Chapter Three #3
“Alright, alright,” he said, half-laughing at my very serious issues. “You lost a year, babe. You aren’t going to get it all back in a day. You need to take it easy.”
“I can’t take it easy. I have to…”
“Look, after lunch, I have some shit to do. Once I get that handled, I will take you over to your old place and see what we can do about getting one thing scratched off your to-do list.”
Okay. That was something at least. I could… I dunno, sit in the marina until he got back from whatever work he had to do. It wouldn’t be that bad.
“You can crash back at the office building,” he supplied, making the plan even better.
I was starting to think he wasn’t so bad after all.
“Okay, that will work,” I said with a nod.
“Hey, strange question,” he said, taking the bill from the waitress and tossing some money on it as we finished up our food.
“Strange question?” I prompted when he didn’t ask.
“Whose clothes are you wearing?”
I started at that, sitting back against the booth and looking down at the garments in question. And, for the first time, that clicked. He was right; they weren’t my clothes.
“What the…” I said, shaking my head.
I had on a pair of some sort of linen pants, something I never owned.
In a light cream color, that I wouldn’t buy because I would worry about staining it.
And the blouse was just a bit… old for me.
It was a floral white, tan, and brown color in a lightweight, almost see-through material with large buttons up the front.
I wouldn’t have picked out something like that for my mother when she was alive, let alone for myself.
I looked up, mouth parted a little. “How did you know?”
“You mean aside from the fact that they’re fucking hideous?” he asked, smiling. “They don’t fit you right. Women with bodies like yours don’t wear a shirt that is two sizes too big and pants that make your ass look flat when it’s not.”
“I could just have terrible fashion sense.”
“You could. But I don’t think you do. Those clothes aren’t yours. What were you wearing when you left for work last year?”
That was easy. Because, the fact of the matter was, a year didn’t pass for me. Leaving my house and going to get coffee, it might as well have happened that very morning, not a year and two days ago.
“I had on skinny jeans in a distressed gray color and a white sweater. V-neck. And, ah, black wedge bootie heels.” I paused, a little embarrassed for the next part. “The panties I have on are mine. But my bra is gone.”
He nodded, not teasing me about that like I was thinking he might. “Is your hair longer?” he asked, making me reach up toward the ponytail and pull it out of the elastic band.
I ran my fingers through it, settling it like I usually did around my shoulders. My brows drew together and my mouth fell open as I felt toward the ends. “It’s… shorter,” I said, feeling it toy with the tops of my breasts where it used to cover them. “Someone cut my hair?”
“Seems that way. Anything else not the way it usually was?”
That’s when a couple of images flashed through my head about my exam. One of the biggest reasons I was so insecure about getting a physical? Yeah, it was because there had been no shaving or waxing. And I meant… anywhere. Underarms, legs, bikini. It was all wild.
As if somehow picking up on my embarrassment, Sawyer shrugged as he slid out of the booth. “Don’t worry. I got some razors and shaving cream,” he offered, leading me out the door and back onto the sidewalk. “Anything else?”
“I had trouble pulling your door open,” I admitted. “I feel weak.”
“Are you thinner?” he asked as we walked back toward his office building.
I felt my shoulder shrug. “Maybe a little? Not much, but I might have had just a slight bit more padding going on than I do now.”
One hell of a diet, losing a year of your life.
“No, this way,” Sawyer said when I moved to climb up the steps to the front doors of his office.
My brows knitted as I followed him around the side and then the back of the building, where he stopped beside a thick steel door and punched in a long code on the little square security box there.
The door opened, and I was ushered inside.
There was no door to enter the back of the office, but a staircase that led upward. I felt my spine stiffen.
“Relax, babe. There’s nowhere for you to be in the office that won’t be uncomfortable, so I am letting you crash at my place for a bit,” he informed me, taking off toward the stairs at a jog.
His place?
He lived above his office?
And, what’s more, he was going to let me roam around his personal space?
He didn’t even know me.
“Come on, Riya. I really do have places to be,” he called from above me, and I moved toward the stairs, gritting my teeth as my legs objected to the climb every single step of the way.
“Not kidding about being sore,” he said, turning to another door with another punch code and then pulling it open, ushering me inside.
But he didn’t step in with me. “Help yourself to whatever you want. Play with Slim. But stay in the building until we’re sure you’re safe. I’ll be back when I’m back.”
And with that, he left me alone.