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Eleven
Theo
I’d never tell my sister, but I secretly love the coffee warmer she had my niece give me for Christmas last year. I would happily tell my niece, but since Clara was only six months old at the time, I’m pretty sure she didn’t do much in the way of picking it out.
The mug on top of it though, was decorated by my nephew Ethan, the splotches of color that I’m told are supposed to be me and Max, the height of five-year-old artistic endeavor. It’s my favorite mug, but I only use it at home, preferring not to remind anyone in my office that I’m anything other than their boss.
I sip my coffee and stare at the lines of code in front of me. Another email vies for my attention, but I ignore it. Reading through the lines on my screen, I follow the path my brain created, looking for mistakes. Yet another email pops up in my peripheral vision as my cell phone rings with an incoming call.
“This is Sutton.” I put the call on speaker, never taking my eyes off my screen, and wait for whoever’s on the end of the line to speak.
“Mr. Sutton, it’s five-thirty. I’m heading home and you should stop working for the day.” I catch the sound of Mercedes’ desk drawer opening and closing as she speaks. “Are you coming into the office tomorrow? I have some people waiting for an appointment with you.”
I haven’t been to the office all week. Determined to put Sophie out of my mind, I walked in on Monday morning, ready for another day of people not meeting my expectations and was completely undone by the cheerful “Good morning, Mr. Sutton,” Sophie called out.
Logically, I know she’s pretending that it wasn’t her lips I devoured, or whose soft curves have haunted my dreams. She doesn’t know that I know she’s playing at being Elinor Price, but her easy smile and greeting was a knife to my gut. I lasted until lunchtime before running away. If I’d stayed, I would either have demanded to know what was so repulsive about me, or dragged her into my office for a do-over. The way she’s invaded my mind is as irritating as it is illogical.
So I resorted to avoidance rather than facing her.
“I’ll be in on Monday.” I’ll give myself the weekend to get my act together.
“Okay, sir. I’ll make a note. Mr. Edwards’ assistant has called twice trying to make an appointment with you this week. Something about a charity golf tournament next month.”
I groan. “Dammit, Morgan knows I hate golf. Don’t worry, I’ll give him a call this weekend.” I pause. “Tomorrow is Friday, right?”
“Yes it is.” The humor in Mercedes's voice is audible even through the phone. “Coffee and donuts go to the third floor this week. It’s already set up for delivery.”
“You’re the best, Mercedes.” A smile tugs at the corner of my cheek. “What would I do without you?”
“Have to arrange a last-minute delivery of coffee and donuts to a different floor each week on your own?” Her teasing tone gets a real chuckle from me.
“Can you have them deliver an extra half dozen and coffees for the ladies at the front desk.” I think for a second. “And Julian?”
“I’ll do that now. Anything else?”
“No, I think that’s everything. Goodnight, Mercedes.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Sutton.”
I wonder how Sophie takes her coffee? I know she drinks it, I’ve seen the odd mug by her keyboard—smelled the fresh scent of it as I’ve walked by her desk some mornings. Part of me wants desperately to know, but a bigger part of me is glad I don’t—the temptation to have it sent to her would be more than I could resist.
That temptation is exactly why I left the office and haven’t been back since. I don’t trust myself not to pull Sophie into the elevator with me, press the emergency stop, and demand she tell me why she stopped us in the limo.
The woman is slowly driving me mad. And she doesn’t have a clue.
I wrap up what I’m doing and close down my laptop for the evening. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t work at all hours of the night. Once I’m done for the day, I’m done. “Max!” I head to my bedroom to change. “Wanna go for a run?”
“Max!” My voice carries down the deserted street. “Come here boy!” I try again.
I curse the stupid SUV full of teenagers that nearly ran us over. I’d jerked backwards when they came flying around the corner as Max and I stepped out into the crosswalk. Unfortunately, I’d hit the curb behind me and fallen flat on my ass, letting go of Max’s leash in the process. By the time I‘d managed to get to my feet, he’d been out of sight.
“Max! Here boy!” I keep calling as I wander up and down the streets, but no sign of Max. The farther I get from my street, the smaller and more run down the houses become. I start to circle back, intending to go home and see if Max was smart enough to sniff it out, when I hear someone else calling his name from the other end of the road.
“Max!” A high, feminine voice calls. “Max, where are you?”
Did someone hear me calling for my dog and decide to help me out? I jog down the street to see what’s going on and stumble to a stop at the sight that meets my eyes. The blonde teenager whose cat got lost at the dog park the other week is wandering up and down the sidewalk in front of an apartment complex that’s seen better days. The grass and planters in front of it are well-maintained, but the building could use a new coat of paint and repairs to the sagging banisters and stairwells.
“Uh, hi?’ The girl eyes me warily. “Can I help you?”
