15. Izzy
15
IZZY
“You don’t have any social media.”
Derrick continues to browse his computer, steadfastly ignoring me.
“Did you hear me?”
He angles to one side and focuses on me, brow quirked. “It was a statement, not a question. I didn’t think it required a response.”
I spin in my office chair so I’m facing him fully. “You should have an Instagram profile for your business, at minimum. A place to showcase your work.”
He blinks slowly. “So you keep telling me.”
“No social media. No website. No sign out front. How do you get any work?”
He arches a dark brow, scratching at his jaw. He trimmed his beard this morning, so it’s closer to stubble than I’ve ever seen it. “I told you, word of mouth. I don’t need any of that other fancy shit.”
I feel like slamming my head into my desk. “Regardless, you should have a place to showcase your work. No offense, but I wouldn’t hire you if I couldn’t see examples.”
He taps his fingers against his mouth. “I have pictures on my phone.”
Groaning, I hold my hands out and give them a shake, like I want to choke him. “Ugh! You are such a… such a…”
He flashes a smile. “Such a what? Finish that thought, please.”
His expression says I dare you , and I hate that my brain takes that and runs with it.
What would he do if I said it? Would he put me over his knee and spank me?
Unlikely, but a girl can dream.
“A man,” I say, like the single syllable is a dirty word. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, let me work on a website and an Instagram page for you.”
“No.”
I’m not above begging, so I clasp my hands and stick out my bottom lip. “Please? I’ll handle it all myself. You won’t have to do a thing.”
He picks up a pencil and taps the eraser side against his desk. “Aren’t websites expensive?”
I shrug easily. “They can be, but I know people.”
The people being me .
Frowning, he drops the pencil to his desk. “I don’t want you to owe anyone any favors on my behalf.”
I wouldn’t mind if he owed me a favor. I can think of some creative ways he could pay me back.
“It’s not a big deal, I promise. Please, say yes. ”
With a heavy sigh, he looks away. It only takes a few heartbeats before he focuses on me again, wearing a thoughtful frown. “Will it be easy for Jessica to handle once she’s back?”
“Absolutely.”
He rubs his lips together and closes his eyes for a moment. “Fine.”
“Thank you!”
Under my desk, Wonton pops up and lets out a little yip to match my excitement.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I get to work setting up the Instagram account, already thinking of which sites I want to return to for photos and videos.
I’m immersed in my work when Derrick stands up from his desk and stretches his arms above his head. I wish I could say I didn’t turn to peek at his delectable abs, but I do. I can’t help it. He goes for a run almost every morning, and he has to go to the gym to have the muscles he does, but I have no idea when he fits that in.
“Let’s go get lunch,” he announces, swiping his keys off the desk.
Wonton bolts out from under my desk and jumps up on his leg, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
“But I packed?—”
He shakes his head. “If I don’t get out of here for a little while, I’ll go crazy.”
“You know,” I push my chair back, “you don’t have to babysit me if you want to be out there working with your guys. I won’t stop you.”
“I’m not here for you,” he bites out. “I have shit to catch up on.”
I have to turn away so he won’t see my smile. His cutting words should hurt, but it’s impossible when he’s only saying them because he’s defensive. He was working on my sister’s store the first couple of times I visited, so I saw firsthand how much he likes to be on site with his guys, working alongside them. Maybe he’s not solely hanging around the office because of me, but I can’t imagine I’m not at least a small part of the reason. He might not want to admit it, but he likes my company.
As he should. I’m a blast.
“Whatever you say, boss man.”
I pick up my purse, then crouch and give Wonton a kiss on his head.
Derrick holds the door open for me, eyeing Wonton to make sure he doesn’t follow us out, then locks up behind us.
My poor pup sits in front of the glass door, batting at it with his paw, his expressive little face so forlorn.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell him, my heart aching.
As I turn and start for Derrick’s truck, he’s rounding the hood, shaking his head. “You and that dog.”
“What about us?” I ask as I yank the passenger door open.
He pauses near the front of the truck, twirling his keychain around his finger. “It’s cute, is all. He’s like your kid.”
“He is my kid.”
A laugh sputters out of him, but he sobers at my flat expression. “Oh, you were serious. Do you…” He clears his throat. “Do you not want kids of the human variety?”
“One day I’d love to have them,” I answer immediately, my chest warming at the idea. “But for now, he’s my kid, and even then, he’ll still be my first kid.”
