Chapter 10
ELI
I feel relieved when Paige Bradshaw arrives for a meeting with Max because, for the last five weeks, he has been rambling about a mystery woman he met at a dating in the dark, sex club event and has been trying to find out who she is, with no success.
As soon as Paige entered his office, he shut up about it, which I am grateful for.
He’s not just driving himself crazy; he’s driving all of us up the wall, too, even having Cole make a list of all the things we know about the stranger. Not that it’s helped; we are still no further forward in figuring out who she is.
As soon as Nathan disappears, then Cole, I follow closely behind to leave Max to his meeting with Paige.
They are currently lawyers on opposing sides of a messy divorce, and it’s clear to everyone how much Paige and Max hate each other, but for the sake of their clients, they tolerate one another.
“How did it go with Rainbow Bright?” Max calls out to me just as I’m about to leave his office.
“Rainbow Bright?” I ask, completely puzzled.
“The team-building woman,” he clarifies. “From a few weeks ago?”
“Oh, Sapphire.”
He slaps his desk and points at me. “That was it. How did it go? Did she have good ideas?”
“I’m not sure her company is right for us.” I sound like a broken record.
If Max had seen Sapphire on her social media the other day, singing karaoke in her office with her entire team celebrating thirteen years in business, singing Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain,” then he would understand my concerns.
It’s a cult she’s running, not a business, and they’re all mad as a box of frogs.
Once everything is finalized and I get my eyes on the day’s running order, it might make me think differently about their capabilities. Until then, the jury’s out.
“Really?” Max sounds surprised, as if he can’t believe that I’m still saying the same thing.
Her business offers the very best in team-building activities. I’m being an awkward dick and he knows it.
I make an excuse to cover my ass. “I swear she’d been smoking pot or sniffing something,” I recall the first time we met. “Dinner was loud.” Every encounter is unexpected and throws me off balance.
Paige clears her throat, then asks, “Is that Sapphire Feelgood?”
I nod, my brows dipping, intrigued as to how Paige knows Sapphire. “Yeah. Do you know her?” I ask.
“Yeah. And she’s not high, that’s just the way she is.” Paige smiles, shaking her head slowly before she shares more information I wasn’t privy to. “Her mom and dad met at Slab City, and I believe she grew up there for a while until they moved to San Francisco once Sapphire got a little older.”
Slab City?
I never knew that about her. Slab City is the only place in California that self-polices, and while the idea of living off-grid sounds quiet and serene, just thinking about it gives me hives.
Sand between my toes might have the capability of making me feel at one with nature, but I don’t need it between my ass cheeks or anywhere else to remind me.
Paige becomes animated, her voice light and joyful, awed by her. “Sapphire is amazing.”
I can’t deny that and want to agree with Paige, but instead I say, “She never shuts up.” I throw Max a quick glance to discover he’s grinning at me.
He can see right through me, and he knows she’s got me rattled.
That’s exactly how I’ve felt since that first night we met: shook.
When I debate with my brothers, I win every time. In a courtroom, I’m the one who always comes out on top, but with Sapphire, she takes the lead every time.
I may have met my match. Although if there was a competition for who was the most talkative, she would win hands down every time.
“She sure does like to talk,” Paige confirms, almost swooning.
She’s clearly a big fan. “She hosted our staff conference last year, and it was the best one we ever had. Her keynote speech was”—Paige places her fingers on her mouth and kisses them—“Chef’s kiss.
She made me want to open my own law practice. ”
Max and Paige exchange words, and I zone out of their mundane chitchat, my mind wandering to places I find solace in now: Sapphire.
Soft lips.
Wide smile.
Happy. So fucking happy.
It’s almost too much.
And yet, I want some of her to rub off on me.
“Anyway, I need to talk to you about something regarding the Young versus Young case.” Paige addresses Max. “I was in the area and thought it would be easier to discuss it with you than over email.”
Max gives me a silent wave goodbye, and I head quickly toward my office, eager to fill in the gaps of Sapphire Feelgood’s life.
The irony of Paige’s words isn’t lost on me. When I first met Sapphire, I told her: email only.
In a way, it was meant to protect both of us, a way to keep her big personality out of my quiet life. It was also a way to shield her from me. The last thing she needs is my shadow dimming her brilliance.
Every day since then, I’ve fought the urge to go see her at her office or invite her for another coffee to break that stupid email-only boundary I set. Then yesterday, seeing her from across the street, I almost ran to her. She’s that breathtaking.
I’m still kicking myself over the way she caught me yesterday drinking a matcha fucking latte in her favorite coffee shop like some love-struck puppy because after she said it was better for me than coffee, I thought I would give it a try.
But nope. It’s not for me. It tasted vile.
Like grass, dirt, and it’s far too bitter for my taste buds.
I gag remembering the flavor and have to stop the bile from rising in my throat as I walk through the top floor of the office.
God, it was awful.
My lie was worse. I blatantly lied to her, telling her I was too busy to reply to her emails, when in fact I find the whole staff event asinine, pointless, and a waste of money. I have been in court this week, though, so I wasn’t lying about that, and I am busy.
Sort of.
However, all I can think about is the next time I’ll see her and I’m desperately craving it, but I’m trying not to let it consume me entirely.
I know she’s a contractor and nothing more, but no matter how hard I try to be cautious, I find myself still constantly thinking about her.
That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance, afraid that if I get too close, I’ll say or do something I’ll regret. I don’t want her to become another obsession, another thing I cling to when life gets messy, something I’ve struggled with ever since I found out about my dad.
