Chapter Four #2
That’s it. I take a deep breath in, close my eyes, and release a breath that moves slower than Congress trying to pass a bill.
Unless I’m misreading this situation, she doesn’t seem too concerned that I touched her hair.
In fact, I think she might be amused that I did something so out of character for me.
Regardless, I still need to apologize and make sure she knows it won’t happen again.
“Hayden, may I speak with you alone for one moment?” The rest of the team in the conference room resumes their work, and Hayden, still wearing the ghost of a smirk, clicks her way toward me.
I hold the door open for her as she steps out of the room, and I let it softly click shut behind us.
“Yes, Mr. Marshall?” Her tone is innocent, childlike. It annoys me.
“I’m sorry for my inappropriate behavior. It won’t happen again. The curl kept falling and was distracting me.” There. Simple, true, and upfront.
But Hayden’s eyes continue to smile like there’s a joke I’m missing. “It’s okay. I’ll invest in better bobby pins.”
I nod, unsure of what else to say. It sounds like she won’t press charges. I think she finds the entire situation amusing more than anything, based on the sparkle in her brown eyes and the smirk on her face.
“Thank you,” I say, running my hand through my hair. Again. I spin on my heel and go on a hunt for a comb to style my waves back where they belong.
For heaven’s sake, Darcy. No more hair-touching today.
Icrave alone time like a corrupt politician craves money, but when I receive time alone, I feel…
alone. A house of this size and prestige was never meant to host one person.
Sure, some of the staff lives here, but that’s the thing.
They live adjacent to me, not with me. The pillow beside me remains empty night after night, and sometimes, though I would never admit this out loud, I desire the warmth of a body sleeping next to mine.
This house is too big. Maybe I should sell it and buy a one-bedroom cottage in the mountains?
Then again, my history—my story—is contained within these walls.
Meandering the hallways and gazing upon the art hanging on the walls leaves me wanting to name and befriend the pictured faces like Anna from Frozen.
Though I’ve lived here my entire life, I’ve never taken to finding rest and solace in painted faces.
Maybe I’m more like Elsa with a deep desire to shut everyone out so I can’t unintentionally hurt them when I’m unsure of how to react, confused, overwhelmed, or overstimulated?
It was a long day at the group home, as is every Wednesday, and I sat through two movies—Frozen and Frozen II, which is why that dang musical is occupying my thoughts.
It was worth getting the songs stuck in my head to see the smiles on the kids’ faces and to hear their voices laughing and singing along with the movies.
Pausing at one particular picture causes a ripping ache in my soul.
Ophelia. She’s one of the few faces I wouldn’t have to name in this processional line of artwork.
Her cheeks are rosy, blue eyes sparking with mischief and excitement.
This portrait was finished three days before she died, and it serves as a constant reminder of my failures as an older brother.
Yes, maybe I am more like Elsa. Lock me away so I can’t make promises to people that I can’t keep. So I can no longer hurt those who love and support me the most.
Before I know it, I’m back in my office with little recollection as to how my feet carried me there.
A long-winded sigh escapes as I collapse into my desk chair. When was the last time I took a break? I ask this question every day, and every time, it’s the same answer: I don’t remember. Breaks are for the faint of heart, Father would say.
A knock at the door saves me from taking a trip down memory lane with thoughts of my father. That lane might as well be called Elm Street.
“Come in.”
“What’s up, my dude?” My short—well, shorter than my six-foot-two self—Japanese friend wearing a snazzy dark green suit saunters through my office doorway.
A grin stretches across my face; my mood instantly lifts.
“Ren, is that any way to greet the future president of the United States?”
“Yep. Better get used to it.” He bows. “Ren Sato: Keeping Darcy Marshall humble since the 1990s.”
I chuckle as I bow in return, already feeling more relaxed in his presence than I did alone and brooding two seconds ago.
“You look hansamu,” Ren says, looking me up and down. “Do you have somewhere to be tonight?”
“Dinner party at the Weatherby Estate. Figured I would wear my favorite suit for a confidence boost.”
“Yabai. That sucks.”
I shrug. “Just another show to put on.”
“You’re the master of shows.” Ren adjusts his low bun, or chonmage, as he calls it. “Are you going alone? After hours of making me wait, you texted that the newspaper was lying, but I don’t quite buy it. What are you up to?”
