7. Delilah
Chapter 7
Delilah
I find my mother in the kitchen when I arrive back home. It’s late, but it has been an interesting day. A long, at times frustrating, but overall, a pretty cool experience. I feel like I’m living in some kind of alternate universe.
“Lilah,” my mum says, glancing at me over her shoulder from the sink where she’s washing dishes. “I wasn’t expecting you home so late. I was getting worried. How did the interview go?”
Was she really worried?
Or is she just pretending she cares?
I’ve received no calls or messages from her, asking if I’m safe or okay. It’s funny, even though I’ve always known I’m not the favourite child, I never would’ve doubted her concern for me once. Lately, though, I’m second-guessing everything when it comes to my family.
“The interview went well; the job is mine if I want it.”
“How wonderful,” she replies, picking up the tea towel from the countertop and wiping her hands on it. She crosses the room and kisses the side of my head, and now I feel shitty for doubting her concern. “Listen, can we keep this between us for now? Your poor sister is going through a lot, and I don’t want to upset her further.”
I take that back.
These people don’t care about me. Do any of them stop to think about what I am going through? Or how this has affected me?
“God forbid we upset poor precious Abigail,” I mumble under my breath as I spin on my heels to leave the room.
“Are you hungry? I have some leftovers in the fridge if you’d like me to heat you something up?”
“No thanks,” I snap as I head for my room and slam the door behind me. The sooner I can get enough money together to move out of here, the better.
Even though I was virtually held hostage until 5:30 pm, when the working day officially ended, I still left Prescott Enterprises resigned to the fact I would not take this job, despite how adamant Spencer was to the contrary.
He even dared to say, “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, Miss St. James,” when it was time for me to leave. He insisted that Damien, his driver, take me home. He said he didn’t feel comfortable with me travelling on public transport at this time of evening.
A stranger cared more about me than my family did.
Plonking down on the side of my bed, I will back the tears that threaten to fall. I’ve shed enough over these arseholes, and I refuse to give them any more.
I pull my phone out of my bag and click on the Messenger app.
Me: I’ve had a change of heart; I’ve decided to take the job … temporarily, of course.
Spencer: It’s a full-time position, Miss St. James, and I thought we’d already decided you were taking the job.
Me: You decided … I never agreed.
Spencer: Why the change of heart, then?
Me: My mother told me not to tell my sister about my job offer because she didn’t want me to upset her. She says she’s going through a lot right now. Can you believe it? WHAT ABOUT WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH!!!!!!!
Me: FYI, sorry about the shouty caps, I’m just having a moment.
Spencer: With good reason, and to be honest, I’m not surprised. In saying that, I’m sorry that they think it’s okay to treat you this way.
Me: Hence why I am taking the job. I need the money so I can move out.
Spencer: So, you’re using me?
Me: Yikes. You make it sound so much worse than it is.
Spencer: I’m just calling it like I see it.
Me: Technically, it’s your company I’m using, not you personally. I promise to give this temporary position my all as I continue to look for other employment.
Spencer: I hardly see how that is any better. You realise I own said company.
Me: I know, your mother told me all about the takeover.
Spencer: Of course she did, but you’ve just admitted you’re using me until something better comes along.
Me: Like I said, your company, not you.
Spencer: Semantics, Miss St. James. Technically, I am the company.
Me: You’re right, I’m sorry. Forget what I said at the top of this thread. I appreciate the offer, though. Fingers crossed I have better luck job hunting tomorrow.
Spencer: I’ll see you in the morning, Delilah. I’ll have Damien pick you up at 8.
Me: Wait what?
Me: ???
Five minutes pass, then ten … twenty, and I get no reply. He’s either gone offline or is purposely ignoring me. It’s obvious this man is used to getting what he wants and will play dirty to get it.
I get a start when I step off the elevator and find Spencer sitting on the corner of what is now my desk. “Good morning, Miss St. James.”
“Good morning, Mr Prescott.”
“I was half expecting you not to show,” he says as I approach.
I roll my eyes at his comment. I’m sure Damien would’ve alerted him if I failed to exit my house this morning when he came to collect me. Little did he know, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
I’m constantly walking on eggshells when I’m home, and I’m sick of my feelings taking a back seat to my sister’s. I had to endure Abigail’s mini-meltdown when Spencer’s driver pulled up outside this morning, and I’m gathering it won’t be her last. The sooner I move out or find alternative employment, the better.
