Chapter 11
“And tell me again, why couldn’t we drive my car?” I grumble, forcing myself to slow my steps to match Daisy’s. She appears perfectly content in making this night as miserable for me as possible; continuously slowing her steps, pretending to be interested in buildings we can’t even see against the darkness, trying to fight off my jacket after I noticed her visibly shivering a few blocks back, and various other stupid shit that slowly gets under my skin.
I have to give it to her, though. She undoubtedly has taken me by surprise almost every day since I moved into my role at Moore Enterprises. I expected her to be meek and quiet—a shy girl, almost. And while yeah, she is quiet, it’s not because she’s shy. At least, not really. Her quietness comes from a place of reservation and guardedness, like she’s the kind of girl who makes the people in her life earn her words, time, and doesn’t settle for less. I don’t know why I’m suddenly interested in conquering every challenge that makes her, her, but I do.
And besides. Who doesn’t love a good challenge?
“It’s a nice night,” Daisy replies casually with a small shoulder shrug. “Plus, walking prevents me from getting in your car.”
I cast a glance at her, nearly forgetting that I asked her why she wouldn’t get in my car in the first place.
“What’s wrong with my car?”
She gives me a sideways glance, her lips thinning as she waves a hand absentmindedly around. “Stranger danger and all.”
My eyebrow arches, the confusion still etched on my face as I slow my pace to point at myself. “You think I’m a stranger? Your boss?”
“Can’t forget that tidbit of information either,” she states dryly, continuing her pace as she rounds a corner. “It would be inappropriate for us to be in a confined space like that.”
I make a face. “I wouldn’t pursue you, Daise. It’s a ride home.”
“It’s Daisy,” she snaps suddenly, visibly relaxing after a moment. “And I wouldn’t want you to pursue me.”
“No?” I challenge, keeping my gaze ahead to take in the surroundings. The street we’re on is nice: old, brick buildings stacked against each other that remind me of the Victorian homes tucked away on the opposite end of town. She continues walking with her focus fixed ahead but digs her keys from her front pocket.
“No,” she decides suddenly, subconsciously, I’m assuming, placing her keys strategically between each of her fingers before dropping her hand to her side. My eyebrows rise at the gesture, but I choose not to say anything about her tactics. It doesn’t make me feel good that she’s accustomed to treating her keys like a weapon, and even beyond that, I don’t want her using the things on me.
“Interesting,” I mutter, which causes her to whip her head in my direction.
“What’s interesting?” she demands, her eyebrows furrowed together slightly. The smirk appears easy, and my hands are now shoved deep in my pants pockets. I shrug lazily, almost uninterested. “You definitely didn’t seem opposed to being pursued in the bar.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” she replies coolly, but a hint of blush rests on her cheeks when we pass underneath a streetlight. “And even if I did want that, I wouldn’t go for somebody like you. You’re my boss.”
Ouch. “So you’re saying there’s still a chance?”
“No, Mr. Moore,” she sighs. “I’m—“
“It’s Tanner,” I interrupt, trying to brush off the hint of annoyance over her statement.
“I didn’t ask,” she replies, an edge to her voice as we round another corner. I roll my eyes.
I shouldn’t be pushing her buttons like this, considering that I am her boss, but something tells me that Daisy doesn’t mind all that much. She’s irritated and irritating, but I like seeing her defiance show. Not only is it hot, but it’s refreshing.
I’ve dated my fair share of women before I was in a long-term relationship, and more often than not, those women only wanted the things I did. They’d only do what they thought I’d expect of them—have dinner ready after a long day, clean up the messes in my own apartment that they had zero responsibility for—essentially, be the loving, doting girlfriend that society forces them to mold into. But I never wanted that, nor did I put those expectations on them because it isn’t my job to dictate what a woman does with her life. My mother, father, and sister would all smack me upside the head if they learned I ever treated another woman less than.
But with Daisy, she doesn’t seem to mold herself to what others expect from her, which is why she’s refreshing to be around.
“Well,” she says, stopping in front of outdoor stairs and gesturing with her hand. “This is me.”
I take in the Victorian-style, vining brick complex with no security detail in the front. A rug is propped between the door and its frame,with a man smoking outside the door, sitting on the steps, entering the building. He waves to Daisy, who smiles and returns the gesture, which causes my face to scrunch again.
