I go to lean over the sink to put water on my face, when I feel his hands grip my hips just as I splash the warm water on my face.
“Sienna, I’m sorry. I just like hanging out with you. I have been busy in the city the last few times Vanessa came to visit, so it was just nice being out with you last night and after.” I can hear the sincerity in his voice again now that his anger toward me has dissipated.
I turn to face him. “I know, L– Eric,” I catch myself.Fuck.
Anger begins to seep back into his jawline as he pulls his hands away from my hips. “Holy shit!” he exclaims. He runs his hands through his hair briefly before slamming his fist on the countertop, causing the water that fell onto the granite to splatter. “You are never going to get over him, are you?”
“I’m sorry, Eric,” I say, aware of how bad that must have made him feel that I almost called him Leo.
Fucking Christ, why did I almost call him that? Nothing about him resembles Leo. But in typical Leo fashion, even when he is not around, he finds a way to seep into my mind.
“Yea, me too,” he mutters under his breath, heading toward the hallway to leave.
“Let me walk you out at least,” I say as I follow him.
“No thanks. I’ll pass,” he says, increasing his pace.
I ignore him and continue to follow, matching my pace to his as he hurries down the staircase.
He grabs his boots from the landing at the bottom of the steps as I stand there watching him tie the long straps. He loops the last lace, refusing to acknowledge my presence. As he heads to the front door to unlock it, I stop him, placing my hand over his.
He lets out a sigh. “I have to go,” he says as he tries to pry my hand from his.
“I know, I just wanted to walk you out, like I said. It’s the right thing to do.”
He shakes his head “Really?” he asks. Though judging from his attitude, the question feels more rhetorical than anything.
“Since when have you ever cared about doing the right fucking thing? Now get your hand off the fucking doorknob,” he roars. His words cut like a knife, as do his cold eyes.
“What fucking ever, Eric,” I say, giving up on trying to be nice to him.
Just as he goes to swing open the door, I notice a black envelope falling down from where it appears to have been wedged under the glass storm door.
Noticing the envelope as well, he bends down to grab it. As he hands it to me, he notices the emblem on the back.
“Oh, I didn’t know you applied to Marked Inc.,” he says, staring at the gothic-styleMcentered on the back of the envelope.
Marked Inc.? What the hell is that?
“Umm, I didn’t. I don’t even know what that is,” I say, confused. “Should I?”
“Guess you weren’t paying attention to me last night at the bar, that’s cool.” He tries playing off his hurt, but it is evident by the edge in his tone that I’ve hurt him … yet again.
“I’m sorry, refresh my memory. I was running on little sleep, a long tattoo session, and way too many drinks,” I remind him, meeting his irritation with my own.
“Yea, well, like I was saying last night, that’s the public relations firm I have been interning at. I’m mostly just the boss’ errand boy, but he pays well, and I’m broke so—”
I cut him off. “I have never heard of Marked Inc. before. I wonder why I was sent something,” I say, dying to know what is inside the envelope.
Eric grabs the handle of the storm door, opening it to leave. “Well, looks like you’re about to get a crash course in all things Marked Inc. then,” he says ominously as he walks out and slams the glass storm door behind him, making his way down the porch steps.
I can barely formulate a goodbye to Eric as curiosity begins to take over. I shut the door and hurry to grab my letter opener from the kitchen, anxious to see what the fuck is inside. I take the blade of the letter opener, tearing the top of the seal revealing a handwritten letter.
I have applied to some papers in the city just for shits and giggles, but no one ever responded. I have never even considered a public relations firm, let alone thought one would follow my practically non-existent writing career to seek me out via personally delivered letter.
I’m immediately struck by the elegant cursive writing that adorns the paper. These days writing in longhand feels like an ancient art. I focus my eyes to the top of the page, as I begin to read the letter out loud.
Ms. Sienna Ricci,
