Chapter Twelve
Seraphine
The apartment is too big, too cold, too empty.
It’s beautifully furnished with a fridge full of fresh foods.
That’s as far as I got before I sunk into the sofa, covered myself with the fuzzy throw blanket, and just…
laid here. My gaze is on the floor to ceiling windows, something Elliot seems to love, considering they’re everywhere—his house, his son’s condo, here.
I suppose it’s necessary living in a place like Seattle where the views are gorgeous everywhere you go. Tall buildings, mountains, water…
Not that I can appreciate any of that right now, considering I feel nothing but numb.
Pretty sure that’s why I agreed to this at all.
Though, even staying with Harrison sounded appealing over the thought of going back to my father’s house where his brain matter is hanging on the wall like a decoration.
I can’t believe they just leave that there for the family to clean up.
I mean, how awful is that? How do they ever expect a family to go back in there, get what they need, and handle that situation?
I’ve never been so grateful for Harrison in my life, and that has me feeling so strange and really confused.
I never should have gone to him. But without going there, I wouldn’t be here.
I’d be sleeping in my car for the foreseeable future.
Not only would I have not known how to handle the clean up of my father, I never could have paid for it either.
Harrison said he would handle it, and I thanked him a million times.
I feel like it deserves a million more thanks, too.
Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Harrison’s only being nice to make up for what he did. In no way does this make up for cheating on me, but I’ll take it.
I’m not sure when I’ll make it back to my father’s house to go through everything and handle the sale of it, if that’s even something that will be left to me, since I doubt he left anything to me at all.
Harrison went into the house and got my things for me.
I sat in the car and waited for him as he made multiple trips back and forth, each time carrying armfuls of my stuff.
I hope I can get into the house to get my mother’s things, but I have to wait to see what my father has done legally and go from there.
If he chose to leave nothing to me, it’ll be a relief.
I only hope someone will have enough sympathy to let me go in and get my mother’s belongings.
Or maybe I’ll just get them on my own anyway.
My gaze focuses from the window to the oak coffee table in front of me.
Well, not the coffee table itself, but the small white unopened box that holds the newest iPhone.
It came with the apartment. It has been sitting in the same spot since I got here earlier this afternoon.
I’m just waiting to be told there is a shiny new Mercedes with my name on it, sitting in my parking spot in the garage beneath the building.
That’s silly. It probably wouldn’t be a Mercedes.
Elliot Caldwell seems more like a Porsche guy.
Both options are ridiculous, and I wouldn’t be caught dead driving either.
I like my car. Even though Mr. Caldwell was right, and it is about to give out any day now.
Still, taking a car is too much. I’ll get my own once I save enough money.
Or maybe I’m being the ridiculous one, and there isn’t a car down there at all.
I mean, he couldn’t have been serious about all of that, could he? Definitely not.
My cell rings from somewhere in the apartment.
Kitchen maybe. I think that’s where I left it.
I don’t rush to it, because I recognize the ring tone as Harrison’s.
“Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Guess I never changed it.
I don’t get up to answer it because I don’t want to talk to him.
I shouldn’t have gone to him, and I hope he doesn’t take my weak moment as forgiveness or willingness to give him another chance.
I do not forgive him for what he did, and I cannot give him another chance.
We haven’t even talked about what happened.
I couldn’t handle that conversation before, I certainly can’t handle it now.
But I won’t overlook it either. I won’t pretend it didn’t happen.
As much as I want to, to have someone through this, it’ll only be worse later on.
I don’t move from the couch until the sun is set, and when the apartment is dark, only then am I comfortable enough to get up.
The darkness feels like a safety blanket.
No one can see me in the dark. It’s just me.
I’m safe. I’m alone. But somehow, I feel less alone than in the bright sunlight that everyone around here craves.
I’ve always enjoyed the grey skies and rain that Seattle is known for. There’s something beautiful about the dark weather. The way the water gets a little chaotic, the dreary look of it all. Why does beauty only have to come in color?
I leave the living room and go into the kitchen.
It’s the main room, everything else branching off it.
The apartment is a U-shape and takes up one side of the building.
I’m honestly not sure what floor I’m on, so I’ll have to double check that before I leave—if I ever do—or I may never make it back.
I’ve been in a dream-like state since finding my father.
Completely disassociating at different points of the day.
I’m not even sure this is the same day… How long have I been here?
Flipping the kitchen light on, I do another perusal of the cabinets. Stock full of food—the expensive name brand stuff I was used to when I lived with Harrison. There are dishes, utensils, pots and pans, all shiny and unused.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the apartment was how it smelled.
That stiff almost pungent smell of newly unboxed items. That’s what this place smells like.
It’s almost clinical, and I hate it. I dig through the utility closet and find a can of lavender air freshener and frantically make my way through the house, spraying everything I can, hoping the scent sticks.
