Page 32 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
Annoyed, I set the smartphone aside on the large counter in my kitchen and turn back to my breakfast, which consists of scrambled eggs with a generous helping of bacon, two slices of toast, a black coffee, and a pancake to finish.
But I'm just shoveling the food down, and it's only on the last bite that I realize my housekeeper must have been a little too generous with the salt today. I wash the aftertaste down with a big gulp of coffee.
Even the news, playing at a minimal volume on the iPad in front of me, doesn't hold my interest. Instead, I find myself wondering once again what's wrong with this woman.
Her behavior is so atypical. She's driving me a little crazy. First, she lets me kiss her—and the kiss was definitely one of the best, tasting so much of sex and forbidden desire—and then she just leaves me standing there, gets into a taxi, and drives off.
This whole thing is getting more and more complicated, and I feel like I'm no closer to explaining the situation with the shop to her and making her a reasonable offer. Will she be more receptive after we've slept together and become friendlier?
I don't know, because nothing about Beth can be pigeonholed. She's just... different!
Maybe that's exactly why I can't stop thinking about her. I was up half the night, typing out draft after draft of messages. Even last night, while she was in the taxi. But I kept deleting them, because how would that have looked?
She'd bolted. Fled from the kiss and what might have come next. A hasty message was definitely not the right move.
So I decided to wait until breakfast, and lo and behold: she actually replied. And even better, she apologized and explained that she wants to take things slow because she got so hurt last year.
I apologized again for that, and I truly meant it, because I was fuming for a long time back then about that bitch Dilara and her behavior. And all because she probably wanted to get in my pants.
Besides, that was a good sign: she wanted me. Everything was going according to plan. A few more dates, maybe with a little fun, and I could tell her about my plan and the branch locations, and maybe she'd even come up with the idea herself of how perfect her shop would be for it. Wouldn't that be perfect?
But since I asked her about fifteen minutes ago, suggesting we discuss how to move forward, I've gotten...
Nothing!
She's just stopped replying. And it's driving me insane. I clench my fists and wonder if a woman has ever left me hanging like this multiple times: the almost-kiss in the shop, the kiss in front of my car and her exit, and now this. Usually, I'm the one who takes his time responding, but...
"Hey, Cutie," I say when I feel something soft weaving around my feet. The stray cat that found me seems to be awake.
I set my silverware aside, pick her up, and scratch her back. "Yeah, you appreciate my affection, don't you? Eric said you're doing better. I'm glad to hear that," I say to her, and she rewards my scratching with a contented purr.
Eric, my assistant, had taken her to the vet. The wound was stitched up, and he was told it would heal completely. He also had some "Lost Cat" posters with her photo put up at my direction. But no one has called.
Somehow, I'm glad about that, and I'm on the verge of telling Eric to have the posters taken down, because I'd really like to keep Cutie.
"Have you eaten yet?" I ask Cutie and set her down on the floor. I open the cupboard with the cat food and fill the two bowls on the floor next to my chair, so we can both get back to our breakfast.
"Well, you like the food here, don't you? You'd like it if you could stay, huh? Who would want to go back to an owner who just left you here, injured?" I say to Cutie, who briefly looks up at me from her food, giving the impression that she understood me. But a moment later, she's engrossed in her food again, and I grin to myself. I never knew I liked cats. But I just like her demeanor, which radiates a certain elegance.
"Sir?" I hear a familiar voice behind me and spin around.
"Eric. I'm not finished yet. Later," I say with a dark look as I see him standing at the kitchen entrance. On days when I go into the office later, he often comes here, and we discuss the day's business after my breakfast. It saves time and is better than the constant phone calls. But he has instructions to leave me alone during breakfast. My entire workday is punctuated by interruptions and calls, so I want my peace and quiet at breakfast, at least, and he's supposed to know that.
"I know, sir. But it's HER. Dilara. She's at your door and..."
"At this hour?" I ask, glancing at theBregueton my wrist, which I believe costs more than some single-family homes. I used tothink I needed something like this. And yet, all it does is tell time. But now that I have it, I might as well wear it. Besides, some of my visitors admire me for it. And best of all, its value has increased since I bought it, despite my wearing it.
"Didn't you tell her I'm not available?"
"I wouldn't have come if I hadn't tried. She won't be turned away. She also says it's important."
"I thought I had an assistant for this sort of thing, one whom I had, until now, considered competent," I reply with a sigh, setting my silverware aside and standing up.
"My apologies, boss. I just thought..."
"Take care of today's meetings. We'll talk about it in a minute. I'll just handle this quickly," I say, leaving him standing there and making my way to the door.
Dilara. She's in for a nasty surprise. What in the world could be so important? She was my competitor's assistant. This was surely just a trick.