“I don’t understand why I needed to be here so early; I thought my working day didn’t start until nine.”
Standing, he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, and I try not to ogle him. He’s dressed in another one of those three-piece suits—which is apparently, my kryptonite—and I hate how good he looks.
“We have paperwork to go over,” he says, turning and heading towards his office with long purposeful strides.
“What paperwork?” I ask his retreating back.
“Come,” is his only reply.
I follow like an obedient puppy, dropping my handbag on my desk as I pass. By the time I enter his office, he’s already slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. He removes the cufflinks on his button-down shirt before rolling his sleeves up to the elbow.
Yesterday, I inadvertently noticed how big and strong his hands were—which was an odd observation—but they held me captive throughout our entire lunch. Now I’m focusing on the way the muscles in his forearm flex, so I force myself to divert my eyes. It’s weird, creepy, and completely unprofessional on my part.
I remain standing in the doorway of his office, blindly staring at the painting on the far wall because I don’t know where else to look.
“Are you okay?” he asks .
I grimace as my gaze moves back to him. “Yes,” I squeak.
His eyebrows pinch together. “You’re acting weird … did something happen at home?”
“Not really,” I lie.
“Not really?”
I lift one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
“I’ve seen the way they treat you, Delilah.”
“It’s no big deal.”
He rounds the desk and stalks in my direction, and my body stiffens. Tenderly reaching for my elbow, he leads me further into the room and towards the chair that is positioned opposite his.
“Sit.” His forceful stare has me immediately doing as he asks. “What happened at home?”
“Not much.”
“Delilah,” he grumbles, arching a brow. He’s still standing beside my chair, and his tall frame looks even more intimidating as he practically looms over me.
“My mum asked me not to mention my new job … she didn’t want to upset Abigail.”
“Yes, I know. You mentioned that in your message last night.”
“Oh, right.”
When he takes his seat, he leans forward in his chair and pins his eyes on me. His forearms move to rest on the edge of the desk, as he steeples those incredibly long fingers of his. “I hate how dismissive they are of you.”
I like that he sees what I feel, but I still narrow my eyes at him. “It was pointless. She found out anyway … you know when you insisted Damien come and collect me this morning.”
“Good. ”
“Good?” I shriek.
“Yes, good. You work for me now, Miss St. James. She would’ve found out, eventually.”
I would’ve preferred that it was later. You know, before I was accosted by her as I tried to walk out of the house in the only decent outfit I owned.
When I bow my head, I can feel his eyes boring into me. “What happened?”
“Nothing … umm … happened,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
“What paperwork do we have to go over?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
My eyes snap back to him. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” he growls.
“She was upset, end of story.”
“What. Did. She. Do. Delilah?” he asks, punctuating each word this time.
“It’s no big deal.”
“If she did something to you, it is.”
His eyes are now scanning over me, looking for signs. He won’t find anything because it’s hidden under my jacket.
“Is that the same outfit you wore yesterday?” he asks, and I’m forced to look away.
“I washed the skirt and top last night … I hadn’t planned on wearing the jacket again today.”
His eyes slightly narrow as he barks, “Remove the jacket, Miss St. James.”
I gasp. “What?”
“Do it.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
“No. ”
He blows out a frustrated breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please.”
“Fine,” I huff, standing. “This could be classed as sexual harassment, you know,” I mumble under my breath as I slowly undo the three large black buttons that line the front of the jacket. Once I’m done, I roll my shoulder, letting the right side slide down my arm to reveal the damage Abigail inflicted on my poor blouse as I tried to leave this morning. “Happy now.”
“Your sister did that?”
“It’s only material,” I counter. “It’s not like she ripped my arm off.” Although, I’m pretty sure she tried to do just that.
“Irrelevant. It would still be classed as an assault.”
“She accosted me at the front door and wanted to know why there was a limousine parked out front. When I didn’t answer her, she grabbed my blouse … it ripped. No big deal.”
“It’s a big deal, Delilah. And Damien would’ve waited while you changed.”
“Into what? Hence why I put the jacket on.” I’m forced to look away again when I feel my face flush. “I will buy some more suitable clothes when I get paid.”
“That is the only outfit you own?”
“As in office attire?”
