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I think about it?”
“Of course you could think about it,” I answer, though truthfully that reply is not what I was expecting.
Why wouldn’t she want to meet my parents? Marshall and Sherry Kent are very nice people. My mother can tell some stories about Sunny from a different vantage point that I think Clarissa might enjoy. And… we’ve been dating for some time, not an especially long time, but meeting my parents now would be fine, I think. It would be fine.
The way her mouth is twisted, I really want to ask what she’s thinking. Before I can formulate the sentence, she turns and leaves the kitchen to go back upstairs and get dressed, leaving me mute and helpless with the remainder of the coffee to finish.
“Are we good to go with Cyrus?” she asks when we get in the car to go to work.
I decide to set aside any thoughts of dinner with my parents and talk about work instead. It seems like every time Clarissa gets uncomfortable, she retreats to some kind of professional attitude.
“Yes, we’re fine,” I confirm. “That landscape architect Fred recommended is available to start this week. We should be able to get done before the end of the month.”
“Hmm, that’s good,” she nods with her eyes downcast, making notes on her iPad. “I was scheduled… Hey, wait. What’s this?”
She taps on the screen, pointing to a cell on her calendar.
“That’s your Thursday appointment,” I shrug simply.
“Well, I didn’t schedule this with him. Did you schedule this with him?” she smirks, staring at the word.
“Marcel is an old friend,” I say, breezy and confident. “I knew you wanted to get his campaign headquartered in the plaza, so…”
“Thank you!” she breathes happily.
Excellent. I knew she would appreciate that. I set up the meeting last week and put it on her calendar, but she didn’t happen to notice it until just now.
“Just helping you shine,” I smile as I pull into the parking garage.
The valet opens her car door first and Clarissa gets out, sliding her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose. She looks completely gorgeous today in a black pencil skirt with a high waistline and a tight-fitting white blouse that ruffles under her chin. She looks like a sexy school mistress from the 1800s with expensive heels.
She didn’t want them, but I talked her into it. Since she is making commission checks she insists on buying them herself instead of letting me treat her, but we can work on that. I can be patient.
Clarissa is distracted as we walk across the lobby floor, but I’m not. I watch everyone watching us. Gradually people are starting to figure it out. She doesn’t even demand that we enter the building at separate times anymore. And I find it hard to keep my eyes off her sexy, generous curves. I’m sure people have picked up on that.
In the elevator, though, she’s careful not to be too close to me. There are cameras in here and at every entrance. So far, it is still technically a secret. Even if it is hard for me to keep my hands off of her when my office door is closed, it is a secret and I have to respect that. Everything is going so well, I would hate to do anything to trip us up.
Rosemary gives us a bit of side-eye when the elevator doors open, and Clarissa gets out first, still concentrating on work. I follow a step behind and wave at Rosemary just as casual as possible. Clarissa mutters about her schedule and heads right for her office.
“Meetings at ten and one,” she says out loud.
“And dinner at seven,” I remind her.
She looks up at me, startled. She’s wearing a deep red lipstick that highlights the plush curves of her beautiful lips.
“I said I would think about it,” she replies in a low mutter so no one else can hear.
“Sounds good,” I reply at full volume so she knows I mean business. “Seven o’clock!” Then I walk away, not even waiting to see her expression.
Sometimes I have to convince her. Sometimes she needs to be reminded that these are normal things. Men opening doors for women. Meeting people’s parents. Eating meals together and sharing our problems and experiences. These are normal things.
It’s funny, because I would have been just as resistant with Zella. Zella was always trying to tell me what a “normal” relationship looked like, usually within the context of explaining how I had failed at something. Especially in the context of trying to drag me forward inexorably toward a wedding date of her choosing.
But this is not really like that. Clarissa is just kind of rusty. Closed off. I get the feeling she hasn’t really had a lot of serious relationships with men. Which is fine. It just gives me a bit more of a challenge.
But at the end of the day, she leans in the doorway of my office and thumbs the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder. She purses her lips and raises her eyebrows expectantly.
“Seven o’clock, you say?” she asks wryly.
