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He spends another moment looking me up and down, torment storming behind his eyes as they finally settle on mine.
I don’t know what to make of it, but situations like these can be delicate. With all my encounters, I’m patient as I let the client drive the discussion, deciding for themselves if they’ll tear the bandage off bit by bit, or rip it off all at once.
With an abrupt huff, he steps away, his large, determined strides taking him inside the facility and back toward the lobby. I rush after him, but don’t shout out his name or make a scene, not wanting to draw attention from the residents or staff ... especially Derrick.
Sin wastes no time depositing his visitor badge on the desk, and I nearly break into a jog to catch up to his mile-long stride. When he bolts out the front doors, I’m right behind him, struggling to catch my breath.
“Sin,” I say, winded but compassionate. He stops but doesn’t face me. “If I’ve said anything—”
“You haven’t.”
His reply is so matter-of-fact, I feel silly for suggesting it. So, I reclaim my smile, if only for my own benefit.
“I know trust takes time. My card,” I say, holding it out and feeling doubly foolish when he doesn’t take it.
Instead, he sneers.
This is the point where others might give up, but I don’t. It’s the people who push you off the most that are in the most pain. At least, that’s the excuse I’ve always given myself.
He eyes the card, then casts an amused glance to the sky. After an awkward second of silent conversation between him and a few puffy white clouds, he faces me. The hand he places on my shoulder feels paternal. “I don’t need your card, Ms. Palmer. The person who brought me here today was you.”
Unbuttoning his blazer, he fishes a thin envelope from the inside pocket and hands it to me as a dark car with tinted windows pulls up beside him. “Someone recently told me the first steps are never easy, Ms. Palmer.”
A well-dressed chauffeur rushes around to open the back door, and as soon as Sin is seated inside, the man returns to the driver’s seat.
The darkened window rolls down, and Sin’s smile widens. “Happy birthday.”
He slides on a pair of sunglasses as the car rolls away.
IVY
The black town car makes a left at the end of the drive, disappearing behind a thicket of birch trees, and I’m left there scratching my head. What just happened? I take another look at the plain white envelope in my hand, ready to open it until I notice Derrick. He’s been watching from the large window of his office, a practice of his I’ve come to accept.
There’s an intensity to his expression, one I meet with a cheerful smile. It takes him a moment before he returns it, waving me over. Maybe there’s a surprise waiting for me. Like gathering the staff over to sing “Happy Birthday.” Or an intimate cupcake with a single candle for me to wish upon.
“Everything all right?” Derrick asks as I enter. It’s just him and me and the ever-growing clusters of paperwork and folders covering his desk. My hopes for a cupcake are instantly dashed, and it’s a wonder he can find anything in the small space. For every new meeting with his accountant, the mounds of paperwork are only getting worse. He closes in from behind me, though the door remains open.
“Yes. He’s going to think it over,” I say as I slip the envelope into the roomy pocket of my cardigan. I want to remind him that sales aren’t made in a day. That trust must be earned. But the irony is enough for me to bite my tongue.
I should tell Derrick about the envelope. For once, trust him. Really let him in. It feels self-sabotaging not to.
As often as I repeat the usual mantra,I should trust him,over and over again in my head, I can’t deny the parts of my mind and heart that don’t ... and it’s not for a lack of trying. Or admitting to myself that I’m damaged goods, the byproduct of an absentee mother and father unknown.
But Derrick is my ticket to a normal relationship, even if things between us have felt a bit uncomfortable lately. It’s just a hiccup, one every couple encounters. He’s stable. Sweet. A bit of a workaholic, which means I haven’t seen him much in the past three weeks. But at least he has a J-O-B, and that should count for something, right?
Still, I can’t help but shove the envelope deeper into my oversized pocket, hiding it from both my boyfriend and my boss. No matter how hard I try, distrust slithers between us, threatening to pry us apart.
Let’s face it, I have issues, and trust is just the tip of the iceberg.
One of his arms wraps around me. Instead of giving him the usual elbow to the ribs, I nuzzle into him, and it feels ... nice. Warm and caring and ... nice. That is, until he releases me. And just like that, I second-guess everything.
Am I like Goldilocks complaining that my man is too nice?
Derrick’s shirt is perfectly fitted, the navy blue tapering over his chest and abs before disappearing into his slacks. It looks professional and sexy, though I still prefer his lucky polo. His sweet superstition is that whenever he wears it, luck lands in his lap. As if I was a manifestation of luck.
“Chase another one off?” he says, only half-teasing me.
With his half smile and adorable gaze, maybe he’s ready to finally make it official. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” I playfully ask, wondering if we can finally stop hiding our status from coworkers and Facebook alike. Be a couple in the actual light of day.
