The Stranger, page 15
An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when nine o’clock approaches. Delilah will be here any moment with my coffee.
I had Simone schedule an urgent meeting with Christine from Human Resources, and I’ll head down there as soon as I see Delilah. I can’t avoid her forever. I’ve got to rip that Band-Aid off. At the very least, I’ll be able to gauge how she’s feeling this morning.
Is she feeling guilty like I do?
Or is she angry at me for what happened?
I suck in a sharp breath and hold it when the elevator dings, depositing her on my floor. I hear her high heels clicking against the marble a few seconds later as she approaches my office. My gut churns with anticipation.
The moment my gaze locks on her, my heart begins to race. She always looks beautiful, but she’s outdone herself today. She’s dressed to kill in a formfitting red dress that hugs her body like a second skin. Her long hair is down, styled in loose waves, and if I’m not mistaken, her makeup is applied heavier than usual—dark, smoky eyes and ruby-red lips.
She’s sex on legs, and judging by my cock’s reaction to her, he agrees.
A tight smile forms on her lips when her eyes meet mine. My worst fears are recognised when she pulls her shoulders back and tips her chin a fraction higher. We are not okay.
“Good morning, Mr Prescott. I have your coffee. The barista made it just the way you like it.”
I clear my throat before replying. “Good morning, Miss St. James, and thank you.”
Her greeting is formal, and if I’m reading her correctly, a tad cold.
My eyes track her every move as she carefully places the hot beverage on my desk. “How are you feeling this morning?” I ask.
A pink hue forms on her cheeks as she retreats a step. “I’m fine, thanks. I have a lot of work to get through this morning. Enjoy your coffee.” With that, she turns and hurries towards the door.
“Delilah!”
She pauses but continues to give me her back. “Yes.”
There’s no denying she’s upset with me. I desperately want to apologise for my actions last night, but I can tell she’s in a rush to get as far away from me as possible, and this probably isn’t the place for that conversation.
Is she disgusted with me, or by what we did?
“Never mind,” I mumble.
I wasn’t sure how things would go once I saw her, or what kind of reaction I’d get, but I wasn’t expecting that.
Chapter 21
Delilah
Tears sting the back of my eyes as I seat myself behind the desk. Last night I was left feeling confused when he abandoned me outside my room and headed to his own. I tried not to read much into it, but when he was gone again this morning, my stomach sank.
I’d been hoping to hash things out at home, like adults, without dragging it into the office. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, but the fact he just acted like nothing happened ticks me off. I feel humiliated.
If he thinks last night was a mistake, be a man and tell me. After all, he was the one who started it by kissing me first. Maybe I took things a little too far by rubbing myself against him the way I did, but he was the one who repositioned me on his lap … it was as good as an invitation in my eyes.
Fucking men.
Is he worried I’m going to want more from him now? Is that why he’s being standoffish? I’m not asking or expecting him to move me into his bedroom. Or to get down on one knee and profess his undying love, for Christ’s sake.
Sure, I wouldn’t say no to a redo—I slept like a baby last night after those mind-blowing orgasms—but I will not be hurt or offended if he’s not interested. I completely understand the complexity of our current situation.
Just before ten, a delivery arrives … the biggest arrangement of flowers I’ve ever seen. I’m not kidding, it takes up half of my desk. There would be easily two hundred roses in the bouquet. It’s a combination of impressive and overkill. There are only two people I know who could afford something so extravagant, and both their names end in Prescott.
I can’t see why Eloise would send me flowers. I’ve dined with her before and received nothing the following day. They must be from Spencer.
But why?
Have I misread him?
I spy a small white envelope tucked into the side of the vase, and my hand slightly shakes as I retrieve it and remove the card inside. The burst of adrenaline that just shot through me evaporates the second I read what it says.
I’m sorry!
Spencer.
He is sorry?
For what?
For kissing me?
For letting me use his giant dick to get myself off?
You know what? Fuck this. I’m sick to death of being pushed aside and ignored by everyone. I deserve better. I hadn’t wanted to bring this into work, but there’s no way I can sit through the entire day and not say something.
The card is still clutched in my trembling hand as I storm towards his office. I enter without knocking, and I can see the surprise in his eyes when he notices me approaching.
“What exactly are you sorry for?” I spit, tossing the card on his desk.
His eyes flicker down to it before moving back to me. “I take it you’re not a flower person?”
Ugh, this man is infuriating. “What are you sorry for?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“Delilah.”
“Don’t you dare Delilah me, answer my question.”
He stands, rounds the desk, and walks towards his office door to close it. “I’m sorry for …”
“For what, Spencer? What happened last night? You could’ve been man enough and just said the words. You didn’t need to clean out the entire florist to prove your point.”
He turns and reopens the door, glancing out into the reception area. He mumbles some expletives under his breath, but I don’t quite catch them all from here.
