25. Delilah
Chapter 25
Delilah
T hursday morning, I woke to a text from my mother. I wasn’t expecting to hear from her today considering how strained things are between me and my family right now, but deep down, I was hoping to.
Mum: Good morning, Delilah. Wishing you the happiest birthday, sweet daughter. I hope your day is as special as you are. I have a present waiting for you at home. Hopefully, I’ll get to see you soon so I can give it to you. Love Mum xxx
Her message has my day starting with a pep in my step. That pep only gets peppier when I enter the kitchen to retrieve my packed lunch—last night’s leftovers—from the fridge. Because sitting on the island is a propped-up envelope that has my name scrawled across the front.
I open it and find a birthday card inside. How did he know it was my birthday today?
Although what’s written inside is generic at best, I still find a lump rising to my throat as I read it .
To Delilah,
Happy Birthday.
From Spencer.
I’m touched that he not only took the time but thought enough of me to do this. Inside is a thousand-dollar gift certificate for a day spa. It is way too much, but given the pampered lifestyle he is used to, in his eyes maybe it isn’t.
Me: Thank you for my card and the gift certificate. It was very thoughtful of you. Can I ask how you knew it was my birthday though?
Spencer: You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure what to get you. Obviously, flowers were out of the question! My first thoughts were a pair of roller skates, a hula-hoop, a Barbie doll, or maybe a skipping rope, given your youth. But then I realised in ten short years you’ll be over the hill like me, so I ended up going for a more grown-up gift.
Spencer: And I knew it was your birthday because you work for me remember?
He’s typically a serious person and laser focused on his company, so I cherish the moments when he lets his guard down and allows his playful side to shine through.
Me: Hah. Very funny! But I do appreciate the more grown-up gift. You should consider getting a massage sometime; you’ll probably find it will do your weary old bones the world of good. And does your company have some kind of employee birthday database?
Spencer: My bones are neither old nor weary. And no to the database. I remember you telling me the first night we met that your birthday was approaching, so I made a note of the date when you filled in your employee details.
I hug my phone to my chest when I read his reply because his response means everything to me. Things may still be a little weird between us, but his thoughtful gesture means so much.
My day only continues to improve from there:
10 am – a dozen beautifully decorated cupcakes appear on my desk.
11:30 am – a colossal bunch of colourful helium balloons comes next, with the number twenty-two staked in the centre.
1 pm – a box of custom cookies is delivered.
3:15 pm – a tray of assorted handmade chocolates arrives.
I went from fearing my birthday would pass without any acknowledgment to being totally overwhelmed. I’ve never felt so special.
I can only surmise who is sending me these things because no card accompanies the deliveries. Another glaringly obvious clue is the lack of flowers, which would usually be the most common thing you would send a woman on her birthday.
Me: Thank you for making my day so special.
Spencer: You are welcome, sweetheart!
“Are you still coming out for drinks with us tonight, Delilah?” Matt asks as I pass his cubicle on the way to my desk.
It’s Friday, the end of the working week for most, but unfortunately, not for me. When you work seven days a week, they all begin to blend into one another. I’m bone-tired and want a sleep-in or have a lazy day chilling in my pyjamas.
“Can I let you know later today?”
“Sure, but I hope you can join us.”
“I’ll try my best.”
I guess one drink can’t hurt. It would be nice to make some new friends.
Things are back to normal between Spencer and me … by normal I mean platonic. We can be in the same room again without things feeling awkward. There have been no more kisses or anything close to that scorching moment of passion we shared last week.
It’s a shame because he’s a great kisser, but I can’t make the man want me if he doesn’t.
I don’t see him during the workday. He’s gone before I wake, but I’ve been cooking dinner for us in the evenings, so we get to spend quality time together then. It’s been nice. I enjoy being around him. Maybe more than I should. He’s made it clear where we stand regarding anything more than a friendship, but now that I’m privy to the dynamics between him and his father—and the disgusting type of man he is—I can’t fault Spencer for being turned off by our age gap.
