by Sienna Ciles
Swiping at the errant tear that traversed my cheek, I turned away from the painting when my phone announced a text message’s arrival. Setting the hammer on the accent table behind the couch, I dug in my purse for the phone.
When I saw the message, I had the most unladylike desire to fling the phone out of the window.
I know you have a big test this week. Please study your hardest!
“Really?” I asked no one in particular. “Not even a how was your week, do you like the apartment? Nothing.”
I felt the irritation climb my spine, heat my skin with anger and tighten all my muscles. My father had the uncanny knack of being able to wind me up even without being in the same room. I wasn’t going to allow him to win. Maybe fresh air would help settle me, I decided. Grabbing my keys and leaving the phone where I had flung it on the couch, I headed for the door.
As I exited to the rear of the building, I was enthralled with the huge open courtyard. Benches, three large trees, and a tiny man-made brook constructed of cool shimmery stones completed the restful spot. I glanced about and noticed Dalton was across the way, down on his hands and knees in the dirt. He was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. I was caught off guard by the tattooed arm that prominently featured intricate designs that had obviously taken quite a commitment to finish. As I watched, a few other residents walked by him, and he waved and called out to each by name.
There was an ease and confidence about him that I found appealing, and yet those tattoos and his attitude screamed at me to run the other direction. As the girl who always took the safest, easiest route to any objective, I was definitely not interested in a relationship with him. However, my mind told me maybe I needed to channel Talia a bit, and have a fling with the handyman. Everyone I knew at boarding school had been known to hook up with an “undesirable,” as they had called these forbidden flings. A parent’s disapproval made the forbidden flings even more desirable to my peers.
I let the thought wander around for a minute, before I finally realized that Dalton was staring back at me. “Like what you see?” he asked with a huge, dimpled grin.
“What? No! I was just admiring–” I was stuttering like a ridiculous school girl.
“I know what you were admiring.” He winked at me audaciously.
“Seriously, I have never seen such large trees in the city,” I said, mentally hitting myself for the stupidity of the comment.
“Been here longer than us,” he acknowledged, standing up and wiping his hands on his dirt-splattered shorts. I didn’t seem to mind the long mud streak it left behind. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“No, I just needed some air,” I said, wrapping my arms around my mid-section with a light squeeze. “Sometimes I’m just grateful to be out on my own, and then I realize my father is never going to stop interfering,” I said before I could filter the words.
“You can’t let him rile you up. You’re an adult, capable of making your own decisions, and he will just need to get on board with that sooner or later,” he said, staring at me with such earnest eyes I almost believed him.
“Yeah, well I don’t have a job or the ability to support myself so I need to play the game for now,” I said with sigh. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I was just thinking about my sister and how she would have thumbed her cute little nose at him and do whatever she wanted.”
“Are you and your sister close?” Dalton asked.
It had been such a long time since I had talked about Talia with anyone. The subject was completely off limits in our family. About a year after Talia’s death, I had offhandedly said something about a trip we had all taken together. Mother had stiffened and asked that I not bring up her name again. I never knew if it was grief, envy that Talia had refused to allow society to break her, or true uncaring that had prompted mother’s comments. I had never asked or uttered her name in the house again.
“She died,” I said softly. The words always took my breath away, and the pain ricocheted across my heart deep and painful as the first moment I had learned the truth. “Her boyfriend—he beat her to death.”
Dalton froze in place and his faced blanched whiter than a ghost. He gnashed his teeth together, and for a moment I was caught completely off-guard by the odd reaction. People always looked at me sadly or mumbled words of encouragement, but no one had ever looked mad.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Men that beat up on women deserve what they get,” he said harshly. “I have to go.” And without another word he spun on his heels and walked back to his original task, not looking my way again.
I stared at him for a moment, unable to explain what had just transpired. Turning, I started toward my apartment before pivoting one last time to find him staring at me. The expression in his eyes was deep pain, more than my sister’s story should have inspired in him. I wondered what secrets he held onto in the dark that made him live a life as a handyman, and yet feel such a level of pain at a simple story from a stranger.
Returning to my apartment, I tried to put the odd interaction with Dalton from my mind and concentrate on studying. I couldn’t risk my father checking in with me and not having done exactly as instructed. Besides, I required every minute possible to pass my business ethics class. The subject matter was so boring, twice I found myself nodding off in class. But like a good soldier I would study and pass.
Chapter 5
Dalton
I glanced over the entire list I had composed that morning, and the check marks representing each completed job from the day. It was still early afternoon, but after one more check of emails, I could not bring forth any more work that needed doing. With that good news in mind, I decided an afternoon jaunt to my favorite local coffee shop was in order. I loved a great shot of caffeine this time of day, but seldom was granted the opportunity.