Once he closes the door again, he retakes his seat.
“Sit,” he orders.
“I don’t want to sit,” I snap back.
“Sit down, Miss St. James,” he growls, and a shiver courses down my spine. I hate how my body responds to his gruff tone. At this moment, I may even hate him a little as well.
I lift my chin defiantly. “No!”
“If you want to act like a child, maybe I should treat you like one.”
“The answer would still be no.”
“I have a good mind to lay you across my lap and spank that sweet arse of yours into submission.”
Oh, dear God, why does that sound so hot?
My eyes widen and my mouth gapes open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He leans forward in his seat and cocks a brow. “Try me, sweetheart.”
I swear if I had the strength to lift that bouquet of gazillion flowers, I’d shove them right up his deliciously round backside. “Why are you sorry?”
“For taking advantage of you last night … you were in a vulnerable state. I should never have kissed you.”
“Yet you did.”
“I know, and for that, I apologise. My actions were inexcusable.”
“I kissed you back, and while we’re on the subject, I’m pretty sure you didn’t force me to grind against your dick either, Spencer.”
“Fuck, Delilah,” he groans, repositioning himself in his seat.
“It’s the truth.”
“It should never have happened. I am way too old for you and it was wrong of me to let things go as far as they did. I hope you can forgive me, so we can put it behind us.”
And there it is.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I fib, lifting my chin a little higher. “It was a mistake … I’m glad we are on the same page.”
“You think what we did was a mistake?”
“Yes, and I can assure you it won’t happen again. Like you said, you are far too old for me, Mr Prescott.”
“I’m only ten years older than you,” he grumbles.
“That’s like seventy in dog years.”
Despite his obvious annoyance, he barks out a laugh. I, however, find no humour in this situation. “That may be true, but we are not animals, Miss St. James.”
We certainly acted like we were last night.
“Now that this is settled, can I go?”
“No. There’s something else I need to discuss with you.”
“What?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Friday will be your last day as my receptionist.”
My heart sinks. This is far worse than I ever expected. “You’re firing me?”
“Of course not. Laura’s maternity leave is ending. She’ll be starting back on Monday, so I’m moving you to a different floor.”
“Oh.”
“It’s nothing personal. You’ve done a great job since you’ve been here, but Laura has been with me for six years … she holds seniority.”
“I understand,” I say, hoping my words don’t let on how I truly feel.
“Your salary and job description will remain the same. The only difference is, you’ll be working for someone other than me.”
Forcing out a smile, I nod my head twice as I try to swallow down the knot that’s forming in the back of my throat. “Great.” I take a few steps backward, preparing for my escape. “Is that all? I have a lot of work to get through.”
“I’m really sorry, Delilah.”
“I know,” I say, storming back towards his desk to snatch up the card I dropped there.
The first tears fall as I hurry back to my desk, bypassing it to head straight for the bathroom. I don’t want Spencer to see how much this has upset me.
When the end of the day comes, I don’t bother saying goodbye. I think he’s made it clear where we stand. I get it, I do. He runs a multi-million-dollar company. He has so much to offer, and I’m just … me. Despite those glaringly obvious facts, the rejection still stings.
On the plus side, as of next week, I won’t have to see or interact with him at work, but after hours is a different story. It’s going to take me at least a month, maybe more, before I can save up enough money to pay the bond for a rental. Even a dingy motel room is not something I can afford right now.
I might have to hide out in my bedroom until then.
I could go back to my parents’ house, but that seems like a fate worse than death, considering what happened the last time I was there. Would they even want me back? Apart from the initial phone call I got from my mother, it’s been radio silence ever since. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.
Sliding into the back of the limousine that’s parked by the kerb waiting, I greet Damien before reaching for my seat belt. “Would it be possible to stop by the grocery store again on the way home?” I ask him.
“Of course, Miss St. James. Are you going to cook Mr Prescott dinner again?”
“No. I just need to pick up some supplies.”
Sustenance for my impending hibernation.
Chapter 22
Spencer
It was close to six o’clock before I realised Delilah had already left for the day … without so much as a goodbye. She didn’t take her flowers; she either couldn’t carry them or simply didn’t want them. Probably the latter, since I also found the card that was attached sitting in the waste paper bin beside her desk.
I spent the next hour standing by the window in my office, staring aimlessly into the distance, wondering how things between us went south so quickly. Logically, I knew why. I kissed her, brought her to orgasm, and then transferred her to another department. It sounds cold when I lay it out like that, but I did what was best for both of us. I needed to nip this shit in the bud before things got even more out of hand.
The only way to resist temptation is to escape from it.
By seven I now feel like I’m going out of my mind, so I decide it’s time to head home. I can’t function while my head is all fucked up.
