Page 52 of Conflagration
He’s reading the paper and sipping his coffee when I reenter the kitchen a few minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt, having thrown my hair up into a messy ponytail. He holds out his arm, and I walk to him, allowing him to pull me in for an embrace.
“Love the way you take care of me, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my abdomen as butterflies begin to swarm in my belly.
Bending down, I place a kiss on his forehead, careful not to mess up his hair. “I do it because I care about you, Branson.”
“I know,” he says simply then rises from the chair. He gives me a warm smile and takes hold of my hand. “Let’s go.”
Pulling up to Wellington Enterprises, I’m amazed to see how huge the building is. I don’t know much about the company other than the little bit Branson’s told me about his career—which really hasn’t been much. As we walk into the building, I wonder if this was a mistake. I’m surrounded by professionals in sophisticated business suits, and I feel completely out of place in my jeans. Branson doesn’t seem to notice or care as he places a hand on the small of my back, leading us towards an elevator. I watch him closely, noticing that he’s walking with a slight limp. Frowning, I make a note to ask the physical therapist about his crutches this afternoon.
We ride in the elevator in silence until we make it to his floor. Holding the door, he gestures for me to step off and then follows behind me. As he greets an older woman affectionately, I hold back until he takes my hand and pulls me closer.
“Caroline, I’d like you to meet Ariana Covington, my fiancée,” he says, causing her eyes to widen. I’m sure mine mirror them. “Baby, this is my secretary, Caroline.”
Catching myself, I plaster on a smile and hold out my hand, which she takes after recovering from her surprise and giving me a warm smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Ariana. And it’s lovely to see you back and on your feet, Mr. Wellington.”
He slips an arm around my waist. “It’s all because of her,” he tells Caroline, giving her a wink.
I’m in a slight daze as she tells him about his upcoming day, barely noticing when he pulls me into his office. It’s large, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge, wooden desk, and various commendations on the wall, but it’s not nearly as ornate as I was expecting. As he stands at the edge of his desk sorting through a pile of mail, I know I need to let him get to work, yet I find myself wanting to linger, unsure of what to do with the rest of my day.
Lifting up on my toes, I kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to get out of your hair. Have a good day at work, honey,” I tease, starting to walk away.
He captures my hand and pulls me into him, slipping both arms around my waist. “My first day of work and you’re trying to leave me without something to think about all day?”
My hands slide up his chest until they rest on the lapels of his suit. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be distracted all morning.”
“Too late,” he whispers, bending down and covering my mouth with his. His kiss deepens almost immediately, causing my hands to grip his suit as he wages war with my tongue. If I don’t get out of here, we’re going to christen his office, so I reluctantly I pull away. He looks down at me and gives me a wink. “Let’s hope that’ll hold me over. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Looking up into his eyes, I realize that this is going to be harder than I thought. “I’ll miss you,” I whisper, feeling foolish even as I say it.
His eyes soften, and he lifts one side of his mouth in a half smile. “Likewise, baby. Now get out of here before I chain you to my desk,” he says, giving my ass a little slap.
I roll my eyes with extra emphasis, and he laughs. “I’ll pick you up for physical therapy at three, and I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”
He smiles. “See you then, baby,” he says, and I turn to leave. Then I hear, “Ariana?”
Stopping, I look back at him, holding on to the doorframe.
“I care about you, too.”
WHEN I get home, the house is silent and I feel like one of those moms who’s spent her entire summer with kids only to come home to an empty house and not know what to do with herself. Of course, anything I feel towards Branson is nowhere near motherly, but the sentiment remains the same.
I plop down on the couch and flip on the television, trying to get lost in a morning show, but it’s no use. My eyes keep flicking back to Branson’s side of the double recliner, and I miss him. It’s kind of pathetic how much I miss him, and I start to annoy myself with this pity party. Isn’t this exactly who I didn’t want to be? Getting up, I plug my iPod into the docking station in the living room and set about cleaning the house, trying to get my mind off the loneliness that’s creeping up.
Cleaning proves to be therapeutic, and I end up dancing and singing into various cleaning materials as I pass the time. I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing the hardwood floors, and jamming out to some old-school R&B hits when the music stops suddenly. Of course, it happens just as I’m belting out the chorus to Toni Braxton’s “He Wasn’t Man Enough For Me” and I can’t stop myself from finishing the last line.
I’m staring down at the floor, feeling mortified, when I hear a throat clear. Turning slowly, I’m surprised to see Branson leaning against the wall, watching me with amusement, a briefcase sitting at his feet.
Jumping up, I panic. “Oh shit! I lost track of time. Am I late?” I ask, turning my attention to the clock on the wall. I calm down when I see that it’s only noon. “What’re you doing home so early? Matter of fact, how did you get home?”
“Let’s talk about that in a second. First, what the hell are you doing? You know I have a cleaning woman.”
I blush and nibble on my lower lip.
“Ari…”
“I didn’t know what to do with myself when I got home. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I decided to make myself useful. It helped keep my mind occupied.”
