Chapter 16 #3
“Better,” I lie, pressing my palm to my face.
Anja has enough worries at home. It would not be fair to confide in her.
Sometimes lying is okay, right? If it is meant to protect those you love from sorrow and worry?
Her children must be worrying enough for her.
How does she do it? Could I be capable of caring for children without being mean like Mara?
Would I have it in me to be kind and patient?
I mean, I always am, but…can you be a good mom when you lost yours so early in life?
“I wanted to tell you, I…I met someone.” I type on my note app. The only person I’d be okay to share such a private piece of my life is Anja and I gather all the courage I can find as she gasps audibly.
“What’s his name?” she says with urgency as the elevator climbs.
“Tristan,” I type, and as soon as she reads the screen, a muffled scream fills the elevator, palm on her mouth.
“No way.”
“Way,” I say silently, not so brave anymore to look at her.
“Oh, you gotta tell me, ‘cause right now I’m picturing a hell of a lot of bad things, with predator and abuse being at the top of the list.”
“There is nothing of the sort, really,” I type fast. “He’s not a predator.”
“I saw him on the TV, Ella. He’s thirty-two and you’re, what, twenty?”
“Twenty-two.”
“See? Predator. Plus, he’s like bajillion rich and you’re, well, no shame in being one, but a maid.”
“No, no, it’s not like that. I know he’s really rich and all, but we barely kissed. It’s…” I stop typing, hand on my mouth. Have I shared too much?
“You guys kissed!”
“Anja, if you’re going to lose it, I’ll stop telling you.”
“No, no, no, sorry. I’m just shocked, hon, really.
You’re all shy and discreet. I didn’t expect you to bag a CEO, that’s all.
If you tell me it’s legit, I believe you.
I’m just worried. If you were my daughter…
I just wish I could protect you, that’s all.
” I squeeze her hand, grateful to have someone in my corner, checking on me.
“He’s very caring and patient. I’m having a hard time realizing anyone could be that nice to me,” I write.
“Don’t. You’re the kindest person I know.
” A genuine smile crosses her face. “You deserve to be cherished. Hell, even I do, and I’m not as sweet as you, but still.
We’re good women, Ella. Good women deserve to be cherished.
If I had a beer, I’d drink to that!” We exchange a sisterly look, both of us so different yet held to the same hopes of being loved for who we are by trusted men.
The doors open to the 31st floor, and Anja steps out.
“Bye, boo,” she chants, posing like a model at the front of the runway before the doors close again.
I manage a small laugh, appreciating how Anja manages to dig rays of sunshine even in the dark night.
Back against the metallic wall, I close my eyes shut.
Inhale. Exhale. He will be here tonight, after my shift.
Which means that as of this moment, he is already either sleeping or…
waiting for me. Tristan Ashford, CEO of the huge company, is waiting for me to finish cleaning so he can enjoy my company.
Surely, I am going to wake up one day and realize it was a dream.
I close and unclose my hands, ignoring the heat of my palms as I scratch my nape.
It will be okay. He said it on the phone when he called me, and I almost lost the ability to breathe.
His voice, deep and rough, yet directed at me, making me feel it all the way to the ends of my toes.
And even if this day has been a roller coaster, he did manage to appease me and make it all better. Tonight, we will plan mine and Dad’s escape from Mara’s grasp. We will find a way together. He promised.
Removing my jean jacket, I lay it properly on the arm of the leather sofa in the lounge area, the floor dark if not for the dim orange light of the hall, making the ads and lights of other buildings pop as if I were in a snow globe, watching the world from a tiny window.
I press on with the audiobook I managed to find for free on the platform, a whodunit, which is a change from my usual English Lit.
I am trying to change things up, here and everywhere.
For the first time in months, I am not only looking forward to finishing a job well done, as in seeing the satisfying before and after of cleaning and vacuuming and tidying every space, but tonight, I am almost rushing it.
As if it could change the clock. Who am I kidding?
It is not like he is watching me and will see the exact moment I am done.
