Layers

by Sigal Ehrlich

  Yes it’s urgent. “No, Tash. Call me later.” I press end, and resume my inner debate about meeting Mr. Stark.

  Do I want to meet him after the way he treated me today? Though, I’m certainly intrigued about his real intent, and I obviously can’t deny the fact that I couldn’t be more physically attracted to him even if I tried. I guess that’s the final verdict: I’m going to meet Daniel Stark for coffee.

  With that thought in mind, I start to compose a reply.

  Dear Arrogant Stark,

  You must be kidding. Aren’t you, hot stuff?

  I crack up and immediately delete my message. Tempting, but no. I phrase a more respectable reply.

  Dear Mr. Stark,

  On my own behalf, I’m not sure I should thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to waste my valuable time. I’m highly honored that I could be of help and contribute to Stark Software Technologies, Inc. I am hopeful Stark Software will make good use of my inspirational insights and that the esteemed Mrs. Greenich at Stark’s Software HR will implement my points in one way or another.

  Now seriously, Daniel, I must admit that I find myself quite puzzled as to why you would like to meet me for coffee. Is there further humiliation on the menu?

  Perplexed,

  Hayley

  I click send and my lips pull up, searching within myself for the cause of my sudden change of attitude toward Mr. Daniel Stark. An hour ago, I was ready to strangle the man, and now I’m smirking stupidly as I reply to his email.

  Less than a minute after my reply, my iPhone pings and I can’t resist immediately checking my inbox. New unread mail from DS@SST.com.

  Dear Hayley,

  You amused me, I want more, thus coffee. Tonight?

  P.S—That rarely happens.

  DS

  I read the email three times. That, I did not expect. I’ve amused him. What does he mean by that rarely happens?

  Dear Daniel,

  I would hate to withhold further amusement from you. Thus coffee, tomorrow?

  P.S What rarely happens?

  Hayley

  I sit by our kitchen counter, smiling to myself, wishing I could talk to Tasha, not exactly sure why I’m smiling like a goof. I should really get a grip; this is borderline pathetic.

  At the familiar ringtone I reach for my phone. Could that be Tasha, replying to the cosmic messages I’ve been subconsciously sending her?

  I don’t recognize the number; disappointment can be clearly heard in my voice when I answer. “Hello.”

  “Hello, is this Hayley Grace?” A deep, masculine voice at the other end of the line inquires.

  “This is she,” I answer, trying to search my memory for recognition of the voice without much luck.

  “Hey Hayley, it’s Daniel.”

  What? I find myself voiceless.

  “Daniel Stark,” he adds to my silence, his voice lighter, noticeably amused. “Lost your words there again, Hayley?” he questions, and I breathe out a short giggle.

  “Hello Daniel … Stark, how are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Not bad, after an intriguing morning. And yourself?”

  “Quite good, Mr. Stark.”

  “Daniel,” he huffs. “Drop the Mr. Stark.” he adds, dryly. “So, tomorrow?” he continues, as if this isn’t weird at all, as though we always make plans to meet and as though he hadn’t put me through hell just a few hours ago.

  “Tomorrow, Daniel,” I respond, unable to conceal the amusement in my voice as I do.

  “How about coffee for breakfast? We can meet at the Starbucks next to your home.”

  “How do you know where I live? Did you stalk me?” I frown at the phone. Really, Hales, you frown at phones now?

  There is a vivid, low, throaty laugh on the line. “No, Hayley. I did not stalk you. Frankly, the idea is appealing, but I’m busy. You know how it is; you need to work hard to maintain an intriguing and professional organization …”

  Jerk. I squirm in my chair.

  “I have your CV, remember?”

  “Yep, right. Forgot about that.” I chuckle. “What time suits you?”

  “Nine would work for me.”

  “Nine sounds good.”

  There’s a voice in the background at his end. “Mr. Stark, the Thai minister of defense is on the line.”

  Daniel replies, “Tell him that we’ll call him back.”

  The Thai mister of defense, what the hell?

