chapter 7 #2
“Baby,” she mocks. “I wish you’d told me you wouldn’t be coming back to the room. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Shit. Walt misinterprets what Angelica means while I surmise more than twenty minutes have passed. I hadn’t mentioned coming back to the room. Nor had I specifically suggested she meet me here. I’m already failing at boyfriend material.
Still, Walt hammers on my shoulder blade. “Now, now. Plenty of time for that later.”
“We—” Angelica begins, but I squeeze her side where my hand rests just above her hip, tugging her closer to me.
“Angel, baby,” I counter, dipping my tone to match the edge in hers. “Walt doesn’t want to hear about how I can’t keep my hands off you.”
The comment is lewd and a little too much, but I want Walt to know one thing—hands off. Eyes too. Actually, don’t even breathe in her direction.
Walt chuckles, the sound like a cymbal, a clang of camaraderie, like we’re both part of that good ol’ boys club I’m getting sick of participating in. Playing a game with their attitudes and their threats like I’m still a teenager. Always acting a part. Always trying to prove myself.
“Actually, what I’d like to know is how you two met? And why haven’t we heard about you before today?” Walt lifts his glass, which he must have dragged off the bar while I left my drink behind. His distrustful eyes narrow as he takes a sip.
“It’s a funny story . . .” I begin, like my great-grandfather taught me when I needed a moment to think of an answer. Pause for effect, he’d said.
“We met in high school,” Angelica completes for me, turning her head in my direction and causing me to focus on her face. With those sapphire eyes on mine, she continues. “He was part of the in-crowd. You know, the popular kids.”
What? That can’t be true. How could I have missed her?
Angelica turns toward Walt. “And I was a scholarship one.”
Walt slowly lowers his glass. If he’s empathetic, he doesn’t show it, but his eyes don’t meet hers.
“And we recently reconnected. At Ashford’s.”
Walt’s head slowly lifts, and I hold my breath, wondering two things: How did I miss her in high school, and what will she say next? The board knows I had an incident, and I should be on medical leave, but I returned to work the day after I was discharged, and I’m standing here a week later.
“I love that store,” Angelica leans toward Walt like she’s sharing a secret.
“Oh really?” He tips a bushy white brow, pleased with her comment. “And what do you love about the place?”
She sighs, like Ashford’s is Disneyland and not a department store.
“The red carpet when you enter. You instantly know you are someplace special.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “And when you stand in the center of the first floor, you look up and those gold railings are like something straight out of the Gilded Age.”
Oh, she’s good. This is exactly what a man in Walt’s position likes to hear.
“Then you see that ceiling. Domed and magnificent.”
I remember her calling it a Sistine Chapel effect, but I still don’t get it. However, Walt is eating up her dreamy eyes and praising words, and I squeeze her side again, hoping it encourages her to continue.
Then Walt’s eyes shift, like he quickly reflected on Angelica’s assessment and changed his mind about something.
“So, you like all the money it represents, huh?”
“Pardon me?” she blinks at the old man, her tone instantly hurt while hard.
“Ashford’s. We represent money. Wealth. The privilege to spend, spend, spend on material goods.” Shopping at Ashford’s suggests excess. More shoes. More shirts. More housewares. Just more, more, more, and I suddenly don’t like what Walt is implying about Angelica.
“Do you shop at Ashford’s often?” Walt counters.
Again, I hold my breath, wondering how many times this beautiful woman has entered my store, and I haven’t seen her. Had no cause to notice her from my office on the top floor.
“Actually, I don’t. It’s a once-a-year occasion.
” She offers me a quick glance. “When I was a child, my grandmother would dress us all up near the holidays and bring us to the Oak Room for dinner. Then she’d encourage us to wander the toy department and point to all the things we’d like from Santa. ”
Her gaze lowers, brows pinching for a second. “We didn’t always get what we asked for, but it was fun to wish.”
“And what did you wish for most?” Walt asks, his tone bordering on insensitive, like the man he is.
Angelica slowly lifts her head and weakly smiles. “For my parents to come back.”
“Run off, did they?” Walt mutters, lifting his glass for another sip.
“They’re dead, sir.”
My head whips in Angelica’s direction before I snap a glare at Walt.
He swallows hard and finally has an appropriate response. “I’m sorry to hear that, dear.” Shame blanches his pasty cheeks.
Angelica shakes her shoulders. “It was a long time ago.” She glances around Walt at the bar, lit by softly glowing pendant lamps, accented by white Christmas lights wrapped around looping garland.
“And now we are here in this beautiful place to celebrate Ashford’s.” She offers him a final smile. One tight but strong before she glances at me. “And I’d like a drink.”
Taking my cue, I nod at Walt. “What the lady wants . . .” I whisk her around him, placing myself between Walt and her before guiding Angelica to the bar with my hand still on her side.
However, I’m not certain if I’m holding onto her to keep her away from Walt or clutching her because I don’t want to let her go.