I did say one o’clock, so no matter what, I will have to wait, even if I am done sooner.
Starting from the left corner of the floor to the right, I visualize how I intend to work tonight.
Start with the mini kitchen, then the offices to the left and the two meeting rooms, then the lounge space, then the executive offices to the right, and I will finish with his office.
Not as a reward. More as a… Yeah. Okay. A reward.
Because first, I am sure it will almost already be clean, and because I will get to step into his territory, his place of predilection, and maybe if I am perceptive enough, I will understand more of his world.
Dusting and tidying everything, I try to focus on doing every space from the left corner up to the bottom right corner.
A weird habit I have to make sure I have covered all places.
Room after room, I dust, wipe, and empty bins of paperwork.
A bouquet sits in one of them: deep red roses on a desk above a frame of a woman and a man holding a newborn.
She is blonde, mid-thirties, and they seem to be in a garden.
I notice one drawer open, with multiple plastic containers inside, along with a mini fridge powered on next to her desk on the window side, visible only to her.
Does it mean that she pumps her milk here?
Observing the display, I wonder. Is Tristan a good boss?
Or a tyrant? Does she have to hide to do that, or is she offered the best conditions to breastfeed in peace?
I have never imagined being close to someone of that status, and there is no wonder Tristan and I have different views of the world, but still, if he is not kind to those in need, then perhaps, perhaps we are too different to understand each other.
How convenient it would be to get cold feet, uh?
No, Ella, you know this is not him. He is a good person, ruthless in business perhaps, but good.
Hence why there is a woman breastfeeding on his floor, and he offered to care not only for me but for Dad too.
A tangle of webs takes place in my mind.
If he were a villain, it would be easier.
I would not have to leave the house to believe in fairy tales.
I would stay there, dusting, cleaning, trying to survive and make life more bearable for Dad.
Mom used to say, when something is right, you can feel it.
And I do. I really do. I deserve to be loved.
Perhaps I didn't always think this way, but Tristan is opening possibilities for my heart to expand and beat loudly, unapologetically. Watching me like a woman, not some disabled girl who never left the state. When I am with him, I forget about my mutism, about my situation, and I can just close my eyes and…be. Isn’t it what I always read about in novels?
The word is on the edge of my tongue, but I cannot say it, even in silence.
Everything could change, but Tristan could also change his mind and leave me the way he found me.
Alone and invisible. How can I trust him with my heart and dreams when no one has cared for me for so long?
Hours pass, and I do not even notice the stroke of midnight.
Time really does fly, whether I am here or elsewhere.
I step into the familiar scent of his office, the display less clinical and cold than I remember.
As if knowing him has removed the wall between us.
Perhaps he needs clarity because he spends his day sorting through business chaos and people pulling at him left and right.
Perhaps this is how he needs things to be to get a clear mind.
Once again, I try to spot places to clean, only to find that he, again, got someone else to do it so I would not have to clean his office.
I am this close to striking the sole of my foot against the floor when I notice something on his desk.
Did he leave a note for me? I move closer, darkness veiling it in shadow.
A photograph. Why would it be there? Tristan is not one to forget something personal on his desk.
I stop in my tracks. It’s…me. In black and white.
Sitting on the bus with a red cross drawn in a sharpie over my face.
My blood runs cold, and the cloth I had in my hand drops to the floor.
What… How? The side of my forehead is resting against the glass as I look down, not seeing the person who captured me from the street while I was commuting to work or back home.
I roll back my shoulders, then cross my arms, hugging myself.
Who would do that? We were so careful. One walk in the park when we did not know we could be more, and a few seconds on the street to enter the library.
We were barely visible. Barely… Instinct kicks in, and I crouch down, roll back his chair, and hide under his desk, contorting myself like I do at home under my bed.
The photo is still on the desk, clear as day.
I’m a target. Someone is after me. Is it because of Mara?
Or because Tristan and I appear to be close?
Do I mean so much to him that targeting me could really hurt him?