“Yes.” When I nod, he asks, “What did you wear at your last place of employment?”
“Scrubs.”
“I see,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He studies me for a moment and my humiliation grows. “I’ll advance you some money if you don’t have any.”
When he sits forward again and removes a chequebook from his top drawer, I hold out my hand, palm facing forward. “Please don’t. ”
He pins me with another glare, and I hate how that look makes me feel all flustered inside. “Delilah.”
And don’t even get me started on the way he growls out my name. Gah. Am I suffering from a medical episode?
Disregarding all the weird feelings I’m experiencing, I lift my chin. “I’m not a charity case.”
“I’d hardly call offering you an advance on your wages charity, Miss St. James.”
“And as I said, I will buy some more suitable outfits when I get paid.”
“Do you realise that’s two weeks away? My company pays fortnightly.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Do you plan on wearing the same outfit until then?”
I slide the jacket back over my shoulder and refasten the buttons. “I’ll see if my father can lend me something until payday.”
Ignoring me, he picks up a pen and starts scribbling something on the cheque. When he’s done, he rips it from the booklet and holds it out to me. “Here.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
An incredibly sexy rumble permeates from the back of his throat, and I feel compelled to fan my face. Is it getting hot in here? I can’t even shed any layers to cool my overheated skin.
Damn you, Abigail.
“You said we had some paperwork to go over,” I say, retaking my seat as I continue to ignore his outstretched hand.
“You enjoy pressing my buttons, don’t you?”
“I do not know what you’re talking about. ”
“Hmm.”
“I have work to do, as do you, I’m sure. This pointless back-and-forth is just a waste of both our times.”
He blows out another exasperated breath before dropping the cheque onto his desk and picking up the file in front of him. “I wanted to go over your employment contract with you.”
“Shouldn’t I be dealing directly with HR?”
“Typically, yes,” he says. “But since you have been so … fickle when it comes to your employment, I thought it best if we hash it out together, so hopefully we’ll both know where we stand by the end.”
I’m signing the last page of my contract when there’s a knock on his office door. “Your ten o’clock meeting has arrived, Mr Prescott,” the pretty redhead says.
“Thanks, Simone.” He suddenly stands, collecting the paperwork and handing it to her. “Can I get you to take these to HR?”
“Of course, Mr Prescott.”
“When you’re done, I’ll get you to spend the next few hours showing Delilah the ropes.”
Her eyes dart to me and she smiles. “It would be my pleasure.”
I watch on, somewhat mesmerised, as Spencer rolls down his shirt sleeves and reattaches his cufflinks before reaching for his jacket and sliding it on. I’m again forced to look away, because damn … this man in a suit is a sight.
He rounds the desk, pausing halfway to the door. “Delilah, this is my assistant, Simone. She’ll be able to answer any questions you have.” With that, he continues walking, leaving us both alone .
“It’s lovely to meet you, Delilah,” she says, extending her hand to me.
“You too,” I reply, standing and wrapping my fingers around hers.
The next two hours are a whirlwind, to say the least. Thankfully, I have enough sense to take notes as Simone runs through not only my duties for the day—starting with me fetching a black coffee for the boss man from his favourite barista—before moving on to the computer programs I’ll need to familiarise myself with.
I feel completely overwhelmed, but it’s my first day, and I’m experiencing information overload. I’m confident I’ll pick it up in time … I can only hope Spencer will cut me some slack until I do. I remember my first day at the dental clinic and I was feeling much the same.
“How about we take some time out and go for a tour of the building? We can pick up where we left off after lunch.”
I look up to where she’s standing beside my chair and smile. “That sounds great.”
“Mrs Prescott,” Simone says with surprise in her voice when we step off the elevator and back onto our floor half an hour later.
“Simone,” she replies, nodding as she crosses the floor in our direction.
“Eloise.”
“Delilah, darling,” she pronounces, clasping my shoulders and leaning in to air kiss both my cheeks.
“I see you two have already met.” I side-eye Simone and notice the intrigue on her face as she speaks.
“Delilah and I go way back,” Eloise answers .
I wouldn’t exactly call a little over a week way back .
Eloise hooks her arm through mine as we approach my desk. “Spencer’s in a meeting,” I tell her.
“I’m not here to see my son,” she replies.
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m here to take you to lunch, dear.”