “Aren’t we going home?”
Before I can respond, she frowns, her brow creasing. “I’m sorry. You’ve only used this entrance a few times. I shouldn’t assume you remember. I should be paying attention to where we’re going.”
“I do remember.” Smiling at her, I have to fight back the instinct to smooth the lines from her forehead. “We’re just not going back to the apartment yet.”
“Oh…” Her mouth pulls down. “I’m sorry, Rylan. Today… it’s just been… I really want to go home.”
“It’ll be better than sitting at home,” I say. “Will you give me a chance to prove it to you?”
Charlie stares at me, her eyes a storm of emotion. Then she nods at me. “Okay.”
I really hope I’m not making a mistake.
But twenty minutes later when we’re walking through Saratoga State Park, the sun still shining, the birds calling to each other, the wind gently rustling through the trees, I’m fairly certain I didn’t make a mistake.
Her hair is down, released from its tight ponytail the second we got in my car. The breeze catches tendrils of it, pulling them away from her face, the deep reds and browns shimmering in the sun. She tips her head up to the sun, some of the lines of stress smoothing out as she closes her eyes for a moment.
A cardinal swoops past us, a bright splash of cheery red in the lush green.
“You’re right.” Charlie looks over at me as we walk along the path. “This is better than going home.”