The picky clientele of my building always had a laundry list of items that were of a “most urgent” nature. I prided himself on the maintenance of the building since I had taken over, and how timely I could accommodate their requests. Prevention of common items like trash, weeds, broken stones, and other outer area items were well within my control. That left only the internal apartment items, and today had been a good day with only twelve such requests.
Keys in hand and a pep in my step, I made the eight-block trip in record time, taking in the fresh air and warm breeze. I greeted the barista behind the counter, who immediately picked up a cup. “Normal order?”
“You know me, Sam,” I sheepishly grinned, acknowledging how predictable and boring my life had become. I pulled out my wallet and paid. After placing a dollar in the tip jar, I glanced about and was brought up short when my eyes alighted on Brittany at a table in the far-right corner of the coffee shop.
She had a laptop out on the table in front of her and a deep furrow marred her forehead. As I watched, she scribbled something on a notepad before viciously attacking her keyboard. I watched this routine for a minute or so, before Sam handed me the beverage I had ordered.
“I see you noticed our new regular,” Sam said with a grin. “She’s been coming in for a week straight. Always sits alone, despite more than one offer I have seen customers make to keep her company.”
I threw him a glare. “She’s one of my tenants. I’m not interested in her any more than ensuring her apartment is in good repair, and she pays the rent.”
Sam shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that.” He walked away, laughing out loud.
I glanced at the door and back at Brittany. Before my better judgement could take hold, I headed toward her table.
“Hi,” I said trying to get her attention away from the laptop that appeared to be frustrating her.
“Dalton,” she said, looking up with me with a question clearly evident in her eyes.
“This has been my favorite coffee shop for a long time,” I said, holding out the cup I held as if it would prove my point for why we’d landed at the same place.
“I’ve nev
er seen you in here before,” she said peevishly.
“Well, I have a lot of demanding tenants that tend to keep me busy. Normally, I’m in here late at night,” I said.
“Hmm,” was her only reply.
“What are you studying that’s making you so mad?” I asked.
“Business ethics,” she said with a snarl. “I cannot read this without getting so angry. Some of the world’s leading executives are the biggest crooks. This is what I’m paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to learn, how to do what they do without becoming just like them. I would rather throw myself off the bridge than continue to read these case studies. Do you want to sit and distract me for a little bit?”
I was shocked as I looked at the other chair. “You sure?”
She moved the top of the laptop down onto the keyboard. “Absolutely.”
Her words said one thing, but her eyes still spoke of mistrust. I had to wonder where that was coming from. Was it just me, or did all men make her nervous? She was a mystery wrapped in a conundrum, and each encounter with this woman kept me further and further off balance.
“So,” I said. “I have to ask—do you just not like me, or is it men in general?”
She stared at me for a good few seconds without a word. Finally, she said, “I like most men just fine, but you unnerve me. Normally, I can read people. I know their agenda and I like knowing exactly where they stand. Men in my acquaintance are easily placed in three categories: my father’s business associates, those who want to do business with my father, or those who think I have enough money to complement their lifestyle. I’m having a hard time getting a read on your intentions, though.”
“My intentions? I’m pretty simple. What you see is what you get.”
“You seem to keep showing up wherever I am, and trying to be friendly. Then the other day you looked mad when I told you about my sister, which by the way I never talk about her to anyone.”
I sighed and put my coffee on the table, “I’m sorry. I once knew this girl, in fact we dated for a while. It was off and on. She kept going back to this guy, who used her as his own personal punching bag. I tried to protect her, but—” I sighed loudly this time as the worst moment in my life played across my brain. “He eventually killed her, just like your sister. Your story hit a little too close to home.”
“Oh god.” Brittany reached across the table and laid her hand over mine. “I’m so sorry.”
She realized too late her involuntary reaction to my story. She pulled her hand back fast. Not before the spark of electricity arched across our conjoined skin. I pretended not to notice, as I watched her place the hand in her lap.
“So, did your parents have other children?” I asked after a tension-filled moment.
“No, they just have me now. No pressure to be the family success story,” she said with a wry grin. “Let me tell you, my father always wanted a boy and now he’s had to make do with me. He’s making the most of it, though, with a solid plan on how to best leverage me to his advantage.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. “I think my dad just doesn’t tell anyone he has a son. When I became so errant he knew I couldn’t be controlled any longer, I think he just threw in the towel. He even started grooming a right-hand employee to take over the company.”
“I don’t mean to make you feel worse, but I have known your folks for years. Just so you know, your dad does actually tell people about you,” Brittany volunteered. “I also know Jameson Holland, the man set to succeed your father now at the company. He’s a nice enough man, but I’m certain your father will always hope that you come home to take up the reins.”
“Seriously? I really thought he had given up on me,” I said with a hopeful half smile.
“Yeah, I once heard your father tell someone you hit a rough patch as a teenager but you’re trying to pull your life back together. Is that true?”
