I try to lighten the mood, but Alex seems still gravely serious. It’s just who he is.
“Come on,” I gently push him towards the door. “Why don’t we go have lunch at that Italian place on the Seventh?” I suggest, knowing how much he likes Italian food. Plus, that place has the best tortellini in the whole city.
“But what about the Dyson deal?” He reminds me of the meeting we are to have in two hours.
“We’ll be back by that time,” I assure him, opening the door and pushing him through it.
As we walk past Dorothy, I tell her to write down any messages that might come while I’m out. She nods dutifully, and the two of us continue walking towards the elevator.
When I remove my hand from Alex’s shoulder, I feel that he’s still tense and under stress.
“You should really take a few days off,” I suggest. “You look like a nervous wreck.”
“I think my younger daughter is pregnant,” he says, staring at the wall in front of him.
His younger daughter is sixteen.
“Are you sure?” I ask, that question sounding a bit stupid at this point, but I don’t know what else to say or ask.
“She told my wife she’s late,” he continues, turning to me, and only now do I notice the big bags under his eyes, probably the result of many sleepless nights before.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s pregnant,” I remind him. “She should do a test or something.”
“She’s doing it today,” he reveals. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want that vacation. I just want to stay at work all day and all night,” he sighs.
I pat him on the back again. “Then I’ll give you a shitload of stuff to do today, if that’ll make you feel better.”
Finally, he smiles and that is when the elevator dings, allowing us in.
Chapter Thirteen
Lilly
That night, when Dominic returns home, I can tell that there’s something worrying him. He does his best to pretend like everything’s alright, but I know he’s doing it for Marley’s sake. She loves the attention and affection she is getting from him, but something tells me that even she is too clever not to recognize when something is pressing heavily upon him.
Against all better judgment, I wait up for him to put Marley to sleep. I pretend that I have a lot of stuff to put away. I purposefully left a whole load of dishes, so I take my time loading the dish washer, and promising myself that I’ll stay until it’s finished, to put everything back in its place. Then, I’ll go home.
But, instead of walking into the kitchen, as I expected him to, I hear him go straight to his study, after he’s put Marley to sleep. I hesitate for a moment, but then I easily make up my mind on what I want to do.
I know none of this makes any sense. I know I should already be home. I could unload the dishes in the morning, when I come. I know he won’t mind. I shouldn’t stay the night again, not under any pretext. At this point, I’m still able to convince myself that nothing will happen. Although I know I’m playing with fire, and I’m about to get burned again. Then, we’ll have the same conversation over and over again, until one of us breaks it. Because the attraction I feel for him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day. I can’t force myself to leave this employment. I can’t force myself to leave Marley. I also can’t force myself to stay away from him, no matter what I’ve told him.
Taking a deep, brave breath, I knock on the door. I linger for a few moments, before I finally hear his voice beckoning me to come inside. Hastily, I try to come up with a reason why I’ve come to him.
I open the door softly, as if he’s asleep and I’m trying not to wake him. But he’s not asleep. In fact, he looks far from it, with his dark circles and a concerning look on his face.
“Am I interrupting?” I ask, still in the doorway, as if he might tell me that he’s changed his mind and he doesn’t want to see me. That’s always a possibility, especially after the conversations that we’ve had.
One look at him and I can tell he isn’t thinking about that at all. Something is bothering him. Something serious.
“Is everything alright?” I ask him, ignoring the fact that he hasn’t answered my initial question at all.
He sighs, not lifting his gaze to meet mine. I notice there is a glass in his hand, half empty. Or perhaps half full. Depends on how much he poured to begin with. Not that I think he doesn’t deserve a glass of something to unwind after a long day, and today really seems to have been a long day.
I hesitate, wondering whether his silence is just his way of saying that I’m not welcome. His entire body is slumped forward, as if the burden is pressing heavily upon him. A sudden urge washes over me, the need to run over to him and just hug him in silence, not saying anything, but that would be crossing every possible line that there was to cross. Still, it takes all of my conscious effort not to succumb to this desire.
“My business rival has been kidnapped,” he tells me when he finally lifts his gaze, taking a sip from his glass after this sentence.