“Where is your doorman?” I ask, looking around and noticing cars parked all along both sides of the road. Some streetlights work, others are burnt out. I frown, making a mental note note to look online and see if there’s a way I can request somebody come out and fix them because the idea of her walking around late at night without seeing five feet in front of her makes unease fill in my stomach. Some parts of Boston are better than others, and I wouldn’t classify this as a bad neighborhood at all, but one I wouldn’t personally live in.
She scrunches her face in confusion and angles her body towards me. “A doorman? Why would I need that?”
“Um.” I glance around like it’s not obvious. “It’s not safe?”
She chuckles in disbelief, placing a hand on her hip. “You can’t be serious?”
“I very much am.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not only is that the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard, but extremely privileged thinking, Mr. Moore. Just because my home doesn’t have the same luxuries as yours does, doesn’t mean that my home is less than.”
My stomach drops for an entirely different reason now. “That’s…not what I was implying.”
“No?” she challenges, her eyebrow arched. “Then what are you implying? That your life is better than mine because of how my place looks on the outside?” She shifts to cross her arms over her chest, and even though I’m overly confident she’s about to tear into me, that’s not what I was implying either.
“It’s…not safe, is all.”
She laughs dryly, glancing away momentarily. “Your concerns for my safety aren’t necessary.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out because I don’t know what to say. I understand what she’s saying, but I’m not coming from a place of privilege for being concerned about her.
I tilt my head. Honestly, whatever privileges I’m fortunate enough to have are the furthest thing from my mind. I don’t walk around with a sign on my head bragging that I have more or less than somebody else, especially when I care about the people around me and the lives they lead. I’m aware of who I am and where my family comes from—which is a privilege in itself—but I’m not a shallow asshole who only cares about being above somebody else.
I tilt my head. “Do you do that often?”
Her forehead scrunches slightly. “Do what?”
“Push people who care about you away?”
Her shoulders straighten, and she lifts her chin slightly. “I don’t do that.”
“Yes,” I say, taking a step closer to her. “You do. You didn’t want to get in my car—“
“Stranger danger,” she repeats. I wave her away.
“And you immediately assumed that I was judging you based on where you lived,” I observe. “I don’t care about where you live, Daisy, but I do want my employees living somewhere suitable, and I know for a fact that this area isn’t the best area in Boston.”
She eyes me inquisitively. “How do you know this area isn’t safe?”
My shoulders roll back, and I fight every instinct to blurt out that my sister was assaulted only a few blocks away, which is how I am certain the area is unsafe. It isn’t my story to tell, nor would it seemingly matter to Daisy, anyway. Walking her home has shown me how guarded she is, and although I’m disappointed that she clearly lacks trust for people, it further has me questioning who she is. And even beyond that, who hurt her so badly that it made her wary of anybody who showed her any resemblance of concern.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say carefully, nodding towards the general direction we were just walking from. “I’m going to head back to the bar. Have a nice night, Daisy.”
“Wait,” she calls out when I’ve turned away from her. Looking over my shoulder, she’s slipping out of my jacket. Lending it to her was a simple gesture at the time, but now that I’m able to look at her in it, I’m not confident I want her to stop wearing my clothes.
“Keep it,” I say. “For now, at least.”
“But-”
“You can give it back to me at work next week. It’s not a big deal.”
She gives me a look of terror, which causes a small smirk to pull at my mouth. “But then people will assume we’re friends.”
I grin, turning around fully to watch her. “We are friends.”
“Since when?”
“Now.”
“Uh,” she begins, quickly pulling the jacket the rest of the way down her arms. “No, we aren’t. We don’t even know each other.”
“Good thing we work together,” I say, taking small steps backward without taking my eyes off her. “I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning!”
I don’t give her a chance to respond, mainly because I don’t want her to make up some excuse at the last second to give my jacket back. It’s not a big deal. I’m kind of warm despite the weather anyway–so I don’t mind.
“Mr. Moore, wait!” she calls out, causing me to stop and turn around. I’m halfway down the street, but I can still see the glow of her caramel skin against the streetlamp she stands under.
“Thank you for walking me home,” she says softer this time. It’s only us on the street, but I would’ve missed her tone if I weren’t paying attention. Both appreciative and wary. The tugging in my gut is almost convincing enough to make me ask who hurt her, but I don’t. Instead, I nod my head towards her complex and shove my hands back in my pockets. “Go inside before you catch a cold. I’ll see you on Monday.”
She nods once, shifting to walk up the stairs of her complex before walking down the path in between the next set of stairs and the doorway. I don’t move from my spot until she walks to the front door, shaking my head slightly. When she finally pulls the door open, she disappears from my line of sight.