The Flower
The headache that sears through my brain may just be the death of me.
I’ve been at work for eleven hours… and counting.
My last client for the day just left, and I have a pile of notes that I need to chart.
This will probably take me hours. Maybe I’ll just do a few now and finish the rest at home.
I’m not sure how much longer my ass can stay planted in this chair before it starts taking its shape.
I stand, stretching my legs one last time, and it feels so fucking good. The clicking of my kitten-heeled boots fills the quiet air as I make my way down the hall. My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the late hour.
I peek out into the waiting room, taking notice that everyone has left, including Layla. I don’t blame her; poor thing was required to stay late with me as a request from Parker. I insisted I could stay behind alone, and he insisted that I shouldn't.
I reach down into the one-sided door at the bottom, and grab my small bag. My stomach elicits a small growl again. Shh, I know. Down, girl. I open the plastic and reach inside eagerly, popping a cookie into my mouth. My taste buds instantly salivate at the contact.
“Mmm,” I groan. Cookies are my favorite. Chocolate chip to be exact, but I don’t discriminate; I love them all. A small thud from the hall catches my attention. I thought I was alone? I turn and head toward the open doorway, peering around the corner, and I’m met with nothing.
Confused, I head down the hall, making my way back into my office. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I notice Parker rummaging through my files. Did he not notice that I was still here? I stand with my arms folded over one another, and clear my throat loudly for him to hear.
“Can I help you?” I ask in annoyance. He pauses and closes the manila folder he was looking through. Fidgeting, he glances around in panic, like a child caught in the fridge searching for a midnight snack. He straightens, brushing his blazer.
“No. Wait, yes.” He quickly changes his mind. I can almost physically see the lightbulb appear above his head. The dread of not knowing what's coming next seeps into my muscles, already wearing me out.
“What are your plans for this evening? Shall we have dinner?”
I almost want to vomit in front of him. Should I? It might finally make him leave me alone. I roll my eyes. If it is not now, he’ll bug me till the end of time. I already hate what is about to leave my mouth.
“Sure, Parker. It’s just dinner, and that's it,” I say for the record. He smiles as if he won the lottery, and I instantly want to take back my words. Every cell in my body is already dreading the next few hours.
“Give me a few to clean up,” I say, trying to get him to leave my office.
“Don’t make me wait too long now.” He grins as he walks around me, leaving me alone in my safe space. When I’m in my office alone, it almost feels serene. Like it’s the only time I can focus on doing the thing that I love.
I walk toward the other side of my desk and open the folder he was flipping through.
It’s Axel’s? What does he want with his file?
As my boss, Parker should not be looking at my notes.
No one should due to HIPAA, so this leaves me a bit confused.
I’ve never seen him go through my notes like this before.
Maybe it's the way Axel was toying with him in the hall, thinking I didn’t notice. Parker doesn’t know how to let things go. You could even tell him blatantly and he still wouldn't stop unless it’s on his terms. And it’s the reason I am now going to dinner with him.
I dip my head under the frame as Parker holds the car door open. I glance around the interior of the vehicle and it’s pretty well kept. It’s clean and polished. Black leather displays all around me, covering the seats, the doors, and the dashboard. Little pieces of chrome spread out in the accent.
My nose stings as I inhale the over-sprayed cologne in the confined space. I can feel as the scent practically singes the hairs inside to a crisp. My face crinkles and I try to breathe through my mouth.
The wind brushes my hair sideways as the car door closes behind me.
Parker runs around the front, and plops into the driver’s seat.
It’s already too close for comfort. He gives me a predatory smile as he starts the engine.
I buckle myself in. He does the same. I tug on the fabric of my skirt, pulling it lower, noticing it has ridden upwards.
He doesn't deserve to even see an inch of skin.
Classical music aggressively hits my eardrums, then quickly goes quiet. Parker turns, giving me a nervous chuckle. I can't help but throw him a look of judgement. I know I’m being so mean, but he deserves it, really. He makes my life a living nightmare.