In the beginning, I felt the same, but now that I’ve gotten to know him on a personal level, age seems like just a number.
When I reach my desk, I fish around in my handbag for my phone, so I can shoot off a text to Spencer.
Me: Good morning. You might need to order in your food tonight, I’m not sure if I’ll be home in time to cook.
Although he only requested an occasional home-cooked meal in exchange for room and board, I’ve prepared dinner every night this week.
I enjoy looking after him and the way he reacts when I do. Not only does that handsome face of his light up when he arrives home and finds me in the kitchen, but he also compliments my cooking prowess as he devours every morsel. It’s the first time in a long while that I feel seen, appreciated, and needed.
Last night after dinner, I brought out the cupcakes he’d sent me for my birthday. I wanted to share them with him. He may not have sung to me, but he did place a lit candle in the middle of one and told me to make a wish.
I did as he asked. I wished for him to kiss me again.
When I reopened my eyes, I found him leaning forward in his seat, staring intently, but I never did get my wish. It would’ve been the perfect ending to a pretty incredible day if I had, though.
Spencer: Why? Where will you be? Oh, and good morning.
Me: I’ve been invited to go out for drinks after work.
Spencer: With who?
Me: Some people on my floor.
Spencer: What people?
Me: People I work with.
Spencer: Marcy?
Me: No, not Marcy.
Spencer: Then who? I will require names.
Me: I’m not giving you a list of names. That is ridiculous.
Spencer: How well do you know these people?
Me: Not well … that is the whole point of going out to drinks with them. You know, to get to know them on a more personal level.
Spencer: How personal?
I’m not even going to justify that question with an answer.
Spencer: Delilah!
Me: Spencer …
Spencer: You didn’t answer my question.
Me: And I’m not going to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I have it on good authority that the CEO of this company can get extra growly at times, so the last thing I want to do is piss him off.
Spencer: Too late, he’s pissed.
Spencer: What time is this booze-up? And where is it taking place?
Me: Ugh. After work and at a pub.
Spencer: What pub?
Me: I can’t remember the name.
Spencer: How convenient.
Me: It’s the truth. I can’t.
Spencer: How will you know where to go?
Me: I will walk there with the others. Duh.
Spencer: Don’t sass me, young lady.
Me: Well, stop annoying me then, old man.
Spencer: Never mind, I’ll do some digging and find out where it is. I’ll see you there.
Me: You can’t come … you’re not invited.
Spencer: It’s a public bar, Miss St. James. You can’t stop me.
Me: I’ll never be invited out with them again if I bring the boss along.
Spencer: I’m not opposed to that.
Me: Grrr!
“Knock, knock.”
I look away from my computer and see a pretty lady with flaming-red hair standing in the doorway. “Hi, can I help you?” I ask.
“Delilah, right?” she answers, stepping further into the room.
“Yes.”
“My name is Laura, I’m Mr Prescott’s receptionist.”
I stand and take her outstretched hand. “Oh, hey. It’s lovely to meet you.”
I swear to God, if Spencer has sent her down here to get information about tonight, we are going to have words.
“It’s lovely to meet you too,” she replies. “I’m sorry to bother you, and I know I could’ve just called, but I thought it would be easier if I came down here in person.” She holds out the notebook in her hand. “Firstly, thank you for all the notes you left me, it’s been really helpful, but I’m trying to log into the Mitchell file and it keeps coming up with incorrect password. Is that a lowercase ‘l’ or a capital ‘I’? I’ve tried both, but neither worked.”
I take the notebook from her hand and when she points to the password in question, I wince. “It’s actually a one.”
“Oh, silly me. I didn’t even think to try a number.”
“I should have made it more legible. I’m sorry.”
“No harm done. How are you finding your new position? Marcy is lovely.”
“She is. Mr Prescott said you recently had a baby, I bet it was tough to come back to work when you have a small child at home.”