  “So Hayley, what was I accused of so far? Being arrogant, condescending, and a stalker. Can’t wait to hear what else you’ll come up with before tomorrow. There’s a lot for me to live up to …” He chuckles. I join him.

  “See you tomorrow at nine, Hayley Grace,” he says and hangs up.

  Well, he does have to talk to the Thai minister of defense, I think, amused. Then it hits me: Daniel Stark just called me and we’re planning a breakfast date tomorrow at nine. Tasha, Ian, where are you guys when I so desperately need you?

  Restless, I text Tasha, and as I get no prompt reply, I change to my running outfit: my knee length Nike leggings and a black spaghetti top. I adjust the headphones and turn on my mp3 player. I need cheerful tunes. I fast-forward past a few songs and halt at “Imitation of Life.” Set to go, I lock the door behind me. Boosted with adrenaline, I skip every other stair, eager to start my run, aiming to defuse the excess energy now caged within me.

  ~~~

  Almost an hour, not bad. I praise myself, catching my breath while heading for a shower. Before reaching the bathroom, I step back to check whether by any chance Tasha called, but there’s only a text message.

  Tasha: W R crashing @ my folks, went 2 sleep, C U 2MOR a.m., Hugs.

  Sighing with disappointment, I head for the shower.

  Still radiating warmth from my muscles and the soothing wash, and with nothing better to do, I snuggle in bed, indulging in the clean scent of freshly-washed linen. In the comfort of my cozy bed, I recycle the morning’s events and can’t help but yet again question the fact that I was so affected both physically and emotionally by this person. Finally, I doze off watching Conan tease yet another beautiful actress, or is it a model, or a reality flavor-of-the-month airhead?

  Chapter 5: Jekyll … And Hyde

  U2 singing about a beautiful day blasts from my iPod docked on the nightstand; it wakes me up in the most elevating manner. I wait for the song to end before getting up. My meeting with Daniel, Mr. Stark, is in less than an hour. My body tenses at the thought.

  Where is Tasha, and is she ever planning to come back?

  I take a long steaming shower, trying to avoid thinking about Daniel’s provoking scars. I know they’ll distract me, and the last thing I want while meeting unpredictable Stark is to be distracted. Nonetheless, I know it can’t really be avoided. There’s something about scars that just screams delinquency, and what’s really sexier than that?

  While drying myself, I decide to not dress up, but to be my usual self. What do I have to lose? I strongly believe that once I find out his ulterior motives I’ll be disappointed, so at least I’ll be wearing comfortable clothes while at it … I take a last look at the standing mirror in the corridor, pleased at my reflection. I’m wearing dark, tight blue jeans and a red spaghetti top that perfectly matches my red sneakers. My straw-blonde waves are left loose and scattered around my shoulders, my skin pink from the shower and my eyes gleaming with excitement. I put on an almost unnoticeable touch of blush and a tad of mascara to enhance my brownish eyes. Here goes nothing. I smile before closing the door behind me.

  Ten minutes late, I reach the coffee shop. I smile to myself, thinking how just a day ago I was asked not to be late to a meeting with Mr. Stark … Stepping inside, I look around, and it doesn’t take too long for my eyes to rest upon Daniel, who is smiling from his place at one of the cozy sitting areas in the corner. He stands up as soon as our eyes meet and makes his way toward me. He’s quite a sight in black jeans, a dark, slightly tight tee, and am I seeing this
right? Red sneakers, same brand as mine. My lips pull up. Intentionally, Mr. Stark?

  “Good morning.” He grins down at me from his at least six feet, three inches. I can’t help but look at that scar on his full lip and beam shyly when I realize what I’m doing. He rewards my sudden timid expression with a shrug. There’s a trace of humor to his eyes.

  “Good morning, Daniel. How are you this morning?” He takes my hand in reply and kisses the back of my palm, just like he did when we parted after the disreputable interview at his office.

  “I am famished.”

  Oh, not exactly the answer I was expecting.

  “Then let’s order, shall we?”

  “Take a seat, I’ll order. What would you like?” he asks, his eyes carefully studying my facial features, slowly going over each and every one.

