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I’d been blocking the door since my arrival, and it was high time I made a move.
There was no chance of Derek looking up at me, no chance of me getting to halfway commit to making a fool of myself before jumping in the deep end. He was too engrossed in his work to notice me until I was at his table, standing a foot away.
I cleared my throat and was about to speak when a feminine voice spoke up behind me.
“Iced Americano, no cream. If there’s too much ice, I’ll have them remake it.”
Derek’s hand shot out for the coffee but instead brushed my arm.
He jerked back. I jerked back. His assistant, however, did not get the memo, so we collided. Iced Americano spilled down the back of my pantsuit and a cascade of ice made my spine tingle. I yelped and danced around, shaking the coffee out of my clothes. The ensuing minutes after that were confusing for everyone. To Derek, it appeared as if I’d just sprung up from a hole in the ground beside his table. I’m sure he wondered how long I’d been there, quietly stalking him. I hadn’t had time to introduce myself, but we did that in the middle of the apologies and napkins and fresh drinks on the house, but it didn’t help much. When I finally took a seat across from him, I felt and looked like a wet slob someone had plucked from the dumpster out back.
“So you’re Ms. Atwood,” he said, using a napkin to wipe up the last drops of coffee from the table.
I nodded as I gathered my damp hair—soaked with coffee—and tried to knot it at my nape.
As soon as I let go, it fell like a sad lump down my back.
Perfect.
“I’m Derek. This is my assistant, Heather.”
The three of us sat at the table together, the two of them an odd coupling. Heather looked a few years older than Derek with thick-framed glasses, a small tablet, and a baby bump hidden carefully beneath a black sheath dress.
“I think you have…” Heather’s sentence trailed off as she pointed to the corner of her lips, trying to inform me gently that I had something on my face.
I swiped aggressively and came away with red lipstick. No doubt it was now even more smeared across my chin.
In hindsight, I should have excused myself to use the restroom, gathered my wits, and fixed my appearance, but at the time, I was too intimidated. I didn’t want to waste their time, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could perform the simple task of walking without my legs buckling underneath me. I’d have looked like a freshly born baby giraffe.
Derek was a lot for my teenage brain to take in.
Break him apart piece by piece and it was still a lot to process: heir to an empire, much older, drop-dead handsome, confident, assessing me from across the table in a way that made me want to fidget.
A ping sounded from Heather’s tablet and she swiped her finger across the screen.
“Mika wants to move your 11 to 10:15. I’ll see if we can accommodate her. You have twenty more minutes here and then you need to meet Food and Beverage at the north gate for an all-hands.”
While she spoke, Derek focused on me, conducting a careful study, like I was some rare bird he’d never encountered. Ah yes, this female’s mating habits include smeared lipstick and the stench of coffee grounds.
I shifted in my chair, slightly uncomfortable, but even still, I didn’t get the sense that he was being judgmental. Just…curious.
“Thank you, Heather. I’ll meet you outside in twenty,” he said, effectively dismissing her.
“But you asked me to take notes.”
“I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”
Without another word, she stood and left.
I nearly asked her to stay. We were an awkward trio, but without her, I didn’t have the courage to pull my gaze off the table.
“I’m sorry again about the coffee,” he said, his voice sure and resolute, confident even while apologizing. “Rest assured, we’ll get you set up with a new suit.”
My cheeks flamed. Please God, don’t ask where this one is from. He’d assume Goodwill was some kind of nice boutique. Is it pronounced Güdwíll?
“I had originally asked Heather to sit in on our meeting, but I think I might serve you better one on one. Today especially, we can just chat. No business.”
I swallowed, the task proving more difficult than usual.
“Should we start with names?” he continued. “I assume it’s fine to call you Whitney. Or would you prefer Ms. Atwood?”
The fact that he of all people knew not only my last name but also my first was completely mind-boggling. I’d been in the dorms for a week now. Classes hadn’t started yet. I’d barely ventured out of my room. I was supposed to have a roommate, but she’d forfeited her spot in the program last minute and they hadn’t assigned anyone to take her place yet. I’d spent the last seven days mostly by myself, reading ahead in my textbooks, finishing assignments, listening to voices carrying out into the hallway, homesick for a home that didn’t exist anymore.
