With my back to the door, I listened as he neared the kitchen, hoping he would continue to the bathroom instead. That hope, however, was squashed quickly when the sound of his footsteps transferred from the carpeted hallway to the kitchen tiles.
My heart leaped to my throat.
"Good morning," he said, nose whistling.
"Morning," I chimed back over my shoulder, throwing him a polite smile I regretted instantly. I looked back at the coffee machine, drumming my finger on the bench as I willed the coffee to brew faster. Suddenly I was too aware of what I was wearing. Double checking what I was wearing (slacks and a loosely tucked blouse) wasn’t too revealing. Not that it mattered to him.
James opened the fridge. It creaked on its hinges while food containers and bottles rattled on the shelves.
I peered over my shoulder to keep an eye on him.
He rummaged through the fridge, buying time or wasting it, before he settled on a small tub of custard. When his eyes flicked to me, I snapped my attention forward, closing my eyes tightly just as he closed the kitchen door.
Breathe. It will be over soon.
He crossed the room to search the cutlery drawer for a spoon, stopping to stand two feet beside me. I watched as he skimmed over multiple utensils before he finally picked one.
As he closed the drawer, he inhaled deeply. “Mm, something smells good in here.”
“Maybe it’s the air freshener?” I offered nervously, smiling when I shouldn’t be smiling. It brought too much attention and made him think I was interested.
My hands shook as I poured the coffee, leaning away from him. But it made no difference. Not when he sidestepped closer, breathing in again before he snapped his fingers in triumph.
I jumped at the snap.
“It’s you,” he grinned before his hand came to my lower back.
My body tensed while an uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach.
“Such a sweet little thing, hm?” His breath was tainted with coffee and breath mints (too many breath mints) while his heady cologne engulfed my senses. “You always make coming to work more enjoyable in whatever you’re wearing.”
The room felt too small as he crowded me — suffocated me in the corner of the counter with nowhere to run.
James reached across in front of me and pressed the front of his thigh into the back of mine while he took one of the coffees. Never mind it wasn’t for him. That’s how he played this. He never asked me to make coffee so he would have an excuse to use the kitchen, relying on the off chance he might find me alone.
I couldn’t breathe properly.
A satisfied smile spread across his lips before he slurped the coffee loudly beside my head. I could hear the liquid sloshing around his mouth as he took his time before nodding in approval.
"What would we do without you, Lily." He moved his hand up between my shoulder blades, lingering as he inhaled again before leaving with a satisfied sigh.
Once I was sure he was gone, I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a sob. My throat burned with a lump of emotion I tried to push down. It didn’t stop the subtle tremors rolling through my body as I gripped the counter, trying to ground myself before I spiraled into a dark pit of panic.
He’s gone. It’s over. Breathe. You’re okay.
I rushed the coffees and delivered them two at a time just to leave the isolated kitchen. Candice was the last to get her coffee before I took my seat behind the front desk again. The trembling in my hands subsided.
As I distracted myself by looking through appointments on the computer, my mother joined us behind the desk with a folder in hand and a concentrated frown on her face.
I was closer to her in looks than I was to Dad. From the diamond-shaped face to the slightly upturned slant of our noses and the lighter shade of our hair. But while her eyes were a reddish brown, mine were a soft blue. Nothing overly spectacular. Her features were also significantly sharper than mine. Years of being a businesswoman shaped the spiteful arch in her brow.
My features were less capable businesswoman and more girl who peaked at age 17 and struggled to purchase alcohol without ID.
Having spent the entirety of her morning working on the paperwork for some of the houses she had sold recently, Mom and I hadn't spoken since after the staff meeting this morning. Where she had lightly interrogated me about how my weekend panned out.
I decided to tell her the truth about Saturday night, except for the noteworthy parts. She didn’t need to know about the fight club or the fighter who ended up on my couch. The latter seemed strange enough to admit to myself.
Naturally, she scolded me for going against what I promised I wouldn't do (drinking alcohol) but told me if I moved home, I could drink in the safety of my parent's house. Thankfully one of the other realtors wanted to speak to her about a housing deal as we left the meeting, distracting her as I slipped away from the conversation.
