Chance Taken

“How come you’re here with a girl, Chance?” Casper asks him at one point, giggling as he does. “You never bring a girl here.”

That makes my cheeks burn and causes Chance to do a double take, which makes Casper giggle even more.

“She’s my boss, I already told you. And not a very nice one.”

And my face grows even hotter. I wish I could come up with something to say, anything to say to that, but my brain is one big sticky mess. I know what he’s doing, he’s trying to make me change my mind about him by showing me what a nice guy he is, but it’s not going to work.

“I don’t believe you,” Casper says. “Veronica is very nice. She usually gets a turkey sandwich, but today she got cake. And she’s not eating it.”

He’s right, I’m not. And I correct that by slicing off a large piece and smiling at him before stuffing it into my mouth. That makes Casper giggle appreciatively.

Then they settle back into talking to each other, and at least part of the reason I’m not joining in is because Chance seems to understand everything Casper is saying, while I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t.

The other reason is that this image of Chance with his uncle is making me see him in a new way and I don’t like it.

So what if he has a sweet uncle he’s close to? That doesn’t make him a good guy. It just makes him a little less bad. Maybe. But he’s still someone who abducts girls and sells them, then calls them liars when they reach out for help. And remembering that is enough to make the normally very delicious cheesecake taste like soggy cardboard.

* * *

The sun is beating down on my head and its light is bright white and blinding as we make our way back to the office. The flats I put on instead of my usual sneakers are brand new-or were a couple of months ago when I bought them—and they’re already causing blisters on my heels. Bleeding blisters, I’m sure.

Why did I get this dressed up for a day at the office? I know why, I wanted to correct the impression Chance got of me when I opened the door this morning, but now that just seems like the dumbest impulse ever. At least the pleated skirt I’m wearing is nice and airy and perfect for this hot day.

We’re not talking. I don’t know how to start a conversation and he’s frowning and squinting each time he glances at me. That’s probably because of the sun in our eyes, but still, it makes him look very unfriendly and more like the person I’m sure he really is.

I’m fine not talking.

“So what’s the plan for the afternoon?” he suddenly asks. “More video watching?”

“Yes,” I say. “And tomorrow you can come with me when I record a new one. That should give you something to think about.”

He makes a whistling sound that suggests he can’t believe I just said that.

“Think about what, Veronica?” he asks sharply. “I don’t traffic women.”

He sounds mad, exasperated and offended at the same time.

“Even the court believed I had nothing to do with the planned abduction of those girl scouts. Do you think they’d let me off this easy if they thought I did?”

No, actually I don’t. “But there’s always the question of evidence and what they can prove.”

He shakes his head in disbelief but doesn’t respond.

“And dress normally, like today, in a long-sleeved shirt to cover your tattoos,” I add.

He shoots me a nasty glance. “You think I’ll scare these women of yours? As if I don’t look like every other hipster walking around these days.”

He’s got a point, but still. “You might scare them, yes. They suffered a lot at the hands of people like you.”

“Not me,” he says and sounds sincere.

I want to believe him, and it still scares me, but that’s not the only reason I want to end this conversation.

We’re almost at the office door and a woman with long, glowing red hair is standing in front of the door. She’s older, wearing a flowing, light blue cardigan over white pants and a white shirt. She looks very familiar, but I don’t know from where.

I quicken my step to greet her, but Chance overtakes me and is standing right in front of her in just four long strides.

“What?” he asks her harshly, looking alarmed, frightened even. She doesn’t. She’s looking at him like she wants to hug him, but that makes no sense. She’s probably just scared of him and doesn’t know how to react.