“I would love to say I can pull my life together and go back to the company my family started one day to help carry it to another generation. But sometimes people make mistakes so big they just cannot come back from it, and unfortunately I’m one of those.”
Brittany appeared to mull my statement over for a moment. I saw a return well of pain in her own eyes, and had to wonder why someone with so many resources at her fingertips seemed to have a firmer depth of regard for the pains of life. I would love to be the man that changed her world for the better, but I truly believed that my secrets would never be forgiven.
“Your parents have enough resources to buy a small country, at least that’s what the papers claim,” she said with a tinge of humor. “I’m certain they would help if you just asked.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I believe that if I extended the request, my mom could compel my dad to help. I just don’t want to involve them in my life today. They deserve to live free of my choices.”
We sat in silence, each obviously deep in thought after that. I sipped my coffee and thought about the weird turn this innocuous conversation had taken from that of a simple hello. Staring across at Brittany, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. She seemed so prim and proper when I had walked into the apartment complex that first day. The truth I was fast finding out was a far stretch from that. I wondered how many secrets she was willing to share.
Only one way to find out.
“I think I would rather hear about you and your deep dark secrets,” I said. “Tell me something you have never told another soul.” I threw the challenge across the table, and waited.
Chapter 6
Brittany
I sat back in my seat and considered Dalton’s request for a brief second. I found myself compelled to do just as he ordered. I wasn’t certain my secrets were on the same level as he might be thinking, but somehow, I found myself feeling safe in revealing them to him.
“I hate business school,” I said. “I don’t mean just dislike, I mean deep, soul-crushing hate. There are days I sit through class and think up all the ways I could escape to an island somewhere and never be seen again. Anything but go back to class one more time.”
“If you despise it that much, why do it?”
“Because unlike you, I never could figure what I would do if I incurred the wrath of my father. I always toe the line, and fall into the plan he has laid out for me. I think he could concisely tell you where I will be in five, ten, twenty years. Even who he has hand selected to marry me, and how many children I will end up bearing.” Sarcasm dripped from the words I had long bottled up.
“I’m sure the gentleman in question would be a fine upstanding citizen, with a large stick up his ass and huge bank account,” Dalton teased.
“I’m sure he would. Please don’t forget any man worthy of me must have a fantastic ability to hobnob with my father, friends, acquaintances and run a huge company. He of course would be of the highest caliber to meet my father’s standards.”
“Wait,” he said. “You mean just like all those examples of business leaders you were telling me about in that fancy book earlier. You aren’t reading case studies—you’re shopping for your husband, admit it.”
I felt the harshness of years of being stagnant in my life due to every major decision being made for me without a thought to my wishes. I gave a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah, he could be off bilking the next generation of millions and I could be having children for my mother to groom properly. I mean, I would be well-educated and have an MBA from one of the finest schools, so I would then be qualified to do these activities for the rest of my life.”
Dalton gave me a strange look. “Do you even want kids?”
“No! I mean, I don’t want them as a means to the end of the picture-perfect doctor or business man’s life. I absolutely adore other people’s children, but I cannot see a moment where I would want to put another small human through the existence that I have experienced. When I think of children, I would want them to be happy, joyful, and messy. That certainly doesn’t describe my childhood. How about you?” I found myself sitti
ng forward in my chair to concentrate on his answer.
“That’s a tough question. Would I have loved children if things had been different? Absolutely. But I would never risk a child in my life these days. I agree they are wondrous, messy, and joyful creatures, though. I find myself standing in shopping lines sometimes just grinning at the antics of the little rug rats,” he said with a huge smile. “Children say and do whatever they think, from a place of absolute innocence. They are so sure of their position in this life, as the center of attention.”
“You could change things, you know?” I said, wanting to encourage him for some unknown reason.
He had once again slipped into that pensive, far-off place he went time and again. He was such a hard-looking individual, and then would say something super sweet and get that look on his face. It made me to want to go to him, wrap my arms around him, and never let go.
“If you could do anything in the world, what would you want to do for the rest of your life?” Dalton asked after a few quiet moments, catching me off guard.
“Paint,” I said without even a heartbeat of contemplation.
“An artist. I would never have guessed that of you,” Dalton said, looking impressed.
“I love the colors, the passion, and the sentiment that an artist can put to canvas. That level of self-expression is so freeing and yet sharing that much of yourself with the world is so scary at the same time,” I explained.
“It’s crazy, I’ve lived that life. Not caring what tomorrow holds, and throwing it all on the line for something you believe in. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out the way I had hoped,” Dalton said with that far-off look returning to his eyes.
“At least you tried,” I said. “Then again, I’m assuming that if given the chance you would go back and do things safer like me though, right? They always say hindsight is twenty-twenty.”