by Pat Simmons
“I’m driving you home,” he said softly. “I don’t want you on the road like this.”
No. This was a private meltdown. A website said an attack could last anywhere from ten to thirty minutes. How much time did she have left? While she was attempting her calculation, Tyson fumed.
“We can do this my way, which is to call the paramedics, or your way, which is still my way, and I drive you home.”
Bully, she thought. But right now, she needed this bully to take control. “All right.”
He backed up his SUV so she could make a U-turn in the lot and park. She turned off the ignition as her heart raced. She was a nervous wreck.
Tyson opened her door. Without protesting, she let him escort her to the passenger side. Behind her wheel, he adjusted the heat and seat to accommodate his long legs. “Nice car. What’s your address?”
Tears were already blurring her vision from the humiliation. When Monica opened her mouth, the floodgate of emotions released and she began to ball. This wasn’t her. He would fire her for sure. The thought made her cry harder.
“Hey, hey.” Tyson’s voice was soothing as one of his strong hands pried the fist of her hand open, then squeezed it gently. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay. Do you need me to take you to the emergency room?”
“I can’t. I don’t have insurance yet.” That set off another crying binge. This was so pathetic. She hadn’t cried this much in one day since her mother withheld her allowance as a teenager for lying about something she couldn’t remember.
“Right.” He was silent and didn’t rush her, but waited.
She dared not open her eyes to see the pitiful expression he was probably casting her way.
Once she reined in her emotions, he asked for her address again. She obliged.
After he programmed the GPS on his phone, he took off for the highway. Although she wasn’t driving, the potential mental torture seemed to be waiting for her. It never materialized as she glanced out the window. Despite the embarrassment, she was grateful he didn’t try to engage her in idle conversation. She needed the quiet time to make sense of her actions.
Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to drift. When the car stopped, she stirred. Her lids fluttered open and she sighed with relief, recognizing her condo.
“You’re home, Sleeping Beauty.”
She chanced a glance at him. “I wasn’t asleep. Besides, I imagine I’m anything but a beauty right now.”
“You’re still beautiful,” he assured her. “Come on, get your things.”
He shut off her motor and walked beside her to her door—her safe haven.
Tyson didn’t leave her at the doorsteps, instead he came inside. Monica was too drained to show hospitality. She didn’t even bother hanging her coat or taking his. She needed alone time and the sooner he left, the better. Then realization dawned, in order for him to leave, she would have to drive him somewhere.
Leaving Tyson to glance around her condo, she disappeared into her bathroom and stared at her reflection. Remnants of horror lingered on her face. Add shame to the mix and Veronica would call her a hot mess. She patted cold water on her face to remove whatever makeup was left, wishing she could wash away the memory of what happened.
“Monica,” Tyson called from the living room.
Instead of answering, she kicked off her shoes and padded back to the living room. He patted the space next to him on the sofa, watching her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fumbled with her fingers as she opted for the farthest distance from him.
Breaking eye contact with her, he scooted to the edge and seemed to study her floor. “I have to admit I have no idea what happened in the parking lot to spook you,” Tyson spoke softly. “What can I do to help?” He faced her again.
She searched his eyes and saw kindness, so she pleaded, “Don’t fire me.”
“Done.”
She exhaled. “Thank you.”
“When did this start happening?”
“This” —she waved her hands in the air— “started months ago…I had a lot of changes in my life. I got laid off and I broke it off with my fiancé.”
“You were engaged?” Shock or disbelief crossed his face.
Monica bobbed her head. “I don’t know why he asked and why I said yes. I didn’t love him enough for a happy ever after. The breakup wasn’t stressful, but the relationship was, because at thirty back then, I was willing to settle for a decent guy and Daren was that much.” Did they have to talk about something that didn’t matter?
#
Why did I ask her that? Unless he cared. Tyson had told Solae the truth, he was scared—not of Monica, but for her.
When he came out of the building, he was surprised to see her just leaving too. When she didn’t take off, he got out to investigate. That daze in her eyes caused his adrenalin to kick into overdrive. The only thing he cared about was her safety.
So now, as he sat in her living room, he made up his mind not to go until he was sure she was okay. Then he figured out how to get his car: call a cab or Reggie. No way was Monica getting back on the road.
“I’ll pay your medical bills. You’ve got to get help.”
“I will in sixty-five days.”
She had been counting? Tyson didn’t know what to make of that. Shaking his head, he answered, “I’m not talking as your boss. Ever since I saw you on that highway until you walked into my company, a part of my heart wondered what happened to you. If you were okay?”
“Until you had to interview me,” she stated the obvious and stood. “Keep your money; I don’t want to be indebted to you.”
He chuckled. “You know you work for me.”
“Reggie signs the checks.”
Was that fight in her coming back? He smirked. “Same thing…I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I didn’t know if you were strung out on drugs or what. I’m sorry I judged you.”
“Thank you for saying that. I accept.” She moved toward the kitchen. “Since I don’t know how long you plan to stay, I might as well feed you. There’s leftovers.”
