Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ella
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Look at what you did.
First, you gawked at a photograph and got caught looking.
Second, you broke a valuable object. Third, you wasted a stranger's time.
Not even a stranger, the owner of the office, who looked like an important man with far better things to do than help you clean up the mess you'd made.
Thank God I bumped into Anja in the elevator, my hand tucked inside my sleeve to hide the cut.
“You okay, Ella?” She takes my elbow, her motherly eyes forcing me to let her check on me. “Did anyone bump into ya upstairs, uh?” I nod, appreciating the chance to be truthful with one of the very few people I can be honest with.
“What happened? Wait, your bag? Luv, what's going on?” Thankfully, my phone is still in my back pocket, and so are my keys, so I open my Notes app and type.
I bumped into someone while I was looking at a photograph.
It fell and broke.
What if I get fired?
“Did they tell you anything ?” I shake my head. “Then what's the matter?” I mouth the word fired, and her gaze drops to my lips.
“Fire you? Nah. They can't even find someone to replace me when the babysitter lets me down. Good luck finding someone to replace you,” she scoffs, and it brings me a small measure of comfort.
The plastic bag still in my hand, I tighten my fist around it to stop the bleeding while watching the glowing numbers descend from thirty-two to fourteen.
“What's that?” she asks, glancing down at my hand as she notices a thin line of blood trickling over my fingers. I shake my head. Nothing. It's nothing.
“You're hurt. Let me see.” She doesn’t leave me room to argue, so I drop the plastic bag onto the floor, the shards of glass clinking together inside the small metal box we are standing in.
It's from the glass frame I broke.
She nods. “It's not too deep, but you've gotta get this cleaned right away.” I remind myself she was a nurse during the day.
Of course she knows what to do. “It's your lucky day.
I keep a few bits and bobs in my bag. Gotta be prepared in case kids smash their faces on somethin'.” I offer her a weak smile, mouthing thank you, because, truly, I may not have anyone in my corner at home, but I still have a good friend here at work.
The elevator chimes, and the doors open onto the sleek lobby, Ronnie standing behind the reception desk beside the gorgeous fake-looking orchids.
I expect us to walk right past him. Instead, Anja, in her not-so-subtle way, whistles with two fingers between her lips.
“Ronnie! Over here, mate!” I turn crimson. Anja is one of those people who isn’t afraid to take up space. My guess is that social anxiety is afraid of her. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t such a bad thing. It lets her do whatever she wants without cowering the way I do.
“Ladies,” Ronnie greets us, slightly out of breath, “is everything alright?”
“She’s bleeding. You got a chair?”
“Blee–of course. Of course. Right this way.” He fidgets with his cap for a second, clearly not expecting two cleaning ladies to derail his perfectly organized night routine, but there isn’t an ounce of annoyance in his expression.
Only genuine concern. “Over here.” He gestures toward his chair behind the desk. “How can I help?”
“She forgot her bag upstairs,” Anja explains as she kneels in front of me while I sit down, watching her dig through her oversized handbag between pacifiers and baby wipes.
“A bag... Right. I'll...I'll check on it while you… I usually never go upstairs, but I’ll, I’ll make an exception,” Ronnie stammers, clearly unused to change.
He disappears into the elevator moments later.
Had the man upstairs already thrown my bag away?
Was Ronnie about to come back and tell me I'd been fired?
“It should sting a little,” Anja murmurs, concentrating on my wound as she dabs alcohol over the cut.
The burn shoots all the way to my digits, but it isn’t unbearable.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment for taking up so much of her time.
And Ronnie's. They are both being far too generous with me.
I try to pull my hand away, but Anja gently tightens her grip around my wrist.
“C'mon, Ella. I know exactly what you're thinking–that I've got better places to be, but mind you, the kids are asleep, and I want to help my friend, okay? So just let me finish.” She chuckles, and I wish I could tell her out loud how grateful I am.
With my free hand, I tap her shoulder before showing her another note on my phone.
Thank you so much.
“That's okay,” she replies with a smile.
“No biggie.” My knee bounces anxiously. “You won't get fired, Ella. Relax.” But I was already calculating how much money I'd still need for next year's tuition and wondering how I'd earn it if I lost this job. Maybe the man won’t even mention the broken frame.
