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Maybe I will be able to get a better grasp of who she is. And what their relationship is.
There could even be one where they interact. One by one, I look at each image, and then my finger stops. There in front of me is Cain. But this time, he’s not in a group, nor is he alone.
This time, a woman is draped on his arm. Tall and willowy. She looks like a model. Straight out of a magazine. She looks up at him adoringly. Whatever he’s saying has her enthralled by his words.
I swear it feels like I’m being stabbed in my chest, spearing my heart. I want to pull the girl away from him. But instead, I shut my computer down and step away from it.
I am not the jealous type, but this can’t be anything else but jealousy. I’m green with envy, and I hate it.
How can I feel this angry over a man I have no claim on?
We are from two separate worlds, and I guess, like a shooting star, our time was never meant to be.
It’s time to move on.
Write this article and never think of Cain Archer again.
19
Cain
Pacing my office, I try to think about the solution to the question one of my builders had for me. About what to do with the open vacant space on the far side of the property. Nothing is what I want to respond.
My investors won’t have that.
The acreage alone is worth millions.
Then, if we add more properties for sale, we can turn an even bigger profit, but I hate the idea of building on it.
That property is special, especially untouched.
Who am I kidding? That property is special because it’s where I took Layla.
Speaking of Layla, it’s been two weeks, and I have yet to get her out of my mind.
Despite how much I throw myself into work, I can’t. I wonder what she’s doing.
I think about her often.
Each space I go to has the lingering effect that she was there.
Doesn’t matter where I am. Since I showed her every square inch of the property, she is everywhere I go.
Walking over to the window, I peer outside, looking across the vastness of the acreage.
What is she doing?
When Layla first left, I had the urge to tell her to stay. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I don’t have very much to offer to someone like her. Sure, she makes me more normal. But how long will it last? How long until the novelty wears off and I become the shell of a man I was before?
That’s the funny thing about Layla. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but with her, I do. I don’t want to be in her life just to leave and have her sad when I go again.
This is what makes her special. These insistent thoughts that don’t stop in my head.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before, and something tells me I never will. This is unique to her. I need to know what she’s doing. I pick up the phone, dialing a number before I can think better of it.
“Mr. Walker’s office.”
“This is Cain Archer. I would like to speak to Mr. Walker.” I hear the sound of her breathing, and I wonder if I took her by surprise. Normally, I’m impossible to get in touch with, and here I am, calling.
I can only imagine this is Mr. Walker’s assistant. The same one who had to jump through hoops to get an interview with me.
“Can you please hold on, Mr. Archer? I’ll patch you right through.”
The line goes silent, and I wait. Thankfully, no annoying elevator music fills the silence. I have never been one for falseness.
“Mr. Archer. Mr. Walker here. A pleasure to hear from you again, but I must say I’m surprised. Is there something I can help you with?”
“The article.”
“What about the article?” His voice rises with concern.
“Is it done yet?”
“It’s been handed in for preliminary editing, fact-checking, etc. Why?”
“I would like to read the article,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Of course, Mr. Archer, I’ll have it sent to you right when we print it—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I would like the unedited copy sent. Today.” I look down at my watch. “Now, actually.”
“Mr. Archer—”
“If you want to work with me or any developer involved with me, the article will be in my email within the hour.”
I hang up, not waiting for an objection. I am not one to be trifled with.
With that settled and knowing full well I will get what I want, I move on to my next task. I pull out my sketchbook and start to design the next phase of the project.
Not even thirty minutes go by before I hear the ping on my computer. I place my pencil down, brush off the debris left on my hands, then slide my chair over in front of my computer.