“My mother taught me never to turn down a home-cooked meal.” Even though her condo had an open floor where the kitchen, family room, and dining were all connected, Tyson got to his feet and trailed her. Choosing a stool, he sat at the counter to be close to her. “It is home cooked, right? Not frozen,” he joked and was rewarded with a mischievous smile. He liked how her full lips curled.
“As far as getting my car…” He whipped out his smartphone. “I can call Reggie for a—”
“No!” That panic look was back on her face. “Please…don’t share this with him or anyone else at work. Take my car,” she offered hastily. “I can have my girlfriend give me a ride in the morning.”
“Or, I can pick you up in the morning. I believe we’re going the same way.”
She gnawed on her lips before agreeing.
Tyson was convinced now more than before she needed help, and somehow, he had to convince her not to wait. If he was a cat with nine lives, Monica took eight of them tonight.
In less than fifteen minutes, they were breaking bread over homemade chicken lasagna and seven-layer salad. They started off talking about work, but he kept steering the conversation back to her personal life.
Besides being blessed with a shapely figure, which included sculptured legs he hadn’t seen enough of—he blamed the winter weather as the culprit—her best physical assets were those eyes. They could woo a man into a trance.
“I still don’t understand. You have so much going for you. Why would you consider settling in a relationship?” He smacked his lips. “By the way, woman, you can cook!”
She blushed and his heart responded by turning somersaults. “Thank you. My best friend, Veronica, says our friendship is bound by my food.” They laughed.
“But she and I have done an informal survey. Women who have…” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “…it going on, as you
say, are being cast aside for women who have children, as if they’re needed more, which I guess they are. I don’t think a job, home, and car completes a person’s life. I work to live my life, not live strictly to go to work every day.”
She held up her hands. “I’m talking in general. I like working for you and Reggie. I wanted the big ‘c’ companionship, I was willing to accept the small ‘c’ and compromise.”
He reached across the table and took her free hand. “Listen to me. Every poll has at least a four percent margin of error. You work with numbers. Your unofficial survey had a whopping ninety percent error. I—” he patted his chest, “—will take a confident woman any day because I could trust her with my heart. Don’t compromise, Monica, if you can get whatever asking price for your worth.”
When she blinked, he removed his hand and scooped up the last bite of pasta into his mouth. He was sharing more than he was gleaning. He wiped his mouth. “Well, it’s getting late. I better go. Are you sure it’s okay for me to take your car?”
She nodded and smiled.
“I’ll go straight home and not joyride,” Tyson taunted to earn another smile from her. “Seriously, are you okay? I won’t leave until I know you feel safe.” He peered deep into her eyes and searched for bread crumbs of fear—all clear.
“You made me feel safe,” she said softly as she retrieved his coat from the sofa.
At her door, the strangest emotion came over him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her good night. But he resisted the urge and left.
CHAPTER TEN
A nightmare invaded Monica’s sweet dreams about Tyson, stirring her awake. Pulling the covers back, she got out of bed and peeped out the window. Her car was missing in the driveway. Either someone stole it, which would have been her preference, or she really did freak out last night and her boss had to drive her home.
Rubbing her face, she groaned again. Since she couldn’t return to sleep, Monica started her day two hours earlier. Somewhat refreshed by a shower and a cup of coffee, she called Veronica and gave her a play-by-play of what had happened.
“Number one,” she finally snapped, “you should have called me last night—”
“And deal with your wrath for disturbing your beauty rest? No thanks.” Not a morning person, Veronica would sleep until noon every day, if she could, but she was well paid to report to work by seven. That translated to going to bed early. She walked into the bathroom to start on her makeup after slipping on her clothes.
“I’ll ignore that…you and these attacks are aging me! I add wrinkles every time you tell me about them. At least you weren’t alone, although I wish you had called, so I could’ve drove over to check out Mr. Graham.” She chuckled and Monica shook her head, causing her to smear her eyebrow pencil. While she repaired it, Veronica continued her rant, “And third—”
“What happened to number two?” she teased.
“Be quiet. I can count. I’m not fully awake. Anyway, if the man offered to foot the bill, you should have accepted it like you won a cruise.”
“And be a charity case? I can wait until my insurance kicks in.” She hoped.
“Well, I can’t, and if Miss Ollie knew…”
If her mother knew, she would move in with Monica uninvited. The doorbell rang. “Hey, that’s my ride.”
“Literally, call me the minute you get home this evening. Love you.”
Yeah, this evening. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that she wouldn’t have a repeat of the previous night. Why wasn’t God listening to her? “Right. Love you too, sis. Bye.”
She raced to answer the door, not wanting to be the cause—again—of her boss being late for work. When Monica opened it, Tyson’s woozy cologne drifted inside. A fresh-shaven man was always her weakness. Their business relationship didn’t give her liberties to touch his jaw.
“At your service.” He smirked, activating a slight dimple that seemed to wink and go back into hiding.
“Let me get my coat and briefcase.”
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Wait.” He gave her an intense expression.