Everything I did today was for us, but I’ve inadvertently done the one thing I hoped I wouldn’t … I’ve hurt her. I need to make things right.
When I arrive back at the apartment, she’s nowhere in sight. Her bedroom door is closed, so I can only presume she’s in there.
There’s no beautiful smile waiting to greet me when I enter … no delicious aromas wafting in the air from a meal being prepared in the kitchen. Although Delilah only cooked for me one time, I’d been hoping for a redo.
She had no idea what that moment meant to me. It was the only aspect I enjoyed when I went to her parents’ house that first night for dinner. I was in awe that they sat down for a home-cooked meal as a family because it was something I never experienced growing up. My mother would usually have the chef prepare me something early since I was in bed by the time my father arrived home from work. She would wait to dine with him, which meant I usually ate alone.
I liked the idea that she brought that family tradition into my home.
Crossing the main space, I head towards her bedroom. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach when a thought hits me … what if she’s gone? Have I pushed things too far? My solitude has always been something I preferred, but having her here has made me realise that is no longer the case. I enjoy coming home to her.
When I reach her door, I raise my hand to knock, then pause it mid-air. I place my ear against the wood instead, and although there’s no light coming from under the door, I can hear voices inside. She must be listening or watching something on her phone.
Should I disturb her?
Does she even care that I’m home?
Would she even want to see me if she knew I was?
Has she eaten?
With that last one in mind, I knock. “Delilah, it’s me.” The room suddenly falls silent. “I’m going to order some food, are you hungry?”
Things remain quiet for a beat, so I know she heard me, but when the voices start back up a few seconds later, without a response from her, I have my answer.
Fuck.
Yesterday was Delilah’s last day as my receptionist, and it went by without incident. Simone took her to lunch, which I would’ve liked to be a part of, but I wasn’t privy to an invitation. I didn’t dare send her flowers as a thank-you after the rose fiasco.
I didn’t see her yesterday before I left for work, and apart from a curt “Good morning, Mr Prescott” when she delivered my coffee, she avoided me for the rest of the day. When I was leaving, I noticed that she’d placed a note on her desk for Laura—catching her up to prepare for the handover most likely. She also left the flowers behind. I’m going to miss having her around during the day, and I hope she stops hiding out in her bedroom when she’s at home, so I at least get to see her.
My Saturdays are usually spent at the office. I’m the only one who comes in on the weekends. I use this time to wrap up my week, so I can start fresh on Monday. Today though, I only went in for a few hours. I wanted to be home in time to take Delilah to her other job, but when I got back to the apartment, she’d already left.
I had knocked on her bedroom door again, but when I got no answer and heard no movement, I opened it and peered inside. That’s when I saw her stash. Is she preparing for the apocalypse?
Locking herself away in her room when I was home, suddenly made sense. On top of her dresser was a case of bottled water, protein bars, and a variety of snacks. It hurt to know she felt the need to resort to this … all in the hopes of avoiding me. For the interim, this is her home too, so she shouldn’t feel the need to confine herself to one space.
Maybe it’s time I started going back to my estate on the weekends. I was only staying here for her. At least she won’t have to hide out in her bedroom if I’m not around.
Damien: Just letting you know I picked up Miss St. James from the restaurant and got her home safely.
Me: Thank you.
Although my driver rarely works weekends, I offered him a bonus to collect Delilah from work when her shift was over. Since I’m not staying at the apartment tonight, for obvious reasons, I still needed to know that she got home safely.
Me: How did she seem?
Damien: A little shocked to see me. She asked why I was there and not you.
Me: And what did you tell her?
Damien: That you couldn’t make it. I didn’t know what else to say.
Me: Did she say anything to you?
Damien: No. She just stared out the window on the drive home. Is she okay? I’m concerned. She hasn’t been her usual bubbly self the past few days.
Me: She’s just going through some things right now.
The guilt I’ve been feeling all afternoon intensifies. I open my contacts and search for Delilah’s number, but instead of calling, I type a text message. Given her actions over the past few days, I doubt she’d answer anyway.
Me: I’m sorry I wasn’t able to collect you this evening. I decided to head to my estate for the weekend, so you’re free to roam around the apartment. I hate that you feel the need to confine yourself to your room. I want you to be comfortable, Delilah. Please eat something healthy. I don’t like the idea of you living off snacks.
I’m not expecting a reply. I simply wanted to explain the situation, so when my phone pings with a message from her, I’m surprised.
Delilah: You went in my bedroom?!!!!!!
Shit.
Me: I knocked first, but when there was no answer, I popped my head in … that’s all. I didn’t cross the threshold. I wasn’t snooping. I came home midmorning to drive you to your job, but you’d already left by the time I arrived.
Delilah: Yet you know I have snacks in my bedroom.
Me: They were hard to miss. It looked like you had a mini convenience store on top of your dresser.
