Chapter 12
twelve
Every place Evan touched me burns . . . handprints on my arm, the inside of my thighs where our legs entwined when we rolled to the ground, the shell of my ear where his finger tucked an errant tendril of hair, and then the graze of his palm on my cheek when he pulled away.
I hide in my room, my back pressed to the wall, and hug myself to control the unexpected thrill bubbling up inside.
I glance out my bedroom window to recall our exchange on the stoop, but find that Evan remains.
He’s sitting on the step, his elbows anchored on his raised knees, his hands clenched before him, staring out at the street.
I can’t see his face, but I want to pretend he’s remembering all the places I touched him too.
This is too pleasant a thought, and my whispers immediately squelch the ridiculous idea.
I could argue back. Remind them today was different from the others, but they won’t relent.
They never do. What little peace of mind I’ve had lately battles the thoughts, but they don’t fight for seconds or even minutes; they fight for days and sometimes weeks.
And being with Evan tonight has afforded me many more moments of peace than I’m used to.
So now that I’m alone, the whispers rush to submerge me. They choke me with all the reasons Evan couldn’t possibly like me.
I stand in the middle of my room and do a few jumping jacks. I drop to my hands and knees for pushups, then roll over and thread my fingers behind my neck for sit-ups. With each exhale of a stomach crunch, it’s just enough of a distraction to clear my mind. If I don’t, I won’t sleep tonight.
As if my body wants to reject my optimism, I have my first nightmare in a week. Unlike other nights where I would take a midnight run to escape them, tonight I remain in bed to confront them. The images shoot from peaceful to violent, from pure happiness to terror.
Are they flashes of real memories from before? I’m unsure if I want to remember that day. Or did my mind fabricate them?
When I wake, I’m breathing hard. My neck and back are slick with sweat. I swipe away the hair sticking to my face and sit up.
This time, I got off easy. I didn’t scream. I didn’t vomit. I didn’t tangle myself in twisted sheets until I believed I was dying. I’m only shivering with an eerie chill.
Either way, I do what my therapist suggested.
I glance around the room to find what’s real—my dresser, my running shoes in the closet, and my reflection in the mirror.
Though the reflection of the girl staring back looks like she’s been to war.
Heavy purple bags droop beneath her eyes, and her hair is wound into tight knots.
But those things are unimportant, because she’s safe. I’m safe. I’m alive.
I breathe through my nose and allow my chest to expand on the rise and compress on the fall as I count to ten. When I’m finished, I drop my feet to the floor, press my toes into the carpet, and rub my temples.
How can I find a way forward if I have no concept of who I was before this? If I could remember the good that came before, I might be able to anchor my entire life to my experiences or relationships. If I could remember, I might better understand why I am the way I am.
Trying to be brave and tackle the day, I rise and move to the closet to browse my new clothes.
Until yesterday, my dress-code strategy consisted of blending in, not standing out.
Aggie’s joked I’d wear a camouflage suit to work if I could.
She’s right, but today I brush aside my worries.
I’m tired of being scared and living in the rain when I want to spin in the sunshine.
Determined to change, I remove a sophisticated blue dress-and-blazer combo from my closet.
Today when I leave, I don’t run into Evan, which is for the best. My flirting or attempts at friendship have been pushed to the back of my mind. I’m still on edge from my nightmare.
In the afternoon, I sweep through the revolving doors of 273 North State Street for my appointment. James stands in the lobby, ending a call. When he spots me, he slides the cell into his suit pocket and steps across the marble floor.
“Good afternoon.” His smile dazzles.
I accept his outreached hand as we exchange pleasant greetings.
“I’ll take you to the suite. I think you’ll be impressed with the space and the views of the lake.
” I scramble to open my bag, remove a copy of the sales booklet, and dig deeper for the keys.
I rushed here after an intense meeting with Linden, which proved to be another bump in my already rocky morning.
“You okay?” James places a hand on my jittery arm.
I glance up to find concern in his steely gaze, and swallow.
I didn’t realize how fidgety I was until this moment.
What’s worse is I didn’t realize until now it was evident to everyone else, namely the client I need to impress.
To shut the door on what happened last night, I smooth my expression and relax my arms.