  I fidget slightly and respond, “A grande, double shot, extra hot, not too much foam, cappuccino, and a sparkling water, please.” He looks at me entirely entertained, scratching the side of his lip.

  “And what about something to eat?”

  “Oh, no thanks, I’m not hungry yet.” I don’t bother to tell him I am not much of a breakfast person. He raises his brows. Suit yourself, his gesture says.

  I sit by the table he just vacated, glad at the chance to observe him from a distance as he places our order. I study his confident posture, so quietly powerful. His raw masculinity, those rough features and not-bothered hair in addition to that hint of rebellion bursting from his mischievous eyes. Undeniably, mega-attractive.

  “Here you go,” he says with a lopsided smile. “One grande, double shot, extra hot, not too much foam, cappuccino, and a sparkling water.” He places a tray on the table between us and settles on the armchair opposite mine. “That will be four and a half dollars,” he concludes, deadpan. My stare snaps up in surprise. He wants me to pay him back?

  “Just messing with you,” he chuckles, wicked glee dancing in his eyes; I smile back though still a tad disturbed. Playful …

  “So Hayley, thank you for meeting me.”

  “So Daniel, thank you for inviting me.” We both grin at each other with goofy smirks, he winks at me and as I squirm slightly, his smile widens. I’m usually more than confident around men. Hell, I’m the one typically making them unsteady. This is a first …

  He takes a sip from his mug then brings his chocolate cupcake toward his mouth; I can’t turn my stare away as he opens his mouth to take a bite. “What is that you’d like, the cupcake?” he teases, noticing my stare. “Or me?” he adds in a murmur.

  I quickly withdraw my gape. What cupcake? You would be great, thank you. “No thanks, I’m good,” I answer, looking around, trying to avoid his cocky gaze. Etiquette to Hayley, behave like a sane human being please; stop molesting Daniel Stark with your gawking.

  “Well, tell me, why did you come to the orientation day, besides your desire to educate me?” A faint curve is tugging on his lips; I swallow my next sip hard. I had to know this was coming …

  “If you must, Mr. Stark …” He stops me for a moment, touching my hand, his stare annoyed.

  “Let’s drop the Mr. Stark thing, unless we’re in a business meeting, which I am not aware of.”

  I nod, pressing my lips to an amused line. Point taken.

  “Well, if you must, Daniel,” I correct myself, raising my eyebrows dramatically. He snickers at that. Nodding, he sinks back with ease against the comfy chair, resting one of his hands on his parted legs.

  “I was bullied into coming,” I shrug.

  “That doesn’t sound offensive at all.” He lets out a short, raspy laugh. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Technically, it was for losing a bet. My good friend thought coming on the tour would be a good punishment.” I twist my mouth in half a smile and am rewarded with a full grin that turns into a small head shake. “But, well, she did promise me it would be a very educational experience, and that I could never know what opportunities it might bring.” Such as finding myself having coffee with you.

  “Clever lady, that friend of yours. Remind me to thank her in person if we happen to meet.”

  We trade charged glances and he turns to take another bite of his cupcake.

  “What’s your favorite song?” he asks out of the blue.

  Where did that come from? Daniel Stark wants to know my favorite song? Is this the time to look around for a candid camera?

  “You want to know my favorite song?” I repeat his question, just to make sure I heard him correctly.

  “Yes.” No elaboration, and he doesn’t look as if he’s about to give any.

  “Set the Fire to the Third Bar,” I answer, not sure where that might lead or what the nature of his question is.

  “I’m not familiar with it,” he answers, absorbed.

  “By Snow Patrol,” I elaborate. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

  Well, what should I answer to that? Hey Daniel, I live close by, would you like to go up to my room and listen to the song? “Now you have homework, you should listen to the song,” I answer, thinking, weird question, weirder answer. He smirks and looks at me under his lashes.

  “A lot can be learned from musical preferences,” he says as though to himself. “So, what do you do for a living? Obviously it should be something exceptional, as you did turn down a job at a very intriguing and professional company …” His slightly narrowed eyes are on me, and his teasing doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “I’ll drop the Mr. Stark if you drop the mockery, Mr. Stark,” I mimic his expression, pleased with my response.

