AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mr. Sullivan.”
I glance up.
Jenny, one of the interpreters, clears her throat.
I immediately shift my attention back to Yaya, watching the way her hands move. It’s lyrical, almost poetic, like she’s privy to a rhythm, a piece of music, that belongs to her alone. Every so often, her fingers will brush her blouse and rustle the fabric. I lean closer, eager to tap into that frequency, to study her song, her language.
“You promised you would give more details when the papers were signed,” Jenny says.
“Yes,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the woman across the table. “Yaya and I will discuss in my car. Alone.”
I wait for Jenny to interpret, excitement—no, near giddiness—rising in me as I anticipate Yaya’s response.
Having an interpreter is a necessary step until I can learn ASL. I’m impatient for Yaya and I to communicate without another person present but, until that day, there is one benefit to the delay in translation.
I get to observe every expression that flicks across her face.
Like now.
Dark brows heft to the center of her forehead. A cute nose wrinkles as her vibrant eyes simmer in disdain. She looks at me and her frown grows, inclining downward by the slowest of degrees.
She doesn’t like me.
Which is unfortunate.
But temporary.
I have no plans of remaining on her bad side.
Yaya signs and, though I don’t understand ASL, her face reveals her disagreement.
She’s very animated. Her expressions communicate for her, almost as loudly as if she spoke. Which is something I should have expected. During my research last night, I read that ASL includes body language as well as facial expressions.
I wonder… what was it like growing up deaf? Why does she use ASL when she has the ability to speak? How did she decide to become a model?
The folder under my hands has every scrap of information on her, from the day she drew her first breath to her first parking ticket to her first lover. But the words parading on that page don’t tell her real story.
I want to know everything about her. All that makes her tick.
“Are we leaving here… alone?” Jenny interprets.
Horror is written on Yaya’s face.
Adorable.
Did she think we would fake a relationship and yet never be alone together?
One corner of my lips hitches up. I stand, button my jacket and motion to Mosely.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” my assistant says.
“Hm.”
“You’ve just met her. She…” Mosely glances across the table at the fuming Yaya, “doesn’t seem like the cuddly type.”
If she was, she probably wouldn’t have caught my eye.
“I understand you like a challenge, sir. She is certainlydifferentfrom other girls.”
