Chapter 4
Livia
Monday is already starting out on a sour note. I’ve had two cancellations and I’m on the phone with one of them now. What my young clients don’t understand is they’re hurting themselves when they fail to show up. There’s a reason they were referred to me. I have a good track record of steering these young adults in the right direction and I’m good at what I do. So when I get a cancellation, it tears me up because I know what they’re passing up.
“Okay, so here’s what I want you to understand, Seline,” I tell her. “The more you put off your appointments, the longer it’s going to take for you to establish a pattern of normalcy. I need you to get serious about this. For your sake.”
“I understand, Ms. Augustus. Look—can you fit me in on Friday?”
“This Friday?”
“Yes.”
I pull up my calendar and then respond, “I only work half days on Fridays, and they’re already booked out for a few months. Let me check to see if I have anything on Thursday. Hold on a sec, okay?”
“Alright.”
I pull up a calendar on my laptop and say, “Okay. I have an eight o’clock open on Thursday. Will that work?”
The line is quiet. I’m not sure if we’re still connected.
“Seline, are you there?”
And now I hear the dial tone.
I call her right back, but my call is sent to voicemail. I know because the line only rings twice. I hang up and try her again, but the same thing happens. So after I leave her a message, I sigh and hold my head. This has to be the most frustrating part of my job – knowing that I have the training and tools it takes to help people, yet they won’t take the time to help themselves.
“Hey, Soda, can you come in here for a minute?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says.
Soda Branch is my receptionist and administrative assistant. My office is so small, I don’t need an intercom to call her. It’s a small brick building with a single glass door – a duplex. There’s a chiropractor next door. The layout of my space is simple. There’s the lobby where Soda’s office is located. The bathroom is out there, too, and then there’s a kitchen with a round table, two chairs, a full-size fridge and a microwave. The only other room is my office, which is also the largest. It’s where I have my one-on-ones with my clients. I call it my second home because I spend a lot of time here and since that’s the case, I make it as cozy as possible with comfortable seating and an array of plants, an essential oil diffuser and soft meditation music. My office smells like patchouli and whatever fragrance of lotion or body spray I’m wearing.
“Hey, you called,” Soda says, peeping around the door.
“Yes. Can you try to contact Seline and schedule her appointment? I’m not going to let her give up on herself.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it,” she says, then lowers her voice to a whisper and says, “By the way, you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
What visitor? The only visitor I usually get here is my sister, Hope. She likes to bring lunch and talk about her life since she claims I don’t have one. She’s been known to pop up, but today, I know she has a seminar for work and wouldn’t be able to make it over here.
“Is it a patient?”
“No. It’s a guy. He’s decked out, dark-skinned, tall and super handsome. He looks like a salesman…probably trying to pitch something.”
“Ugh…I don’t have time for this. Tell him to make an appointment.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Thanks, Soda.”
She goes out, closes the door and I can hear her telling the guy to make an appointment. I go about my duties, checking the calendar for tomorrow to confirm my upcoming appointments when the door opens again.
I look up and see the tall, handsome guy she was referring to. My breath instantly catches. A warm sensation expands on my chest, giving my heart ample space to beat erratically. Everything about him heightens my senses – his exotic dark skin, even darker eyes, his smooth, bald head and just his gaudy cologne that smells like a pleasurable dream.
It’s him – Khenji Halifax – the man from the mixer that I met two weeks ago.
He’s wearing a double-breasted, navy-blue suit, white shirt, a blue patterned necktie, gold cufflinks and camel brown leather shoes. His beard grew in, too. Two weeks ago, he didn’t have one. Other than the beard, he looks the same way he looked when I last saw him two weeks ago. Fine as the finest man you’ve ever seen. And confused. He looks confused, too, and lost, I might add. Besides that, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my twenty-five years, and I’ve run across some handsome men. None have fascinated me like Khenji, and the crazy thing about that is, I don’t even know him.
What I do know is, he left me in the restaurant after requesting to ride with me there. I thought the ordeal was peculiar. He told me straight up that he was awkward and he was right. That still didn’t deter me from attempting to get to know him. The moment I realized he was checking me out at the mixer, I knew he was a man I wanted to know. I just waited to see if he had the balls to walk up to me and say something.
He didn’t.
