Page 32 of Almost Paradise

That doesn’t pacify him like it normally would. He turns around and looks behind him again, but there are so many people by the microwaves, there’s no way he’ll know who I was looking at.

He whips his head back around and gives me a look of disapproval. I’m not used to that from my dad. He’s always there with a smile, guidance, or a word of approval. “Remember our rule. The only thing I ask of you is that you don’t dip your pen in the company ink. You’re a Paradise. You have responsibilities here. This will be yours to run soon, so keep your shenanigans out of the office.”

“Dad, I’m a grown man. I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t date. And didn’t you meet Mom at work?” When he gives me the typical dad glare, the one that would make me look away in shame for talking back when I was a kid, I mollify him by saying, “I’m eating lunch and thinking about work. Chill.”

That seems to please him. He gives me a firm nod of approval and starts to ramble on about things I don’t care about. “Don’t forget we have a charity event in two weeks. You’ll need to be fitted for a hat and tails.” I groan at that and make a mental note to come up with some lie to get out of it.

Nia finally turns from the microwave and our eyes collide. She misses a step and trips, but she manages to catch herself. Her friend gestures at a nearby table that would put them in my line of vision, but Nia points to a table in the corner, much too far from me. But I enjoy the bounce of her tight ass while she walks away.

That was two days ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve typed about half a dozen emails to her, but I never hit send. I think about her constantly, and I wake up each morning with her on my mind.

I’m dreading the weekend alone as I pull out of my reserved parking spot on my second Friday evening as an employee. Heavy rain beats against the windshield of my Range Rover, and I’m grateful I drove it instead of one of my sports cars today. I hear a clap of thunder and the skies open, making it almost impossible for me to see through the windshield.

From the corner of my eye, I notice a lone figure standing under the covering at the shuttle stop. I only notice her because of the yellow blazer she’s wearing. She must be waiting for the company shuttle bus to go to the train station. It’s already six-thirty on a Friday, so most of the employees are gone, but there she is, standing there by herself, clutching a matching yellow umbrella.

I spin around and stop my car in front of her. I roll down the passenger side window and our eyes catch. She quickly looks away.

“Get in,” I yell over the rain. I wince. I need to learn to ask, and not just give orders.

“I’m good. Have a good weekend, Mr. Paradise,” she calls back. Just as the words leave her mouth, there’s another big clap of thunder, followed by lightning. She startles and puts a hand to her chest. The wind picks up, and the small umbrella she was holding flies across the parking lot.

I put the car in park and get out, uncaring about the torrential rain pouring down on me. She takes a step back when she sees me, so I put both hands up. She’s a small woman who is alone in an empty parking lot. It’s not my intention to scare her.

“It’s pouring rain, and I have a dry car. I’ll take you home, and that’s it. I promise. If you want, call someone and tell them you’re with me. I’ll even let you take a picture of me.”

The downpour continues, and she stares into my eyes. I hold her stare until she finally nods. I offer her my hand, eager to touch her again, but she holds up her phone and snaps a picture of me.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready for a picture. Let me see that.” I take the phone from her and gaze at the screen. It’s awful. I’m standing in an awkward pose, my eyes are closed and my mouth is open.

“I’m sending it to my cousin in case I turn up dead.” She snatches the phone back and types on the screen.

“Make sure you tell her I look better in person.” She looks up at me, grins, and blushes.

I offer her my hand again and she takes it. I didn’t think she would do it, but she does. I’ve been craving her touch since last week. We run to my car, and I help her in. By the time I go around and get in the driver’s seat, I’m drenched.

“You can drop me off at the red line,” she says.

“Is something wrong with your car? And I’m not dropping you off at the train. Put your address here.” I find the map app and give her my phone.

She punches in her address, and she only lives five miles from the office. It’s two train stops, so I guess she doesn’t need to drive if she doesn’t want to.

I can hear my own heart beating while I drive her home. Neither one of us says a word. I don’t even turn on the radio. All too soon, I pull into the parking lot of her apartment building. I stop at the main door, and I run a hand through my wet hair.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome. I told you I wasn’t a serial killer,” I say.

“Well, you still might be. Maybe this is how you make your victims feel at ease before you pounce.”

“By having your DNA and fingerprints in my car? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”

She does a half smile and half eye roll. It transforms her face and makes her look carefree and more beautiful.

“You want to come in and dry off? I can make you some tea,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “I’ll trust you not to kill me. Promise me you’re not a killer.”

I pull away from the entrance and find a guest parking spot. I put the car in park, and we both get out. I stand in front of her, hold up my pinky, and wait for her to wrap hers around it. I want to touch her again. Those few seconds she had her hand in mine weren’t enough. “Pinky swear.”

“You’re pinky swearing that you’re not going to kill me?” she asks. “And I’m supposed to trust that?”

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