Annoyance weaves its way through my veins. Irritated at myself because this obsession I have with her is becoming unhealthy and yet I can’t seem to stop myself from doing what I do next once I’m back at my desk…
I tap on my keyboard and begin by searching the internet for Slab City.
Then Sapphire’s name, devouring every tiny piece of information about her and what her life might have been like while growing up.
I still don’t learn much except that she’s admired throughout the state and has won the Innovative Business of the Year award three years in a row.
Closing my search, I check my emails and freeze as my eyes land on Sapphire’s name and the email titled “New Venue Tours.”
Faster than lightning strikes, I open it and skim read.
My heart bounces with hope because it’s inviting me to visit several new venues to host our event, starting next week, which means I will get to spend more time with her.
Having managed to keep her at arm’s length for weeks, I’m now desperate to see her again.
She goes on to explain that the hotel we had previously booked caught fire overnight, forcing it to close. God knows how I missed that on this morning’s news.
I sit frozen in front of the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard before I begin to reply.
Okay, Eli, it’s just one email. People write emails all day, every day, without treating them like each letter will start a nuclear war.
Hey,
No, that’s too informal.
Hi,
Too stiff?
Fuck sakes, why is this so hard?
Decide on a greeting, Eli, it’s not like Sapphire is grading your email.
Ms. Feelgood
Perfect.
Thanks for getting in touch.
No, that’s not right. Rewriting the first line, I mutter to myself and hit backspace like it’s a natural reflex.
Then I take a deep breath and start again, this time more slowly.
Even then, I rewrite one of the sentences four times because the tone still feels off.
To me it feels like a crooked photo frame hanging on the wall, and I need to fix it.
It irritates me how everyday tasks challenge me now.
I know I’m being irrational. Trust me, I do.
I’m exhausted from overthinking simple text messages and daily chores that hold me hostage more often than I’d like.
I used to fire off dozens of emails in the time it takes me to write one now and never give it a second thought.
Now I find myself writing, rewriting, and reading emails repeatedly, dissecting grammar and punctuation like it’s evidence in a trial before I send them, sometimes up to six times until something clicks and feels “just right.”
Sapphire may move like a spark bursting with color, wild and untamed, but the truth is, her outside looks exactly like the inside of me, she’s just wearing the secret I keep buried.
“Does this sound boring?” I ask myself.
Reading my reply aloud, I rub my temples when two of the words feel off, then rephrase them, tapping each letter slowly.
Just hit send.
No. Not yet.
The ending feels off. She’ll think I’m a cold fish.
Fuck it. I am.
I’m not.
It’s not the ending that feels strange. I feel strange. I never felt this way before, but now I do.
What if she reads this and realizes how boring I am?
Why do you care, Eli?
Right, stop it. It’s fine. It’s… I add one more line.
There. Done.
Send.
From: Elijah Hart, Esq. | Hart Law
To: Sapphire Feelgood—Safire how different can they be? However, I am eager to see Sapphire.
I’m even excited. I might bring donuts because I know they are her favorite.
“That’s a stupid idea,” I mutter to myself, annoyed for even giving that idea airtime. I bet she hasn’t even thought about me at all. But weeks later, I’m still here, haunted by everything about her, the donuts she loves, and the lingering smell of her perfume that’s stuck to my nostrils like glue.
The alarm on my laptop reminds me it’s time to check Sapphire’s Instagram, which I now do at the same time every day because I’ve figured out she posts almost daily like clockwork.
I tap open the app icon, then search for Sapphire’s Instagram page and just as I suspected, there’s a new post.
Mild disappointment makes my shoulders slump because it’s a photo of a rainbow today, one of many she posts, instead of a selfie like I had hoped.
I wanted to see how many bracelets and necklaces she is wearing today. Equal amounts of each? Because sometimes she does that.
I scroll down her posts that are brimming with music, fashion, sunsets, sunrises, and all the things she loves. I’ve learned so much about her from her profile. I’ve been tempted on numerous occasions to tell her she shouldn’t give so much of herself away.
For some unfathomable reason, I’m relieved that there are no posts of her with her surfer boyfriend, Kai, confirming what she said was true: he’s an ex.
Fuck knows why he bothers me, but he does.
I continue scrolling to the last selfie Sapphire uploaded and tap it open, being careful not to like it because I don’t follow her.
I’ve turned on stalker mode, which I’m not proud of, but I can’t help myself from snooping.
With two fingers on her photos, I zoom in and find myself smiling and feeling better than I have all day. Her sapphire eyes are so vivid it feels like she’s in the room with me.
“You know, you could ask her out on a date.” Tessa’s voice makes me jump, and I almost drop my cell phone from the shock as she places a cup of coffee on my desk.
My smile disappears faster than free donuts at a police station.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” I shut my cell phone down.
Tessa points to the window behind me. “I saw the reflection of her photo in the window behind you. I saw it yesterday too. And the day before that…”
I cut her off. “Stop talking.”
Amused, she titters before returning to her desk. She’s such a smart ass. I wouldn’t have hired her as my secretary otherwise.
Next week can’t come soon enough; I’m ecstatic knowing I’m seeing Sapphire again. I need my Sapphire fix. My weekly dose of sunshine.
I plan to stretch those visits out for as long as I can and savor every minute of each one.
One venue a week, just enough to keep her close without her realizing I can’t stay away.
She’ll probably hate me for it in the end… but I’ll take my chances because, for now, I need her light; she makes the dark feel less heavy.