I know why now, so I’m not judging. I do want to know why he’s here now, standing in my office patting his left leg like it’s one of his things to do to combat his nervousness. He’s staring at me like I owe him something. If anything, he owes me a coffee date.
I’ve never met a man who behaves this way. He acts like he’s scared of women—well, of me—and maybe he is. I’ve been called intimidating once or twice in my life, but he is the crème de la crème of men and has no need whatsoever to be so nervous around me or anyone else, for that matter.
My forehead creases as he stands in front of my desk, not saying a word. Yet, he’s the one who came to see me. The one who looked me up, found the name of my business, and took it upon himself to pay me an impromptu visit. I’m already at my wit’s end this morning. I don’t have the time for something I wasn’t expecting.
After a good three minutes of silence, because I refused to say anything to lead this conversation, he says, “Hi.”
“Hi. What are you doing here, Khenji?”
“I wanted to see you, Livia.”
I don’t hide the frown of confusion on my forehead when I ask, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Also, I wanted to apologize for leaving you at the café the other day.”
My brows raise. “The other day? That was two weeks ago.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Apology accepted. Is there anything else you need?” I ask, standing, knowing I don’t want him to turn around and walk out of here and never see him again. He’s been on my mind constantly. I dreamed about him a few nights ago. It came out of nowhere. Well, actually, I think it came from the fact that I never really stopped thinking about him since the mixer. Two weeks later, he’s still at the top of my mind, and now he’s standing in my office, being his usual awkward self.
And I freakin’ like it. I like the feeling coursing through me while he’s here. Maybe it’s his weird ways – I’m not sure, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I would like to get to know him, but I won’t coerce him to do anything he’s uncomfortable with. I did that before, and he left me at a café. If he wants my time and attention, he’ll have to make the move this time. Coming here could be a first step, but not if he just stands there staring at me.
“Khenji?”
He snaps out of his trance. “Yes?”
“I said, is there anything else you need?”
“There is,” he says and pinches his mouth closed.
“Are you going to tell me, or—?”
“I would like to see you again.”
“You’re seeing me right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and opens his mouth but closes it again like he can’t find the words to say what he really wants to say.
To help him out, I say, “You could just ask me out on a date, you know.”
“I’d have to Google it.”
I lift a brow. “Excuse me? You have to Google what exactly?”
“How to ask a woman on a date. I’ve never done it. I wouldn’t know where to begin or where to take you. I—”
He frowns and looks frustrated. I imagine he’s about to take off again, like he did at the café. I don’t know what to make of this guy. I really don’t. What I do know is, I like him. I’m intrigued by him. What thirty-something-year-old successful man doesn’t know how to ask a woman on a date? It’s baffling.
I say, “Khenji, there is a nice Mexican restaurant down the street. You can just ask me to meet you there.”
He ponders it for a moment. “Give me your home address.”
If it was any other man, I wouldn’t entertain it, but it’s him. My intuition tells me he’s harmless. Plus, he looks like the type of man with the capability to find me regardless.
I grab a notepad and write my address, rip it out of the notebook, and hand it to him.
He looks at it as if he’s studying my handwriting. He returns his attention to me and says, “I’ll send a car for you at seven this evening.”
“No, I can’t this evening. I don’t usually go out during the week. I need to be alert and focused on my clients. Maybe this weekend?”
“No. This evening. Seven. Be ready.”
He turns to walk away. As he reaches for the door handle, I say, “No, Khenji. I don’t go out on weekdays. And it’s a Monday. I need to be alert and focused for my clients.”
He bares those deep, dark pitch-black eyes down on me and says nothing at first. He just looks like he doesn’t understand me and then says, “Please.”
Please?Is this man begging me to go out with him?
“Khen—”
“I miss you,” he interjects. “I need to spend time with you. Tonight.”
He misses me...
His answer isn’t strange to me. I miss him too. I miss his quirks and the way he seems clueless, yet he’s a successful businessman. He’s an enigma, and while I don’t buy the whole notion that he doesn’t know how to talk properly to women, there’s still something about him that intrigues me.
“Okay, then,” I tell him. “I’ll come on one condition. You have to talk to me this time.”
He gives me a single nod and proceeds to walk away, leaving his scent wafting around in my office. My goodness, he smells so good, I can just sit with him and smell him forever, even if he never said a word. I’m beyond excited that I’ll get a chance to spend more time with him tonight.
He’s sending a car for me.