Rosabel closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. At least she’d stopped crying. “You want to date me?”
“Why not? Everyone already thinks we are anyway.” He threw a hand toward the closed door currently facilitating the gossip that undoubtedly circled the cubicles that moment.
Her lips pinched tighter. She placed her hands on her hips as though ready to rip into him.
Duncan hurried to convince her before she could. “Come home with me to Arkansas. Let me introduce you to my family and placate my grandmother at what could be her last birthday.” The final comment as a little low, even for him. He rolled with it.
Rosabel didn’t miss a beat. She lifted her chin. “Slather on a dose of manipulation, why don’t you?”
He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not manipulating you.” Who was he kidding? He was totally manipulating her.
“No?”
“It was—” He released an irritated sigh. He didn’t usually have to work this hard to secure new clients or contracts. “Not a guilt trip.”
“No.” Rosabel’s tone was flat.
“What?”
She took a step forward. “No, I don’t want to date you. It’s hard enough working for you and having to deal with your problems and demands. I think a relationship would ruin any kind of professional interaction we have if we were to involve closer knowledge of each other.”
Duncan’s lips quirked upward. He couldn’t help it. “Who said we would be close?”
Rosabel fidgeted. “Dating implies something like that.” She was blushing? Good. “Especially if we’re going to convince your family there’s more than animosity between us.”
This grew more interesting by the minute. “Is there more than animosity between us?”
She reduced her eyes into dagger slits. “What do you think?”
This time Duncan took a step forward, his voice sinking to a captivating pitch. “I think I wouldn’t mind finding out.”
Rosabel retreated. “My answer is still no. You’re not the nicest person to be around, Duncan. You snap orders at me and give my number to your friends without even asking me, as though I’m some expendable resource. You treat me like I’m a servant who owes you my attention instead of a coworker you should respect.”
Duncan sifted through her words. Snap orders? Give her number to his friends? That was just Maddox, and that had been to help plan his impromptu honeymoon. It wasn’t like Duncan did it all the time. Seriously, what did she expect? “Look,” he said. “I can’t go home without you.”
Her ire flashed. “I still quit. Remember those words? I quit. Need me to say them again? I. Quit.”
She strolled out, leaving him gaping after her. Duncan’s hands hung at his sides. He never would have expected that in a million years. More than the disbelief, however, was the aching cavity the rejection left inside of him.
3
Rosabel shuddered at what she’d just done. She’d dreamed of standing up to Duncan, of saying the exact words that had slipped from her mouth. Now that she had, the victory wasn’t quite as sweet as she’d hoped it would be. Something inside of her felt off-kilter, as though she walked with only one shoe on.
She’d expected the conquest to be more of a battle. She’d expected to show him exactly how much he’d taken her for granted. She’d never expected him to gape at her as though she’d just torn a waxing strip from his skin. He’d appeared shocked, disappointed, pained.
Why should she care a peck about Duncan Hawthorne’s hurt feelings? He had no right to go and assume something was building between them and then tell his family about it. No right to assume she’d date him for no other reason than because he wanted her to.
It was so like him. He was the most entitled person she knew, and generally, when a person had glaring flaws, their families had something to do with them. Why should she have any desire to go to his hometown and meet the people who’d raised him? One Hawthorne was bad enough, but a whole flock of them?
Apparently, they were the ones demanding she come. She could barely handle Duncan’s beastliness. If his behavior was a family trait, she intended to steer as clear from them as she possibly could.
Especially now that she’d quit. She’d quit. She’d done it.
Why, then, didn’t she feel better about taking action? A brick wedged in her chest, making her breathing labored. Losing the income she’d relied on for so long just might send her into the hospital.
Rosabel arrived home quicker than planned. She was ready to put Duncan and his outrageous idea aside. He’d let the rumors get to his head, that was all. There was nothing between the two of them, and there never would be. She’d see to that.
She approached her family’s red brick home with white columns and a wide porch. Rosabel stepped inside with a sigh. Sarah sat on the couch across from Dad, knitting what looked like a pair of baby booties. At least he’d stayed in the house. That was saying something.
Sarah’s blond hair was pulled into a ponytail at the base of her head, and she wore a pair of black scrubs beneath a pink sweater. Rosabel had specifically requested Sarah as her Dad’s caretaker. They’d been friends in high school and had known each other a long time.
Dad had slipped out the day before. Rosabel had been right there in the house; the doors had been locked. She’d popped her head in to check on him in his recliner before cleaning the bathrooms. He hadn’t been there. Her breath had seized, and she’d dashed to the window. He’d been wandering down the street as if he knew where he was going.
He didn’t. He didn’t know where he was, and someday soon, he would no longer know her.
“Hey, Sarah,” Rosabel greeted. “How’s he doing today?”
“Hasn’t spoken much at all,” Sarah said. “He keeps staring at the TV, but he gets angry at me if I turn the screen on. So, we’ve been sitting here in companionable silence for most of the morning.”
“Thank you. Thanks for staying and taking such good care of him.”
“You’re welcome.” Sarah lowered her knitting needles, her brow connecting. “You’re back early. Are you here for the rest of the day?”
Rosabel stared at her hands with the odd sense that she’d been holding on to something and had lost whatever it was. “I am. You can go ahead and head home.”
Sarah smiled and tucked her knitting into her bag, then leaned in and patted Dad on the arm.
He glanced at her, his eyes glittering and distant. “Is Henry okay?” Dad asked.
“Of course he is.” Sarah stroked his arm, though she probably didn’t have a clue who Henry was. Sarah headed out, closing the door behind her.
The doctors had told Rosabel that forgetting short-term things, yet retaining long-term memories, would be common for Dad. If that was the case, though, then why could he remember his brother’s name and not remember that Uncle Henry had passed away six years ago?
Rosabel knelt before her father in the recliner. How she wished he was who he used to be. She could use someone to talk to right now. “Hey, Dad. It’s me.”
“Rosie?” His distant eyes slid to hers. He’d grown so much older in the past few months, since the disease had taken more and more hold of his mind. Gone was the man who’d raised her, the one who’d taught her to catch a softball in the backyard and dive for home base. Gone was the man who’d taught her how to change a tire, who’d shared an interest in Star Wars and the Civil War with her. The thought broke her heart a little more every day.