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“I said don’t call me that. It’s not for you and it’s not appropriate, especially since I have to call you Mr. DePaul.”
“You can call me by my first name if you would like.”
“No, I would not like.” I glance at my watch. What I would like to do is get out of here. I have ten minutes left on my break and I need to spend them getting my bearings to get back in the mindset to work. After having lunch with Mr. DePaul, I feel like I’ve cheated on my team with the enemy. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened. But it wasn’t my fault. I don’t know if I should mention anything to Zahara about it or not. She’d probably never speak to me again. I can see Ian looking at me all skeptically through the lenses of his glasses. Mauve would roll her eyes and shun me. I have no idea what Greta would think or how she’d react, but it probably won’t be good.
Yeah, I think I’ll keep this one to myself…
I stand up, then dig my wallet out of my purse.
Mr. DePaul stands, too, patting his backside for his wallet, towering over me like a tree blocking my sunlight. “Great. Seems I’ve left my wallet.”
The millionaire has left his wallet…
“No worries. Lunch is on me.” I take out enough money to cover both of our meals and place it on the table. “And I have to go. Bye.” I walk so fast to my car, I feel like I have propellers behind me. I didn’t know how to say bye to him, especially since we’re going to the same place, except he’s going to the twelfth floor while I’m on six. And another thing…I didn’t want to give him the impression that I wanted to be his friend just because I paid for his meal. I would’ve done anything to get away from him. Paying wasn’t a friendly gesture. It was more of a survival mechanism.
When I pull the door handle to get in my car, I hear Essex say, “Hey.”
I nearly jumped out of my shoes. I didn’t think he was behind me. I left him at the table and now, he’s caught up to me. I can’t get away from this guy!
“Um, yes?”
“I’m going to ride back with you over there.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re going to ride back with me. You didn’t ask—you’re telling me what you’re going to do.”
“Okay, let me try this again. May I have a ride back to the building with you, Quintessa?”
“Who do I look like? Uber?”
He flashes a smile with enlivened eyes that look as pleasing. It’s like doves being released at a wedding, or watching a sunrise and being drenched in a feeling of complete awe. It puts me in a tailspin, temporarily making me forget what day it is.
I blink out of a stupor and say, “Where’s your driver?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to give me a ride or not?”
“I suppose, but don’t be alarmed. My car is a far cry from that Maybach that takes you around the city.”
“I’m just trying to get back to the building. I’m not judging your car.” He slides his sunglasses back on.
I hold in a sigh and say, “Okay, well, get in.”
I sit in the driver’s seat while he opens the passenger door and takes some items out of the passenger seat – a brush, deodorant, hairspray and a T-shirt.
I’m too numb to be embarrassed. I say, “Just rake all that junk on the floor.”
He sets the items on the backseat instead, commenting about all the stuff I have back there. “Looks like you live out of your car.”
“Partially. When you live with your best friend but desperately need your own place, this is what you get.”
Trying to fit his long legs inside before he closes the door, he says, “That blonde girl—she’s your friend?”
“Yes.”
He adjusts the seat so it’s as far back as it will go and still, there isn’t enough room for those legs. He shuts the door. “I talked to her briefly when I was looking for you. I don’t think she liked me very much.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you. No one likes you that much.”
He grins. “I guess not.”
