Either way, I waited for a lull halfway through before asking, “Does anyone have a favorite store for home items? I want to make my apartment my own, but I’m not finding things I like.”
Mostly because I haven’t looked.
A couple people offered the typical suggestions of thrift stores and Target. Since I was one of the few who didn’t live at home or with a roommate, some asked how it was living on my own.
“I love it. It’s nice to have my own space,” I said, which wasn’t a lie.
For once.
“Do you have pictures?” Derrick asked.
“Oh, good idea.” Jenna held out her hand. “I can give you better suggestions if I can see.”
The idea of letting them into my space, even via picture, made me so uncomfortable, I thought I might be sick. I never had guests—not even my own sister.
If you won’t share pictures, they’ll ask why. And they’ll dig and dig until they find out everything.
Including the little secret skeletons in your closet.
My hands shook as I pulled my cell from my purse and unlocked it to bring up the pictures I’d sent Aria. Thankfully, they were taken before I’d moved my few pieces of furniture in, so it wasn’t as invasive as it could’ve been. I turned it so everyone could see.
“What a cute place,” Jenna said, grabbing the phone from my hand and pinching the screen to zoom in and out. “I love the kitchen island. You could put so many different things there to spruce it up. Like, holiday decorations or a pretty fruit bowl.”
“Or flowers,” Derrick said, remembering what I’d shared the week before.
Since those dead flowers were still on my floor—along with the shards of glass I couldn’t find the energy or desire to clean up—that ruled them out. The lobby ones had been cleared away by maintenance or someone who was sick of looking at them, so they were out, too.
Maybe I’ll stop and get my own flowers. Purposeful ones, not accidental reminders that I’m alone.
Or I can get a succulent. Those are hard to kill, I think.
I showed them the few other pictures, though there wasn’t much to see.
“Pictures in that hallway will make it look bigger,” Jared surprisingly tossed in.
Meghan nodded. “Same with the dining room area.”
“I love your windows. So much natural light,” Jenna said before inevitably—and thankfully—turning the discussion to her. To be fair, she’d lasted two minutes. It was a new record for her. “I really wish I had my own apartment to design the way I wanted.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked, coming across like a caring therapy buddy and not someone desperate to steer the attention away from themselves.
She sighed dramatically, ensuring she had everyone’s attention before launching in. “I keep telling Dr. Davis I’m ready, but he doesn’t agree.”
“Why do you think that is?” Derrick prompted, trying to lead the conversation into something deeper. If he got her to admit her faults—that her narcissism led to destructive, attention seeking behavior when left unchecked—he’d probably float out of the room on cloud nine with the validation he wasn’t wasting his life.
If that’s what he was hoping for, he wasn’t going to get it. According to Jenna, it was everyone else’s fault. Her loving family. Her friends. Her boss, coworkers, and Dr. Davis himself. If she could find the seven degrees of separation, I was sure she’d blame Kevin Bacon, too.
Derrick hid his dejection when every attempt he made at nudging her toward accountability was swatted away with practiced ease.
The rest of the session continued along the same lines until it was finally time to get out of there. I was up and out of my seat, not bothering with my usual inconspicuousness as I hauled ass to the stairwell. Like a monster was on my tail, I jogged down the steps and out into the lobby before slowing down.
“Hey.” I looked to the side and saw the bodyguard lounging behind the receptionist’s long desk. Slouching, his long legs were spread as he swiveled the chair back and forth. “Where’s the fire?”
Under my skin.
Keeping that thought to myself, I blurted the next thing that popped into my head. “Why’re you here?”
“Work.” His deep voice was teasing when he added, “Don’t worry, I’m not a total stalker.”
Oh.
Right.
Even though I could’ve sworn my anticlimactic climax the week before was the final nail in my fanciful coffin, I was wrong. The crazy part of me—which was the majority of me—had hoped he’d been there waiting for me.
Wow, suuuuuuper stellar day for my ego.
“But,” he pushed his seat back, “I did pick this chair to make sure I saw you before you left.”
Well.
Okay then.
That softens the blow.
Now, to leave on that high note.
“Well, you saw me.” Without another word, I gave him my back and headed for the exit.
“Briar, wait!”
I tried to tell my body to resist his rough voice, but it didn’t listen. My head turned so I could watch him come from behind the desk, his long legs easily eating up the small distance I’d managed to put between us.
“Is there something about my name that makes people want to scream it?” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Or at least phrase it better.
My already burning cheeks felt like fire when the hot guy’s smile turned into a smirk.
“That’s not what I meant,” I huffed.
He held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Your smile did.”
“Did my smile also tell you to have dinner with me tomorrow?”
Yes.
“No.”
My blunt rejection did nothing to lessen that stupidly charming smile. “No it didn’t or no you won’t?”
I knew his shout had garnered attention. I felt eyes on us.
But it didn’t freak me out. It soothed the residual bruising my ego took earlier, and I was proud people saw us.
Fuck you, Derrick. I’m not a pariah or an outcast. I’m not some dirty secret to be hidden away. Someone out of my league does want to talk to me and doesn’t care who sees it.
But he wasn’t just talking to me. He was asking me out.
Again.
Too bad I couldn’t say yes.
“Both,” I answered as I began walking toward the door again.
The bodyguard followed. Not just through the lobby, but out to the sidewalk.
Like he was chasing me.
Like I was worth the chase.
More people watched us. Well, they were mostly looking at him since it’d be hard not to stare. The man wore a gray long sleeve shirt and black slacks with the same confidence and appeal Bond wore tuxedos. But no matter how many people checked him out, all of his focus stayed on me.
It was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant experience.
I wanted more of it.
“Your smile says yes,” he teased.
I fought to flatten my lips into a scowl, but I knew it wasn’t working. “How do you know my smile doesn’t say murder and destruction?”
“And think about how much easier that’d be for you to accomplish if we had a predetermined place to meet.”
No cringing? No concern? Not even a lecture about my black humor?