He shakes his head, the longish strands brushing his forehead, probably thinking about how crazy dog lovers are.
I’m buckling my seat belt when he climbs in the truck, and only a few minutes later, he parks on the road in front of the diner. I should have guessed. He’s never said, but I have a sneaking suspicion that once Layla moved out, he became a regular.
He’s hinted at how lonely he was once his house was empty. I can imagine that it not only made him eager to spend time around people but also made it more difficult to want to cook, since he’d only be cooking for himself.
As we step inside, the bell above the door chimes. He steers me toward a booth with a hand low on my waist.
The vinyl of the booth squeaks obnoxiously when my bare legs slide across. An older gentleman a few tables away gives a soft chuckle, though he attempts to hide it behind his coffee mug.
With a small shake of my head, I pick up the menu from the shelf on the side of the table. I’ve eaten here plenty, but I like to change things up, and there are several things left to try.
Rather than pick up his own menu, Derrick laces his fingers and rests his hands on the table.
The young, bouncy server appears, her ponytail swishing as she slides her notepad out of her pocket.
“Hi, guys. What can I get you? Your usual, Derrick?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“You got it.” She continues holding her pen aloft rather than write it down. “And for you?”
“What’s your usual?” I ask Derrick.
“Burger with fries and a Coke.”
I purse my lips and blink once.
With a sigh, he looks up at the waitress. “A side salad instead of the fries, please.”
Lip curling, she eyes him with skepticism. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “This one is attempting to fix my diet.” He points an accusing finger at me .
I shrug, unbothered. “Guilty.”
“And what will you have?” she asks, her attention darting between us, her expression full of curiosity.
“The Caesar salad with a side of fries, please. And a water.”
When she’s gone, Derrick grins. “Fries, huh?”
“Fries go perfectly with Caesar salad. Besides, you got a burger with your salad. I’m not wholly against any foods in particular. It’s all great. But if you only eat fried stuff that clogs your arteries, you’re asking for trouble.” I eye him with pursed lips. “You have to have the good with the good.”
“The good with the good?”
Hands splayed on the table, I nod. “I personally don’t like to think of any food as bad .”
“I never thought about it that way,” he says as the waitress sets our drinks in front of us. He takes a slow sip of Coke, then sets it down again. “I just figured that LA made you a total health nut or something.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, looking away.
For the most part, I’ve worked past the issues I developed during the year and a half where I ate very little, and even less food with any real sustenance. I had surrounded myself with toxic people that convinced me that in order to “make it” I had to fit a certain mold.
But what is “making it” anyway? Shouldn’t each person’s definition be unique and based on their own goals?
In an effort to distract myself from wandering thoughts that will do me no good, I pull my notebook out and slap it on the table.
“Where’s my pen?” I mutter to myself as I dive into my tote .
Derrick clears his throat, and when I look up, I find him holding one out to me.
I pluck it from his fingers and press the button on top with a click . “Thanks.”
“I’m surprised you can find anything in that bag of yours. It’s stuffed to the brim with?—”
“My whole life?”
He lets out an amused huff. “Seems like it.”
“I never know what I might need. This way, when I do know, there’s a good chance I have it with me.”
With an amused smile, he shakes his head.
Straightening in the booth, I get to work scribbling ideas for the website and Instagram page. The kinds of photos people would like and catchy captions. I even block out what kinds of posts might work best on certain days, but I won’t know for sure until I start posting and can gauge performance.
Derrick watches me, his gaze unwavering, as I work. I don’t let the scrutiny slow me down.
When our food is ready, I pack everything away and dig into my salad.
Throughout the meal, Derrick eyes my fries with longing. He does it so often that I pull the plate closer to my side of the table.
“Mine.”
His lips curl in amusement. “I’m not going to steal your fries.”
I bark out a laugh. “Are you sure? You looked like you were considering it.”
His eyes darken, and he leans in closer to me, voice low, and says, “Trust me, Izzy. I don’t act on every thought that crosses my mind. ”
My brain scrambles, and excitement skitters down my spine. Why… why does it feel like he’s talking about me?
Is it possible Derrick wants me the way I want him?
No. I can’t imagine that’s even remotely true. He might find me attractive, but there’s no way it goes farther than that. He’s too much of a stand-up guy to consider me anything more than his temporary roommate.