“Maybe,” I said.
“You’ve always been happier when you’ve been writing.”
She was right, I knew this, but it felt like so long ago that I’d last written something that I could barely remember what it felt like.
When I got home later that night, I saw a car that looked like Noah’s, parked a few spaces up from the front of my building. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell if there was someone sitting in there or not, but I hurried into the apartment, anger and anxiety swirling through me. Part of the anger because I was once again aware of how helpless I was, how completely inept I would be at defending myself. I hoped that Jonathan would be able to teach me everything he knew about self-defense. Another part of me, th
ough, knew that I was feeling like this because everything seemed like it was out of my control. And that was really my biggest problem: I didn’t feel like I had control over any aspect of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ian
Women seldom played hard to get with me, but when they did, boy, I sure as hell found it arousing. It rarely happened, and often happened out of default; they’d think I was out of their league, they’d feel intimidated by me, they would assume I was already taken. That’s how it had been with Wendy, the nurse at Pete’s nursing home, at first. She’d been all business. Except I happened to catch her looking at me when she thought I wasn’t aware of it, and I knew that she was interested. And now Daisy, it seemed, had decided to play hard to get, too.
After I had fucked her at the office though, the game continued the next day, at which point I began to wonder if it was really a game. I’d be sitting there at my desk, and I’d look up, and she’d be doing data entry, or answering the phone, and I’d watch her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. They never did, though. It was as if she was purposefully not looking at me, replying with the most perfunctory answers to any question I asked.
Had she enjoyed the other day so much that she’d decided to adopt this attitude permanently? That certainly wasn’t the vibe that I was getting.
During lunch break, she actually left the office. I looked out the window and saw her sitting across the street on one of the benches that overlooked a small community garden. A few moments later, I saw Jonathan walk over and sit down next to her, though there was a big gap of space between them. I went back to my desk and tried not to wonder too hard about what it was they were talking about.
When I saw her getting ready to go later that day, I asked her if she’d first come into my office.
“I’m getting the sense that there’s something you want to say to me,” I said.
She looked down. “No, there’s not really.”
“Daisy.”
She didn’t look up.
“Daisy,” I said again, and I waited until she finally raised her face and looked at me.
“What?” There was a hint of irritation in her voice, sort of the way a teenager would sound when a parent was asking a particularly annoying question. It reminded me of how young she actually was.
“There is something wrong,” I said. “I’m not sure what, but I can tell you are definitely not happy about something. Is it because of the other day? At your desk?” Maybe that had been taking it too far. Maybe I should have just stopped when she said she had to go the first time.
She blinked a few times and didn’t say anything. I could see her thinking, though, trying to work out what it was she wanted to tell me. Or if she wanted to tell me. I tried to think of what it was that might be bothering her. Was she not okay with the fact that I was her boss? Had doing it in the office been too uncomfortable? Or maybe it was—
“I know about your other secretaries,” she said finally. “I found out. I know that this is something that you just . . . do.”
Ah. Okay. Well, everything was starting to make sense now. “You did?” I said. “From who?” Probably Jonathan.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter, though, is that I feel like a fool for thinking that there was actually something . . . something special between us. I know how stupid that sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” I said. “And I happen to agree with you—I do think there’s something special between us, too.”
But she kept shaking her head. “You’re just saying that. How can there be anything special between us when you’ve done this exact thing with your other secretaries?”
“It was only one,” I said. “It’s not like that was part of the job description. And the difference there is that the thing with her was solely physical. Just physical attraction, nothing more.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice small.
Shit. I hadn’t been expecting this. Fucking Annie! Fucking Jonathan, too, or whoever the hell she found out about it from. “Daisy,” I said. “I don’t want you to think that what’s been going on between us hasn’t meant anything to me.”
“I’m sure it’s meant something to you,” she said, “just not what it did to me. I know that you enjoyed it. But I felt like . . . I just thought . . .” She trailed off. “Never mind. It sounds stupid. I’m not trying to be a bitch to you; I just don’t know how else to handle it. Having to come into the office and see you every day.” She gave me what seemed to be a brave smile. “I’m glad we’re talking about it, though. I mean, it’s uncomfortable and everything, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s good to get it out there. Good that I realized this stuff now and not later.”
“You’re making it sound like I’ve done something terrible to you,” I said. I must’ve had a rather distressed look on my face, because she came over and touched my cheek, a sympathetic expression in her eyes.