With a glare, I only answer the first question. “Unfortunately, no.”
“You are naturally brooding, but there is only one person who could put that specific expression on your face.” Ren raises his eyebrows. “Is your manager tagging along?”
“Mhmm.” My mood sours as I think of Hayden pestering me all night.
“Come on, Darcy-kun. She’s an awesome woman.”
I glare at him, but he stands firm with his arms crossed. “You haven’t met her.”
“You talk about her enough that I feel like she’s our third best friend.”
“Hayden Bennett is not my friend,” I mumble. Would it be so bad if she was? Stella was. But then again, Stella had a moody introverted streak like me. Hayden is extroverted and might be related to the Energizer Bunny. It overwhelms me.
Another knock at my door halts our conversation.
“Must be her.” Ren’s face lights up. “I finally get to meet the woman who puts your panties in a wad.”
I shove Ren’s shoulder like I used to do when we were school boys as I walk to open the door. “You can say hi, but after that, take your leave.”
“Take your leave,” Ren mocks under his breath. Then louder, he sucks his teeth. “Yeah, right.”
I slowly open the door, and Hayden stands there with her hair in her signature bun, though she left a few curls to hang in front of her face.
Stay clear of those, I demand to myself.
Her face is practically healed now. Only a remnant of scars from the blisters remains visible under her makeup.
I take notice of her yellow pants, black tucked-in blouse, and black strappy heels.
Why doesn’t she wear dresses to these dinners like all the other women? I’ve asked her several times to do just that. But she does look good in that outfit.
“I see you didn’t take my dress suggestion to heart.”
“And I see you still haven’t realized that you can’t dictate what clothes I choose to wear.”
“She’s got a valid point,” Ren pipes up. I side-eye him as Hayden steps around me and into my office. “And yellow looks good on her.”
As soon as I close the door, I turn around and run into a stopped Hayden.
She tumbles forward and lands in Ren’s arms. Without thinking, I reach out to collect her from him, but Ren has already set her back upright and is mere inches from her face.
His arms trail hers while his eyes flick over every part of her body.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Hayden’s chin tilts up, almost as if she is inviting him to—
“She’s fine.” I force my hands to stay by my side. They want to reach out and pull the woman away from Ren. There’s no need for a makeout session in my office involving my best friend and my campaign manager. The thought alone stirs a fire in my stomach.
Ren glances my way, and I watch his top lip twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile. Or a smirk.
He turns his attention back to Hayden. “Are you fine?” Ren asks with honey in his voice.
She swallows and nods her head once.
With a smirk and his eyes still on Hayden, Ren finally creates distance between the two.
I choose to ignore the scenario that transpired. I could blame Hayden for stopping in her tracks, but I still ran into her. “Sorry,” I mumble, but I don’t think she hears me. Too preoccupied with my best friend.
Ren’s smirk has transformed into a smile. “Konnichiwa. I’m Ren Sato.” He bows. “You must be Hayden Bennett. Darcy-kun has told me much about you.” I narrow my eyes as he glances my way. That only seems to make his grin grow wider.
“Darcy-kun, huh?” Hayden shakes her head. “You two are close?”
“He couldn’t get rid of me if he tried.”
Hayden chuckles and brings one hand up to cover her mouth. It’s an objectively cute action, like she’s embarrassed.
Hayden Bennett is never embarrassed. If I know anything about that woman, it’s that she’s too confident for her own good.
I continue to watch Ren and Hayden. I don’t like the way they move around each other. Hayden has fully angled herself away from me and toward Ren. Ren has mimicked the action. They aren’t speaking, but their body language seems to be having its own conversation.
Why do I feel like a third wheel in this room?
“We need to get going,” I state, clapping my hands together as some unfamiliar feeling heats my veins.
“Will you be joining us tonight, Sato-san?”
“Please, call me Ren. Though, I do respect that you understand proper honorifics.” Ren continues flashing his million-dollar smile as he bows to Hayden once more.
She bows in return. “Then, please, call me Hayden.”
“Okay,” I draw. “We’ve got to go, Miss Bennett.”
“I think it’ll be fun to tag along,” Ren says, boasting a broad smile.
“No,” I bark. Hayden gawks at me and Ren shrugs. Then, he whips out his phone and shows me a text invite from Mr. Weatherby.
With a smug expression that could rival the current president, he says, “Let’s save gas and ride together.”