  “Fair point.” He squeezes my hand as it rests on the chair arm, causing a direct short circuit to my belly.

  “I’m actually waiting for a final date to start my new job at a magazine in the creative team.”

  “Sounds interesting,” he mutters, looking genuinely attentive.

  I smile inside at his undivided attention concerning my occupational situation. “I’m currently working part time as an administrative assistant at an insurance company; I just recently got my master’s degree.”

  “You work a part time job at an insurance agency as an administrative assistant,” he looks at me in disbelief, “and yet you refused my offer?” He picks an invisible crumb from his thigh.

  Stop distracting me …

  “Come on, you were just messing with me, there wasn’t ever a real position on the table, and we both know that.”

  His lips arch into a secretive smile. “Oh, we both do, do we?”

  Is he kidding or is he being sincere?

  “Whether it was or it wasn’t I still honestly believe it was some kind of a joke for you. I’m very keen about the magazine position, though.”

  “Which magazine is it?” He takes another bite and sets the cake back on the table.

  “Why do you ask?” I mutter dryly, and without paying much attention, I take a piece of his cupcake’s top and put it to my mouth. His eyebrows rise above his stare, his mouth slightly open for a brief moment. Next his expression turns completely animated.

  “Well, by all means, be my guest,” he chuckles, gesturing toward his cupcake. “Some of my coffee to go with it?” He moves his cup toward me, the widest smirk stretched on his face.

  Did I just take some of his food without even asking? I shift in my chair, an action which makes his eyes dance with humor.

  “I’m covered with coffee, thank you.” I raise my cup toward my mouth. Think before acting. Daniel continues staring at me for a prolonged moment, glee adorning his eyes.

  “You have a tendency of being covered in coffee around me.” He lets out a deep belly chuckle. Oh, how could I not see that coming? I roll my eyes and send him a thin smile.

  “I’ve asked about the magazine since I might be able to help.”

  It takes me a minute to recall his last question then to assimilate what he just said.

  “How is that?” I ask, looking at him inquisitively. With complete nonchalance he stretches his hand toward my mouth a
nd with his thumb removes a crumb of cupcake from the side of my lip, and then, still seemingly without special attention to what he does, he puts his thumb to his own mouth and sucks it. Though the entire act takes seconds, it feels like I’ve just witnessed it in slow motion. I look at him in utter amazement as he continues talking.

  “I have some connections here and there,” he says. Pausing, he looks at me through his lashes and smiles a small mischievous grin as if to say, “you seem shaken, dear,” and then goes on as usual. Frozen, I look at him and can’t relate to what he’s saying. All I have in my mind is the feel of his thumb on my lip, his mouth decorated by that small scar of his as his lips parted to take in the remnants of my crumbs. Something deep inside of me clasps tight, very tight. “Seriously, I can talk to someone, Hayley.”

  Bet you can … “Thanks a lot for the offer, but I always prefer to make it on my own.”

  “That’s good, really good,” he says, his gaze drifting away thoughtfully as though he’s assessing something. I wonder what it is. His briefly wandering gaze gives me a minute to observe his face. He has a straight nose, just the right size, thick, dark, long lashes, fencing hazel eyes. His face is tanned, enhancing his handsome features; he has tiny laugh wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which is the only sign of his real age. A short beep comes from below the table. The distraction pulls him back. He fetches his phone from his pocket and answers sharply, “Stark.” He listens, his stare capturing mine. Though I feel a tad self-conscious, I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. His eyes are hypnotizing, drawing me in. Something’s happening at the pit of my stomach. Are those butterflies? I shouldn’t go there, not with him.

  Moments into his conversation, his eyes narrow and his brows pull in. I notice his jaw sawing under his skin, and in a microsecond his look turns unnerving.

  “For fuck’s sake, isn’t there anything you can do by yourselves? Do I need to baby sit you every step of the way?”