“I’m struggling. I wasn’t due back until the end of the year, but when Mr Prescott offered me a large bonus to come back early, I couldn’t refuse.”
It takes a second for her words to sink in, but when they do my heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “He offered you a bonus to come back early?”
She grimaces. “Maybe I shouldn’t have disclosed that, but since my husband is currently out of work and home to care for our child, it made sense to accept his offer. We needed the money.”
I try to swallow the knot that has now formed in my throat so I can answer her, “I completely understand.”
Boy, do I understand.
Spencer Prescott is a lying sack of shit.
He was so desperate to see the back of me, that he had to bribe someone with cash to get me out of the way.
I’ve been sitting at my desk staring at the adjoining wall for the past hour. I can’t concentrate … I can’t think straight. I feel like a gullible fool … completely blindsided.
I’ve been played yet again.
Is this why he’s been so nice to me lately?
Why he went out of his way to make me feel so special on my birthday?
Was it out of guilt for deceiving me?
I was led to believe that Laura approached him about coming back … not the other way around.
With trembling hands, I open the top drawer and retrieve my bag. I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text.
Me: Hey, it’s Delilah. Is that room still available?
James: It sure is, pretty girl. Do you want it?
Me: Please. Can you send me the address? Is it okay if I move my stuff in this afternoon?
James: Of course. I have a shift tonight, but Travis should be there. I’ll let him know you’re coming over.
Me: Thank you.
I stand on shaky legs and cross the room to knock on Marcy’s door. “Come in.”
“Hey, it’s just me. I’m not feeling the best. Would you mind if I took the rest of the afternoon off?”
“Of course not. Is everything okay?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes as I nod my head. “They will be.”
I’ve survived worse.
I’ve never had to catch public transport to Spencer’s apartment before, so it didn’t surprise me when the first bus I got on was the wrong one. Thankfully, a very kind bus driver was able to point me in the right direction, so I eventually made it home.
There was no way I was going to ask Damien to bring me here. I will not give Spencer the opportunity to feed me another bunch of lies. I’m going to cut my losses and move on. I even plan on talking to the restaurant owner over the weekend to see if I can pick up some extra shifts. As much as I’ve enjoyed my time at Prescott Enterprises, I don’t think I can go back there.
I greet Derek, the doorman, as I pass, then nibble on my bottom lip as I wait for the elevator to reach the ground floor. It has been a struggle to hold back my emotions, but the moment I step into the carriage, I allow the first tear to fall.
I’m not expecting to find anyone in the apartment when I arrive on his floor, so I get a start when I find an older lady wiping over the kitchen counters when I enter the main living space. She looks just as shocked to see me.
“Delilah?” she asks.
“You know my name?”
“Yes,” she says, placing down the cloth in her hand and rounding the kitchen island. “Mr Prescott informed me you were his new house guest. I’m Sandra, his housekeeper.”
“Of course. I was wondering why I’d never seen you.” I knew she had been here because of the fresh towels that kept appearing in my bathroom or the clean sheets on my bed.
“I work during the day, so I don’t get in Mr Prescott’s way when he’s home. I was delighted when he told me you were staying here. In the five years I’ve been working for him, he’s never had a house guest before.”
That doesn’t surprise me. If he’s treated his friends in the past the way he’s treated me, it’s no wonder he doesn’t have any.
“I’m actually moving out today,” I tell her and feel the heat rise to my cheeks when my voice cracks.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I picked up your dry cleaning earlier … I’ve hung it in your wardrobe.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be, so I have to gather my things. It was lovely meeting you, Sandra, and thank you for all that you’ve done for me while I’ve been staying here.”
“It was my pleasure. ”
I push back the tears as I rush towards my bedroom. Sandra seems nice, but I wonder if she knows once you look past his good looks and charismatic smile, that deep down, her boss is a snake in the grass.
I didn’t until today.