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My blood drains from my face. The doorman squeezes his eyes shut before he shakes his head and looks at me again.
“Not like that. I meant his personal trainer. You’re the first person to come here who he doesn’t employ.”
“Technically, he employs me,” I point out. I don’t even know what to say to the doorman’s first comment. And he said “woman,” which makes me think he can only refer to one other person.
“He’s different about you,” the doorman says.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “When a man stays in my building for almost two decades, you get to know him a little. Mr. Ford keeps to himself, he’s rough around the edges and he has almost no personal life. And you’re here. That means something.”
“But he employs me,” I say again. “He pays me to be here, and I think that’s what we should take away from this conversation. I only do what he tells me, because that’s what I’m paid to do.” I’m surprised by how bitter my comment is. The doorman raises his eyebrows again—he’s surprised, too.
I broke up with Luc because the guy didn’t want anything from me but a woman to wait for him after a long day with a paper and slippers. He didn’t care about who I am as a person; he didn’t care about my hopes and dreams and what I wanted to achieve in life. He just wanted someone to look good on his arm when he needed me, to fuck me when he was in the mood, and to leave me in the corner until he needed either of those two things again.
I can’t live like that. I sent him on his way and came to the States to make a new life so that I could build a new dream.
And now, I’m stuck all over again.
Blake doesn’t want to tell me how to live my life. But in a way, he’s stopping me from doing it. Because I’m not supposed to be falling in love with anyone. And what about a relationship and kids one day? I want to freedom to create whatever future I want.
I’m so sick and tired of parameters.
“Are you here to quit your job?” the doorman asks.
I sigh. “I guess I’m here to revise our contract.”
I’m fully aware that we’re talking in euphemisms. And it’s weird that I’m having a conversation with the doorman. But I know what I feel after this, which is a step up from when I drove here. I was confused, then.
I’m still confused, but not about what I want. Only about what Blake wants.
When I walk to the elevator, I know what I want to say to Blake. The doorman, with all his inappropriate comments and his nosiness, at least helped me figure out where I stand with myself. And that’s a good start in a relationship—I can’t figure out what I want from someone else without knowing what I want from myself.
Independence.
That’s what I want. Even if a relationship.
Which means it shouldn’t be a boss-employee relationship. Not that Blake has ever treated me as an employee unless he sleeps with them all. But still, it’s not like he asked me out because he’s interested in dating me. Hehiredme.
If this is going to work at all, I need him to see me as a partner, not as someone he can pay to stick around or tell to leave when he’s unsure about where he’s headed.
I need him to be open with me about what he feels, so I can make decisions moving forward. Whatever they may be, and however hard they might seem.
When I arrive in Blake’s personal lobby, he waits for me at the door as he always does. His jaw is set, his eyes the color of slate and just as cold. He doesn’t pull me closer to kiss him; he doesn’t touch me at all. His body is rigid, hands clasped behind his back.
He could have been made of stone and he wouldn’t be colder or stiffer.
“This is an unexpected surprise.”
Unexpected.Notpleasant.
“Can we talk?” I ask. “About us.”
Blake nods and gestures for me to walk into the apartment. I glance toward the kitchen and then the living room, trying to decide where I should go. Blake waits for me to make a choice. Apparently, I’m the one calling the shots.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Blake nods. “Perfectly fine. What do you want to talk about?”