Maybe there is still good left in this world.
I bite my lip, fighting back tears of exhaustion.
What I'd give for a simple cheese sandwich on white bread and a hot cup of tea.
“All set,” Anja announces proudly. I look down at my hand.
The blood is gone. A large bandage now wrapped around my palm.
“Lucky for us, I had a big one left over from the last time Troy scraped his knees.” She stands and glances at her watch.
“I'd better get going. Come on, I’ll drive you home.” I hug her.
She hugs me back with the kind of motherly warmth I'd spent my entire childhood wishing for. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t let her drive all the way across town.
Her children are waiting for her. I quickly type another message.
It's alright. I'll take the bus. We finished earlier than I expected, so I'll be home in an hour. Thank you again. Truly.
She pinches my cheek. “You alright, Ella?”
“Miss Ella.” Ronnie's voice comes from behind us. We both turn toward him. The absence of my purse in his hands is impossible to miss.
“Where is it?” Anja asks. He pauses for a moment, catching his breath. Palms on his knees, in a dramatic post-sprinting pose. For such a tall, thin man, his lungs are fighting for their lives.
“Mr. Ashford didn't want to be disturbed. He asked you to come back tomorrow, I mean, today, to collect it.”
“Why? If he's got the damn bag, then he needs to give it back,” Anja snaps.
“Mr. Ashford said something about wanting to clarify the situation with the frame. I don't know what he meant, but...Mr. Ashford is a good man, if I may say so. I'm sure he didn't want you to feel unsafe being alone with him at this hour. He didn't want to be improper.”
Mr. Ashford.
Anja frowns. “Yeah, well, how's she supposed to get home without her bag?”
“He offered his personal chauffeur,” Ronnie says, placing a hand over his heart before gesturing toward a black Land Rover parked outside.
“Like hell she's getting into a stranger's car.
C'mon, Ella, I'll drive ya,” she mutters under her breath as we walk away.
Honestly, I am grateful for the ride. Today has been one of those days I simply want to end.
“Men, I swear... Yeah, sure, get into a bloody stranger's car. Unbelievable.” I wince before mouthing and signing thank you to Ronnie.
Waving the back of my hand from my chin to him.
He answers with a formal nod. “Miss Ella.”
I follow Anja, making a mental note to bring her a little gift tomorrow night...
if I still have a job. She is a true friend.
I settle into her car, smiling at the forgotten toys and breadcrumbs scattered across the seats.
Proof of a life filled with love. She starts the engine, and we drive into the night.
For a brief second, I feel someone's eyes on me.
I glance back toward the building. Ronnie is typing something into his computer. No one else.
I'll come back tomorrow if Mara lets me leave the house in the morning.
Surely, my bag will be waiting for me at reception.
I'm certain a man as important as Mr. Ashford has far more pressing matters to attend to than speaking with a maid.
Anja drives us toward my neighborhood without asking questions.
I appreciate that. I'm sure she wonders how someone could live there and work here.
But good friends don't pry into stories that haven't been willingly shared.
“Off you go, sunshine,” she says with a wink. I wave goodbye, mouthing thank you before blowing her a kiss. Her rusty little car disappears into the night, standing out among the polished luxury ones parked in front of perfectly manicured lawns.
I look down at my hand. My eyes linger on the soft skin inside my wrist…
The very place where he'd held me. There had been an urgency in his touch I didn't know how to explain.
His grip had been firm, yet careful, as though a war had been raging inside him between helping me and letting me go.
He'd towered over me, broad shoulders stretching beneath a suit that surely cost more than I earned in a year.
Why did he want to see me tomorrow? Was he simply the sort of man who preferred firing people in person?
Or had he truly been worried when he saw me bleeding?
My stomach tightens, anxious butterflies colliding inside me.
Whatever happens...I'll find a way to fix it.
My key turns in the front door. I tiptoe upstairs toward the attic, cold and silent, until I open the door to my tiny room.
My little nest. The only place in this house that ever feels safe.
I change into my pajamas, slip beneath the covers, close my eyes... and pray.
Mr. Ashford.
Please...
Be kind to me.