The barriers she placed between herself and the others were invisible, but obvious nonetheless. Eventually, even the warmest-hearted do-gooder conceded defeat and left her to her requested isolation.
Blake Jones, the newest sales associate at the dealership, was proving to be more tenacious than the others had been.
“‘Morning, Paula,” he said, sauntering into her cubbyhole office with a stack of paperwork. “Don’t you look nice today.”
She was wearing a brown jacket dress that made her skin look sallow and did nothing to enhance her brown eyes. She hadn’t tried to soften the severity of the look with jewelry; she wore only a plain, leather-banded watch on her left wrist and a thin gold chain that disappeared beneath the high collar of her unflattering dress.
She’d pul
led her mousy hair into a severe bun that would have been more suited to a woman twice her age. She wore no makeup, and her oversize glasses had slid down her short nose again, forcing her to push at them with her forefinger. Well aware of every detail of her carefully constructed appearance, Paula put little credence into Blake’s compliment.
“Thank you,” she said coolly, reaching for the forms. Her tone implied that the conversation ended there.
Blake didn’t take the hint. He’d worked for McElden Motors for just two weeks and had already broken all existing records for the most car sales made in the first month of employment. Tenacity was a plus in sales, of course, but he seemed to carry the trait over into everything else he did. And for some reason, he’d been determined to befriend Paula, despite her resistance.
She’d sensed from the beginning that his interest in her was not sexual. A woman usually suspected when a man was genuinely attracted to her, and Paula knew that wasn’t the case with Blake. Yet he continued to try his best to draw her out. She could only guess his motive to be pity—or conceit. Perhaps he was the type of man who simply couldn’t stand it if a woman didn’t succumb to his considerable charms.
He was definitely attractive. Boyishly tousled golden hair. Wicked blue eyes. Killer smile. A slender physique that nicely set off his penchant for loose shirts and softly pleated slacks. A thirty-something heartthrob.
He had no way of knowing, of course, that Paula’s heart had long been locked away in a place where no one would ever make it throb again.
“I was thinking about trying out that new Chinese place down the street for lunch today,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”
“No, thank you,” she murmured, deliberately turning her attention back to her work. “I brought my lunch.”
Resting one lean hip against the edge of her desk, he picked up her stapler, tape dispenser and a brass paperweight and absently began to juggle them. Paula’s eyebrows lifted as she watched the heavy items arc lazily through the air.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he said enticingly. “It’s finally starting to look like spring. Much too nice for a brown-bag sandwich. Wouldn’t you rather get out of the office for an hour or so?”
“No. I’d rather eat in,” she said firmly.
She was momentarily diverted when he skillfully shifted into a new pattern of tossing the desk accessories from one hand to the other. “You missed your calling,” she couldn’t resist saying. “You should have joined the circus.”
He stilled his hands and replaced her possessions on the desk. The sleeve of his pale blue shirt pulled back when he reached out, revealing a glimpse of what might have been a small tattoo on his right wrist. Before Paula could identify it, he’d hidden it again beneath his cuff.
“Been there. Done that,” he said without elaboration. “Last chance for Chinese?”
She shook her head. He heaved an exaggerated sigh and sauntered toward the doorway. She’d noticed that Blake rarely seemed to move in a hurry.
“Some other time, then,” he said.
She didn’t respond. She had no intention of having lunch with him at any time, but she didn’t want to issue a challenge by saying so now. He would lose interest in her soon, she assured herself. They all did, after a while.
Ignoring the hollow ache of loneliness inside her, she turned her thoughts firmly back to her paperwork. She was very good at her job.
It was all she had.
PAULA STOPPED at a take-out Chinese restaurant on her way home that evening, ordering egg drop soup and cashew chicken. She’d been craving Chinese food ever since Blake had asked her out for lunch.
Carefully balancing her dinner, she unlocked the front door of her tiny furnished apartment that was tucked into one secluded corner of an uninspired, moderately priced complex. The apartment was quiet and empty, as always. The furnishings were bland and inexpensive and she hadn’t bothered with accessories or bric-a-brac.
She never had visitors, so it didn’t matter if the place was dull and gloomy. More cheerful and tasteful decor wouldn’t have made a difference to Paula; the bleakness she carried inside her would have prevented her from fully appreciating even the most elegant surroundings.
She set her dinner on the tiny round table in her kitchenette, pushing a newspaper and the day’s mail to one side. The glasses she didn’t need lay on top of the mail. She’d been relieved, as always, to find only advertising fliers and an electric bill in her mailbox.
Except for bills and junk mail, her box was usually empty. She received no magazines, no personal letters. Yet checking her mail was undoubtedly the most stressful activity in her rigid daily routine.
She ate her dinner, cleared away the remains and then went into her bedroom to change out of the dress she’d worn to work and into a soft sleep shirt. She pulled the pins out of her hair, and the severe bun fell apart. Her thick hair tumbled to her shoulders as though relieved to be released from confinement. She combed her fingers through it, looking in the mirror for signs that the drab color needed retouching.