“Sorry. I had a little bit of a crazy week, but I’m fine.”
“Promise?” The apple of his cheeks pop.
His concern warms me, and I unwind further.
“Promise.” I surrender a smile despite myself, but then offer a diversion. I lift the missing keys from my purse and dangle them triumphantly. “Found them.”
We step into the elevator, alone in the compartment. When the doors slide shut, I turn to him.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t meet sooner.”
“I blame the partners. They’re split on how they envision the new space. The good news is they’re finally agreeing on some bullet points. Which is a good thing, because I was looking forward to seeing you again.”
I clutch my bag a little tighter. Did he just come on to me?
“Twentieth floor,” the mechanical voice intones, saving me from responding.
The elevator doors slide open and I step through, determined to keep this appointment all business. Between Evan being Evan and Linden being a bull, I can’t deal with another man, even a nice one. I unlock the glass entry door and lead him inside.
“As you can see, the space is raw. It’s a blank canvas for your firm to do anything they want.” My heels click on the floor as I move around.
He paces from one side of the space to the other, taking in the details—wide plank floors, enormous brick archways, and exposed beam ceilings. His heavy steps echo in the open space. His shoe heels scrape when he pauses and turns in a circle.
“The size is great. Love the natural light.” He peers through one of the large windows. “And the view of the lake and city is magnificent.”
“Imagine looking at that every day.” I join him and glance out. Sunshine reflects off the bright blue water. A few sailboats dot Lake Michigan, claiming their last days of fun before the weather changes.
“I can imagine,” he murmurs.
When I glance at him, James is staring back, and I drop my gaze to the floor. Fumbling to point out another feature, I step away. “Um . . . over here in this corner would be a great place for the conference room and kitchen buildouts.”
“I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? It’s just when I see something beautiful, I like to admire it.”
I pause and turn to him, my hands fidgeting at my sides. He remains at the window, the bright sunlight pouring into the room silhouetting his shape. When I don’t respond, James approaches, his expression serious.
Until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t even kissed a guy that I could remember, and now this? I clasp my hands at my stomach and take a breath.
“No,” I say, though it’s not true. “You only caught me off guard. The truth is, I don’t believe in mixing work and pleasure.”
He stops before me but not too close, maybe sensing my vulnerability, and slides his hands into his pockets. “That’s a shame, because that’s all I can think about with you.”
“But you don’t even know me.”
“I would like to know you better, Cait. I’d like to take you out sometime.”
I look beyond him and out the window, searching for an appropriate response. I can’t deny he’s attractive. After a moment, I find my voice and lift my gaze to his. “I’m flattered, but we shouldn’t, considering we’re working on this deal.”
“Then let’s finish this as fast as we can.” His smile lightens the mood, and I chuckle.
Our appointment continues without another mention of our exchange, but he does his best to charm me, despite my rejection. By the end of the day, I’ve shown him two potential properties, and we arrange a future appointment to see more.
The next day, I’m in the office answering emails when Aggie strolls in, hugging a vase of flowers. The fall foliage reaches so wide, it hides her entire upper body. Only a few slivers of her wayward blond curls remain visible.
She leans to one side, peeking around a golden sunflower. “How’d your appointment with Mr. Hot Stuff go?”
“Fine. But more importantly, kudos to Paul, or is it Charlie, for sending you flowers?” I lean back in my chair to assess her while rolling a pen between my fingers. “Judging by your smile, it looks like someone’s getting lucky tonight.”
“Oh, someone’s getting lucky, but it’s not me.” She steps forward, sets the bouquet down, and circles my desk. Sitting on the edge, she faces me, her legs swinging playfully as she plucks a card from the arrangement.
She reads aloud. “Cait, please forgive me. I love you. Signed, Lou.” She pins me with her gaze and raises a questioning brow.
I tap my pen on my chin. Did Lou send these from Europe as a joke? It’s unlikely. I lean in and swipe the card from her fingers.
Cait,
I’m sorry I put you on the spot. Let’s chat again after we close the deal. Maybe at Dalton’s?
—James
I smack her arm with the card for the lie, but my anxiety settles in. She’s going to jump all over this. I stand up and move across the room.