I Speak...Love (A Different Road #3) (6 page)

Stephen’s secretary practically assaulted me when I walked up to her desk. She stood up so fast, that before I knew it, she had me in a vise grip like hug. Why do people just assume everyone else is a hugger? Shouldn’t that be something you ask before you just throw yourself onto another human being, then proceed to squeeze them so hard you need to adjust your boobs afterward? Not everyone is a hugger. She and Kate need to give each other hugs.

She told me I could go right in with a smile so big, I could see her wisdom teeth all the way in the back of her mouth. When I walked in, Stephen had his glasses off, and they were gripped tightly in his hand on his forehead. I could tell right away something was wrong. I’ve never seen Stephen without his glasses on, and oh boy, it made my stomach do a flip when his eyes came up to mine.

I’ve always been a protector. A protector of the few belongings I own, my food, people I allow in my life, and most importantly my heart. Seeing Stephen in what seemed to me, pain, made me go right into momma bear mode. I immediately closed the blinds and got his food as fast as I could. I’m good at taking care of other people almost to a fault, yet I hardly
ever
think about taking care of myself.

Stephen, by default of being a Mason, got placed on the list of people I care most about. This family, without ever asking where I came from, has given me so much. They’ve never judged me, and they’ve always given me my space when I clam up tighter than Fort Knox. I’m still surprised they’ve allowed me into the fold because I’m seriously one strange chick. I don’t like to talk about myself or my past, and I’m extremely awkward. I always calculate things in my head ranging from my words, my surroundings, my actions, and my behavior that most of the time I exude a
leave me the hell alone
vibe. Something essential you have to learn when you live in the foster care system and out on the streets.

“So, now I have to ask you. Are you alright?” Stephen gently asks.

I snap out of it and realize I’m holding my fork loaded with food a few inches in front of my face, and I’ve been zoned out for I don’t know how long. I look at his face and see genuine concern and, honestly, it freaks me right the hell out. I feel the familiar panic building in my chest and the need to run quickly takes over.

“I . . . uh. No, I mean, yes, I’m fine. I need to get going,” I say as I feel the protective walls going up layer by layer.

“You’ve only eaten one bite,” he says, furrowing his brow showing concern.

There’s too much concern here and brick-by-brick my wall is quickly going higher and higher.

“I have to get going. I can’t be late for my next client,” I say, grabbing the lid to my food.

It isn’t all a lie. I do have another client, but I’m not at risk of being late. I quickly seal the container and shove it back in the bag. I take the strap of my catering bag and put it on my shoulder, then quickly race to the door. Before he can say anything else, I open the door and quickly close it behind me. Stephen’s secretary immediately stands and looks at me with another toothy smile. She moves toward me, but I plaster myself against Stephen’s closed door. She must sense my deer in the headlights look because she backs off. I scoot away from the door and quickly walk to the elevator. I continuously stab at the down button like it will make the elevator get here faster, and pray Stephen doesn’t come after me. I’m behaving like a crazy person, and I know it. I can’t help it, though. There’re too many emotions coming at me all at once and I desperately need air.

The elevator doors open, I thankfully get in and push the button for the ground floor, then continuously push the
close door
button until the doors close. I shut my eyes and feel instant relief when the doors finally close, and no one else gets on the elevator with me. As the elevator descends floors, so does my heart.

I walk to my van, but before I get in, I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the driver side window, then I take a deep, calming breath. I open my eyes and look down at my worn, scuffed, second hand shoes, then my heart sinks yet again when I realize I left my chef coat on the back of the chair. I close my eyes tight and ball my hands into fists.

“Shit!” I exhale, as I rotate my forehead downward, pressing my nose into the glass.

I so cannot go back up there after I behaved like that. I lightly bang my head on the window, then I hear someone walking up behind me. If my heart sinks any lower, my toenails will start beating at any moment.

I decide to bite the bullet, and I quickly turn around. I hastily wipe my forehead with my palm to remove any evidence of window grime, then I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not Stephen, but his secretary. I’m pretty sure I don’t think I can face him for at least a month. After that month, we’ll see how I feel about the situation.

“You left this. Stephen wanted me to bring it down to you,” she says, handing me my coat. “I’m Caleigh,” she says, as I take my coat.

“M . . .” I start to say.

“Maddy, I know. I’m glad you came today,” she says.

“You are?” I question.

“Two reasons. Stephen needs to eat actual food for lunch more often, and I’m betting he enjoyed the company even more,” she says with a smile.

“I was in the . . .” I start to say.

“I’ll see you again,” she says, then turns around. “Maybe tomorrow,” she calls without turning around.

I was going to tell her it was for no other reason than I was in the area, but that would be a partial lie. I
was
in the area. But I was more surprised than anyone that I found I wanted to come . . . to spend time with Stephen. Now he may never want to see me again because I’m a crazy psycho lunatic. Seeing him tomorrow for lunch is a big fat negative. I get in my van, lay my chef coat over the back of the passenger seat, then drive to my next client’s house. I’m going to be extremely early, and I’ll have to sit in my van outside their house for at least thirty minutes before I can go in.