“So, where are we going?” I ask in the awkward silence. He reverses from his parking space and exits the parking garage. The outside only lit by streetlights.
“It’s a surprise,” he says. The last thing I want is any surprises from him.
My forehead muscles hurt from the cocked eyebrow that hasn't left since I sat in his car. My hand comes up, rubbing the area. I peer out the window and notice we’re driving down the main street of downtown.
Buildings and food chains pass as we enter a part of the city that is of higher class.
He turns into one of the side streets that has hotels lined up like a catalog display. We drive upward as he looks for an area to park. As soon as he sees an opening, he backs into it. I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the city. It’s definitely out of my budget.
The car door swings open, and my boss holds his hand out for me to grab. I ignore it and exit. I attempt to fix my wrinkled clothes one last time before we start walking down the street. And you bet I’m keeping a healthy distance.
“I’m going to treat you tonight. I bet you have never dined like this before,” he says confidently. Did he just call me poor? Should I ask for a pay raise? After this, I feel like I should get one. I give him a forced but awkward smile, not acknowledging the backhanded comment.
My head tilts upward in awe of the tall building as we approach it. Valet attendants are standing in front of the outdoor check-in desk, waiting for the next person to come up. I stand a few feet behind while Parker checks us in for dinner.
He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, as the host is ready to show us to our table.
I feel Parker's hand meet the small of my back, and I instantly feel disgust course through me. I inch forward, putting space between the contact. I’m still wary of touch since that night.
Even thinking about it makes my body tense.
“Your table,” the male host says, signaling to the dimly lit, linen-covered surface.
“Thank you,” I politely respond, nodding and giving him a smile. I pull my chair out, quickly planting my butt on it before Parker has a chance to try to do it for me. Him being polite is only a front. We all know what a jackass he is.
The restaurant is beautiful. It’s dimly lit everywhere, setting a romantic feeling all around. Circular tables for two are evenly spaced from one another. There is a candle and a small single rose centered in the middle of each. So private. So quaint.
“A beautiful girl deserves to eat at a beautiful restaurant,” my boss says, pulling my attention from the decor and immediately ruining the moment. I don’t think there is anything he can say or do that wouldn’t give me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve already engraved the feeling into my brain.
“It’s just dinner, remember?” I remind him politely, not wanting to be too loud.
“I’m just stating the obvious,” he retorts.
The waiter comes by and greets us. He pours water into our already set glasses, and I quickly drink the water, hydrating my parched throat.
Parker and I then order our dinner, and the waiter leaves us.
I almost begged him to come back. I guess I have to engage in small talk with him, don’t I?
“So, how's the business going?” I ask.
“Good. How's this week been for you so far? Seeing that you're doubling your schedule this week. Which is good of you. By the way, what's the real reason you were out?” he pushes. Is this an interrogation? Who am to expect anything more of him?
“I already told you, I sprained my ankle. And it's been busy, but good,” I say defensively. I’m sticking to my story. He can ask me again and again, and I won't stray from it. He eyes me as if he can see through my lie.
“If you insist. Is that why you have a scar on your cheek?” He points to the left side of my face. My eyes widen in horror. I touch the skin on my cheek and feel the slightly raised line. It’s too tiny to notice, so how did he?
“Uh—I fell. That's how I sprained my ankle. I must have hit my face also,” I make up another excuse.
“The concrete must have really done a number on you, huh?” he asks, chuckling, then taking a sip of water.
Every bone in my body freezes at the question.
The palpitations in my chest feel like heavy drums. Banging louder and louder.
I move my hands to rest on my lap as they start to shake, making sure he doesn't notice.
“W-What did you say?”
“You said you fell. I’m just saying that the floor must have really done a number on you,” he implies, changing the important word from his reiteration.
“N-No. You said concrete. How did you know it was concrete?”