“Hello, Olivia,” I heard, just as I had grasped it.
Burnished, brandy-colored leather brogues stared me in the face. I froze as my eyes drifted up a long body and landed on David’s expressionless face. His hair was parted off to the side, gelled into one soft, cohesive wave. His sharp navy pinstripe suit looked as though it was made for him. It likely was, I thought. He wore the collar open with no tie so that I could glimpse the beginnings of his collarbone, and the sight of his exposed skin sent a shock through me that ended in a tingling between my legs.
“D-David?” I stammered from below once I’d recovered. If I’d thought the office had seemed smaller before, it now felt microscopic, especially from my current position. His presence could barely be contained. I rocked off my heels and stood, smoothing my hands over my dress.
“You’re surprised. Were you expecting someone else?”
“Um, yes. Lucas Dylan?” I said, wiping excess lip gloss from the corner of my mouth.
“Aha. Do you always do this much research before an interview?” he teased. “I go by my middle name.”
I eyed Serena, who stood in the doorway, and then looked back at David. How could she make such an oversight? “I’m sorry, you’re right. Welcome.” I stuck my hand out awkwardly. Quickly, I attempted to sort through my thoughts, but all I could think was that I was glad I had heeded Beman’s advice. With a smirk, he took my warm hand in his icy one and squeezed it with a pump, sending a chill up my arm.
“Sorry I’m so cold, it’s biting out there today.”
“How about some coffee then?” Serena asked.
“Sure,” I said absentmindedly, narrowing my eyes at David. Once she had stepped out and we were alone, I gestured to a seat as I returned to my spot behind the desk.
“Mr. Dylan,” I began, carefully pronouncing his name. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
His laugh was soft. “I should think not, after the way you ran out on me last night.”
“Anyone else might take a hint,” I ribbed.
“I love what you’ve done with your office,” he commented, gripping the arms of his chair. “Very colorful.” I hated its stark white walls and generic carpet. It was the matted and grimy type that you never wanted to touch with bare feet. The only indication that it had an inhabitant was a photo of Lucy, Gretchen and me that Lucy had taken, printed, framed and brought over my first week at the magazine. She even positioned it on my old desk herself.
“Well, I’m just borrowing it,” I responded quietly.
As he looked around the room, I took the opportunity to study him in the daylight. He was no less mysterious, but in the office, with the desk between us, he somehow seemed less threatening. And if possible, more handsome.
“That’s right, it must’ve been Diane’s office. So I want to apologize if I came on too strong last night,” he said, affixing his eyes on me again. I glanced at the door. Lowering his voice and leaning his elbows on his knees, he continued. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You came here to tell me that?” I asked. “How did you know where to find me?”
“It wasn’t hard.” He winked.
My brows creased as Serena knocked lightly and entered the room.
“Here you are, Mr. Dylan,” she cooed, offering him a steaming cup of coffee. She set the tray on the coffee table and handed me mine as well.
“Thank you, Serena,” I said.
David stared at me over the lip of the mug as he took a sip, and I shifted anxiously. He swallowed and cupped a hand around the heated drink, watching me like I was his next meal. In unison we glanced at Serena, who was lingering near the door.
“Thank you, Serena,” I repeated more sternly. She smiled at David, even though his back was to her, did some sort of curtsey and left the room. Strange girl, I thought.
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, your being here,” I said, straightening a pile of papers on the desk.
“Why not?” he asked. “Nothing’s going on.”
I felt silly for suggesting that something was. I tilted my head and, lifting my shoulder lightly, asked, “So you went out of your way just to tell me that?”
“No,” he said simply. “Diane had asked me to do the article this year, and I turned her down. But I’ve changed my mind.”
I stopped and set down the stack of papers. “Really?” I asked. “Why?”
“Don’t make me answer that, or I might start to wonder the same thing.” His mouth kinked into a half smile, but I chewed the inside of my lip. This would mean working with him until the issue went to press, since he was all but guaranteed a spot. I wondered if I’d been wrong about him. Perhaps his visit was purely platonic. As if he could read my mind, he added, “I never mix business and pleasure. Ever. You have my word that I will be completely professional.” I narrowed my eyes at him without realizing it. “You don’t believe me,” he observed. “Do though, as I don’t like repeating myself.” My thighs constricted involuntarily at the way his tone dropped. Composure, Olivia. Composure.
“I don’t really have a choice in the matter,” I pointed out, searching his face.
“Sure you do, it’s your article,” he said. “Don’t worry about them,” he added, waving his hand. “I’ll say it’s a conflict with my schedule if you aren’t comfortable.”
Part of me wanted to refuse, wanted to ask him to back out if it became too much to handle. But I didn’t know how to express that in so many words, and I didn’t want to make something of nothing. Not only that, but it would put me some steps closer to the promotion. “All right. Let’s do it,” I decided, straightening my back.
He answered with a large, boyish grin, pure and unassuming. I flexed my hands against my thighs, digging my fingers into them; I’d never seen a smile like that before. It made me want to laugh and hug and kiss him all at once.
“Let’s get started then,” I said, blinking away the dreadful impulse. I reached over the desk for his file, and he jumped from the chair suddenly. My head snapped up; his expression both darkened and enhanced his attractive features as his gaze fixed on my arm.
“What the . . . Oh my God,” he stammered, and I followed his eyes to find fresh, purple bruises forming along my bicep and elbow.
“Oh,” I said, my eyes flitting between the marks and him. I shook my head as he found the words.
“Shit, Olivia, I am so sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared, as if he was physically unable to look away.
“No,” I insisted, shaking my head harder. “No, no, no - you didn’t do this. It wasn’t you,” I reassured him, waiting for his relief. Instead, his look grew menacing as his eyes crept up to meet mine. I sat back in my chair, nervously clutching for my sweater. He rounded the desk and gently pulled my wrist up so my arm was taut. I relished the careful touch of his fingers encircling my wrist. His thick eyebrows met in the middle while he examined the bruises.
In a voice contrary to the feather touch, he demanded, “How did this happen?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said in a small voice, although I knew he wouldn’t believe me. It didn’t, I hadn’t even noticed anything until now, but the marks were vivid nonetheless.
“Olivia, tell me who did this. Was it me?” he asked with a wavering voice.
I was reluctant to tell him. I hadn’t even had time to process it myself. But I could tell he wouldn’t back down and that his patience was wearing thin. I sighed and looked down. “Last night . . . after I left you, I was walking home - ”
“What?” he bellowed, dropping my wrist. “You walked home last night? Christ, I never would have let you walk; do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
I fluttered my eyelashes at him innocently, and his expression softened slightly. I started to tell him that I’d done it several times, but thought better of it. “Someone – a man, he . . . Well, he was drunk. He tried to get my attention, but when I ignored him, I guess it upset him. He grabbed me.” David’s eyes widened
visibly. “But,” I said before he could speak, “I used my purse to fight him off, and I’m fine. Here I am.” I shrugged, tucking some hair behind my ear.
“I can’t believe you walked home, I never should have let you go,” he muttered.
“You didn’t let me do anything, David. I’m not your responsibility.”
He drew his lips into a straight line and looked at me guardedly. “Right,” he said. “What did your husband say? Did you call the police?”
“He’s out of town.”
David closed his eyes and shook his head. He opened one eye and appeared to brace himself. “You slept alone last night?”
“Yes, of course.”
He exhaled forcefully. “What if he had followed you home?” he asked. I hesitated, avoiding his eyes. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?” He waited a moment. “Olivia.” It was a command, rumbling with warning, and it almost turned me to jelly. I wondered, if I didn’t respond would he say it again?