I’ll need candles or plug-ins… something to make it smell normal.
When I reach the bedroom, I sit on the bed, falling back and moaning at how the mattress hugs my tired muscles.
It’s so comfortable, so soft. My gaze goes to the closet, and I get up to check it out.
It’s a walk-in, but not huge. There aren’t any clothes here though.
Everything of mine is shoved in the corner of the room. I’ll put it all away one day.
Though I showered earlier today, I need another. My skin feels contaminated. So I dig through the bags, tossing clothes everywhere until I find my favorite pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. I stay in the shower until the water runs cold, and it makes me smile.
There is no one here to yell at me over using all the hot water. I’m not sure how that works in an apartment, if it affects anyone else, but honestly? I don’t care. They aren’t going to yell at me for this. They won’t even know it’s me.
I’m not happy my father is dead, in fact, it’s really going to mess me up once it all hits—I know that.
But the relief of knowing I can do whatever I want, when I want, without repercussion, has me feeling fifty pounds lighter.
I should feel guilty for being relieved, but.
.. my father’s cruelty is gone with him, and for that, I’m grateful.
I’m free. Finally, I’m free.
This is my apartment, everything in it is mine, and I can do what I want.
Or can I?
When I get out of the shower, I go to the living room, turn the light on dim, close the curtains, and put on the TV for background noise. The living room is decorated in dark oak and cream colors. The TV is mounted to the wall, and one of the biggest I’ve ever seen in a residential setting.
I pick up the small box and open it. The phone screen lights up when I tip it toward my face.
It’s already set up. There is no lock on it, so I set that up first. Then I go through the phone, just to see what’s here.
My accounts aren’t logged in, which I appreciate.
I’d be freaked out if he managed to get all my info, though it would be convenient.
I open the contacts and find only one.
Elliot Caldwell.
I think of my old phone that’s still sitting on the countertop in the kitchen and wonder if I’m supposed to get rid of that one.
Is this a work phone only, or can I use it for everything?
Will I get to keep it when I leave this job?
Is everything he’s offering conditional?
Of course it is. That’s how jobs work. You get the company phone and laptop while employed, and when you leave, you give it all back.
Meaning I shouldn’t get used to all this. It’s only temporary.
I press his contact and hover over the phone button for just a second before tapping it and bringing the phone to my ear.
“Seraphine, are you okay?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I say, my voice raspy, throat burning.
When’s the last time I spoke out loud?
“I suppose it is. Do you need something?” He isn’t accusatory, more caring. Worried.
Why I chose to call him over Harrison, I don’t know. Less likely to be forced into something? I don’t want to give Harrison the wrong idea. It’s possible I already did.
“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me today.” I have no idea how he managed to get all of this done in a matter of a couple of hours, but he made it happen. “And I think we should discuss the terms of me working for you.”
“That can wait.”
“No, it can’t. You’ve already given me all this stuff. I can’t accept the benefits of a job without doing the job.”
“You’ve just lost your father, Seraphine. Give it time. We can discuss this next week. Or the week after, or the week after that. There is no rush.”
“I can’t do that.” The words come out a croak, and I don’t know why I’m getting emotional. I’ve been fine for hours; I’m going to break down and cry now that I’m on the phone with my new boss?
New boss… how insane is that? I’m going to work for Elliot Caldwell, one of the richest men in the city.
I’ve heard so many things about this man over the years, nothing ever good—other than the amazing work he does—but nothing overtly bad either. Now here I am, working for him after his son cheated on me with his stepsister.
What even is my life?
“Seraphine…” He sighs heavily, and I can imagine the look on his handsome face. Concern. Worry.
Why does he look at me with those emotions when he doesn’t even know me? He’s so intense, and not at all the cold-hearted man people make him out to be. Even Harrison…
The man I know him as isn’t anything like the media makes him out to be or how Harrison made him out to be. Is he playing games with me, wanting me to see something else, or am I—
No. No, I can’t do that. This has nothing to do with me. Maybe I’m wrong, and when I spend more time with him, I’ll see what other people see.
“Mr. Caldwell,” I respond when he says nothing else.
Another sigh. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll have a contract drafted up and sent over to you. But for the record, I wish you would take more time to deal with everything you’re going through and not worry about work. Take care of yourself.”
Take care of myself? Myself? As much as I want to, I’m not sure I know how to do that.
Which is crazy, because I did for a long time. After mom died, that’s all I did was take care of myself. Yet now, it’s like I forgot how to function.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need to take some time to figure all this out. To get myself together. He’s giving me the opportunity. I should take it. Why is it so hard to just accept help?
“Okay.”
“If you need anything, no matter the time, do not hesitate to call.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I end the call and put the phone on the coffee table, staring at it for a long moment.
Everything about this is strange. It seems wrong. But I don’t hate it.