God, I’m such an idiot.

Maddy, again, had that look on her face like she was ready to bolt. She runs out of my office before she can even take two bites of her lunch. The only reason I don’t go after her is because of the look in her eyes. She needs space. I look at the chair where she sat, and her chef coat folded neatly over the back of the chair catches my eye. I give Maddy enough time to escape into the elevator, then I open the door to my office to find Caleigh. She’s standing halfway between her desk and my door, and she’s looking at the closed elevator doors.

“Is she alright?” Caleigh asks, pointing her thumb over her shoulder toward the elevator.

“Maddy forgot her chef coat. She has another client, and she’s going to need it. Can you catch her before she leaves the parking lot?” I ask.

She looks at me, then at the coat, then back at me. I’m sure she’s wondering why I don’t just do it myself. I lightly jerk the coat in Caleigh’s direction, then she looks at me with understanding.

She takes the coat, then jogs on her high heels to the elevator. I go back into my office and open the closed blinds. I shield my eyes from the sun and see Maddy standing next to her catering van parked in the parking lot below my office window. Her head is resting on the window of the driver’s door. A few minutes later, I see Caleigh approach her. They exchange a short conversation, then Maddy takes her chef coat, gets in her van, and drives away. Caleigh looks up and sees that I was watching them. She gives me a sideways half smile, then she heads back inside the building.

I walk back to my desk and pick up the container with my half eaten lunch and sit in my chair behind my desk. I eat the rest of my lunch, then grab my glasses and put them back on my face now that my headache is gone.

Caleigh walks back into my office, hands me a few messages and the mail, then picks up the empty container and leaves. I work the rest of the day with Maddy on my mind. Just before five, Caleigh walks into my office and sets the now clean container on the center of my desk.

“Goodnight, Mr. Mason,” she says, tapping the lid of the container with her fingertip, then she walks out of my office.

I have at least another three hours of work to do, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off Maddy’s container. I stand up, shove several files into my briefcase, then grab Maddy’s dish and leave for the day. As I walk by River’s open office door, he stops talking to Josh and listens as I walk by. I hear his condescending sigh all the way to the elevator.

I get behind the wheel of my Aston Martin and drive outside Malibu to Joss and Nina’s old house. I pull up to the curb, but I don’t see Maddy’s catering van in the driveway. I decide to wait a little bit, so I turn off the car, open my briefcase, and pull out a file. I open it, grab a pen, and get to work. Thirty minutes later a vehicle passes me and pulls into the driveway. It’s Maddy. She steps out of the van and immediately looks at me. I put the file back in my briefcase and grab her container. As I get out of my car, she walks to the back of her van and opens the doors. She scoots several bags to the edge, then hoists a few over her shoulder.

“Here, let me help,” I offer, grabbing the remaining bags.

I sling them over my shoulder, then close the doors to her van. I follow behind Maddy as we walk to her front door. She puts her key in the door, but then she doesn’t open the door.

She doesn’t want me to come inside.

She turns her head, and her doe-eyes come to mine. Like before, they dim an entire shade as they focus on mine.

It’s for the best. Give her back the container and leave before you break her.

“I . . . I just wanted to give your container back to you, and I never thanked you for bringing lunch. So, thank you, and it was really nice to see you today,” I say, holding out the container to her.

Her eyes go from mine to the dish, then to the strap of her bag over my shoulder. She looks back at her keys in the door, then back to me. I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes darken several more shades.

“I’ll just leave these here,” I say, removing the bags from my shoulders.

I place them on the ground, set the container on top of one, then turn around and walk down the driveway.

“Stephen,” she calls. I stop, then turn around, and look at her. “You’re welcome,” she says in the quietest voice.

I smile at her, nod my head, then turn around and go to my car. As I drive away, I look in the rearview mirror and see Maddy still staring at her unopened front door. I drive back to Malibu, pull my car in the garage next to my father’s prized, vintage Mustang at the home I was raised in.

The house looks much the same as it did when my parent’s lived here. The furnishings, kitchen, and bathrooms have all been modernized, but everything else is essentially the same. I’ve moved my bedroom from the one I had as a child to the master bedroom that my parent’s once shared. It was never weird to take their room, quite the opposite actually. It’s a daily reminder, every morning I open my eyes, of the events that led me to sleep in this room. The furniture they had in here is now in storage and a modern bedroom set that’s more my style now fills the room. There are three rooms in the house that I haven’t changed at all. Kate and River’s bedrooms have all the same furnishings and belongings exactly as they left them the day each of them moved out of the house. My father’s home office is also exactly the same as the day he died. I couldn’t bring myself to step foot in his office for a good ten years after the accident. His memories and the door remained closed right along with my heart. I couldn’t tell you how many countless times I stood outside his office door too much of a coward to go inside.