“Okay, Cordelia,” Delilah smiled, “what happened six years ago?”
CHAPTER NINE
six years ago
“There you are!”Cordelia rounded the corner to the kitchen and grimaced at the salad I was preparing. How that woman could survive on ice cream and Nutella alone, while maintaining a perfect hourglass figure, was beyond me. Well, not quite, she put in a lot of time swimming laps.
“Looking for me?”
“Can you give me a ride?”
“A ride?” My brows jumped up. She hadn’t left the house once since I started here. It had been almost seven weeks - and in only two days I’d be out of this eyesore of a Barbie house.
“You have a driver’s license, right? I don’t remember if we covered this in your interview.”
“Sure. Right now?”
“Yes, please.”
“Where are we going?”
“The doctor’s office.”
“Oh.” I glanced at the oven clock. It was past 8pm. That was probably the best time to have a doctor’s appointment if you wanted to avoid people. “Two minutes.” I wiped my hands off on a dish towel and started clearing the counter.
“Could you hurry?”
“Next time, just give me a heads-up and I’ll be ready for your appointments,” I said. There wasn’t going to be a next time, but hell, the next guy could thank me for teaching her a bit of common courtesy.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s kind of last minute.”
The tremor in her voice made my head snap up. Cordelia didn’t stutter. She may talk a mile a minute or start the same sentence five times without noticing, but she never wobbled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a really shitty liar. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Car. Now. Please.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” I wasn’t asking anymore.
“I need a doctor and you won’t drive me. That’s what’s wrong.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, the neckline of her sweater slipping to reveal just a hint of delicate pink lace underneath. For the first time in seven weeks, I didn’t mind that goddamn color.
“I can administer first aid.” I dragged my eyes away from her bra and scanned the rest of her, trying to find a flaw and coming up short.
“Goodness, Victor, I need an OBGYN.” She pointedly looked down at her hips. “Can we please go now?”
“Shit. Yes. Shit, sorry.” That was definitely something a doctor had to take care of. I left the salad and vegetables out and followed her to the garage. Her car was a sensible city limousine, and my first thought was that it wasn’t pink - my second one, that of course it wouldn’t be pink. Once outside, Cordelia wouldn’t want to be seen.
She wordlessly got in the backseat and buckled in, and I was already halfway in the driver’s seat when I realized she wasn’t closing her own door. Who knew if she had ever opened her own door before tonight? Any other time, I would have rolled my eyes at how spoiled that made her. Instead, I just shut her door, tapped it twice, then got in my own seat.
The car took a moment to splutter to life, but at least the battery wasn’t dead.
“You can’t leave a car collecting dust like that,” I said while she brought up the GPS on her phone, “you need to drive it every once in a while or it won’t start.”
“You can use it whenever you want. I don’t drive.”
That wasn’t the point. The fucking point was that next time, she wouldn’t be getting to the doctor if she didn’t stay on top of the car’s maintenance. Neither her old security guy nor Cordelia had even mentioned the car to me, or I could have looked after it. I’d have to write a whole fucking handbook for the next guy.