Twirling around, she asked, “Ah, is something wrong?”
Tilting his head, he seemed to study her. “Your skin is flawless. You don’t have beauty marks.”
She frowned. “Excuse me, was that a compliment or something?”
“An observation.” Tyson snickered. “I didn’t realize you have a tiny mole under your right eye. It’s cute.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.
“What?” She studied her reflection in a nearby decorative mirror in her hall. She hadn’t completely wiped off the smudge of her eye pencil, but it was barely visible, even she’d missed it. Yet, he had noticed it. What else had he observed about her?
“Little can distract from your beauty, trust me,” he said in a casual manner, as if he didn’t have to think about it.
Monica didn’t want to read more into his statement, so she tried to clear her head. When she reached for her coat, he took it and helped her slip her arms inside as he had done at work. His closeness tickled the hairs on her neck, so she put some distance between them by hurrying to open her door.
“Feel up to driving this morning, or would you prefer my chauffeur services again?” He jiggled her car keys as they stepped outside.
The only nervousness she felt was being close to her boss.
Evidently, her hesitation caused him to touch her elbow and guide her to the passenger side. “I don’t mind giving you curb service.”
Once they were buckled up, he gave her a worried look. “Are you going to be able to drive back this evening?”
“Yep.” She prayed that she wasn’t lying.
#
Tyson hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her, but every time he studied her, he saw something else alluring. She didn’t have any marks, moles, or blemishes. He knew that for a fact. Her face had sweetly haunted him since that day on the highway.
Unlike then, he was glad he could rescue her the night before. Taking her car home was like a part of her going with him. The moment he drove off, he couldn’t wait to return the next morning, especially with her scent teasing him inside her car.
Monica’s carefree spirit where she was chatty, witty, and animated was thrilling, addictive, and automatically made him a member of #TeamMonica. The woman was fascinating. He glanced at her and remembered the dinner she had prepared. “I woke up this morning still thinking about your leftovers.”
She chuckled. “I get my cooking skills from my mom.”
“And you can rival a sous chef,” he added.
“Thanks, and despite what you witnessed last night and the other time, I’m a courageous soul. My father and my brother instilled that in me.” She sighed. “The anxiety attacks make me feel helpless.”
He reached over and patted her hand.
“You’re a strong, intelligent black woman. I’m happy to be on your team.”
The shock on her face preceded the release of her signature laugh. “Me? I’m honored to be part of your team. I applaud the successes of black men beating the odds. Not that you need my accolades, but I’m proud of you anyway.”
Wow. “I’m humbled to have your stamp of approval.” Her opinion mattered. Tyson swallowed to regroup. “I have to give credit to my Ivy League education.”
“I bet you ranked at the top of your class.”
While changing lanes, he caught a glimpse of a hero worship expression on her face. “Cum laude, not only was I awarded an academic scholarship, but my skills on the football field earned me an athletic scholarship as well.”
“Summa cum laude,” she upped him. “BA in mathematics and a minor in business, but you know that from my résumé. And my full ride came in an academic and athletic scholarship too.”
Glancing at his passenger, Tyson winked. “Two peas in a pod.” He had the same thought about them being dateless on Valentine’s Day. He grinned at what he had done because no one sent her flowers.
He wasn’t about to share that. “Ah, what sports did you play at OSU? Let me guess, basketball, volleyball, or swimming?”
Monica angled her body and faced him. He chuckled at her mischievous snicker. Whatever she was about to say, he prepared for a tall tale.
“Jump rope,” she announced with pride.
Tyson couldn’t stop the rumble of laughter escaping from his throat. “Are you serious?” he stuttered, then laughed some more. Her irked expression didn’t help as she folded her arms. “Jump rope? How competitive could that be?”
“Try coordinating with three jumpers in Double Dutch and world champions that have performed with the Cirque du Soleil.” When she playfully stuck out her tongue at him, Tyson wanted to kiss her. “I know, impressive, huh? Jump rope is considered the perfect fitness regimen. It’s a great cardio workout, builds muscles.” She paused and slapped his arm as if he wasn’t paying attention. His biceps flexed in response. “If you can play tackle in college, I can jump rope.”
“Are you challenging my abilities, Miss Wyatt?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not when your company signs my paychecks.”
He didn’t want to be reminded of their business relationship. Unfortunately, their tit-for-tat ended when he parked her car into the same spot as the day before. Tyson craved more of Monica, over dinner at a nice restaurant instead of in her kitchen. She was the type of woman to make a man break all the rules, but at the end of the day, his baby was Tyson & Dyson Communications and was the relationship that he had to nurture first.
As he was about to get out to open her door, she stopped him. “Do you mind if we go in separately?” She squeezed her lips. “I don’t want to start any rumors.” Her eyes pleaded for his understanding.
In all honesty, neither did he. Nodding, Tyson handed over her keys. Noting the absence of a ring on her fourth finger reminded him that she once belonged to someone. Whoever her ex was, he wasn’t man enough to keep her. Tyson was—he wasn’t going there, so he quickly dismissed that thought.