Maybe that’s why I’m able to work in a building where it’s just him and me for eight hours a day. To be able to lose and walk away with a smile, to continue to go back, year after year, and make friends with the fighters who continue to beat him… it takes a man intensely in control of his emotions to do that.
Like Ollie, Cliff is safe.
“I’m putting these away, and then I’m heading out,” I announce, glancing across at the too-smiley dude who sits back at his desk, his feet on the tabletop, and Poppy comfortably lounging in his lap. He stares at his phone, chuckling at whatever is on social media as he swipe, swipe, swipes from one video to the next. “Cliff?”
“Yep.” He tilts his head back and looks at me upside down. “Whatever works for you. I’m going to the gym in an hour, so I’m gonna keep my happy backside right where it is, instead of driving home and then back into town again a minute later.” He flashes a teasing, white-toothed smile. “You work like you’d starve without the paycheck, but I don’t see you at the gym as often as I should. It’s not laziness. It’s avoidance.”
I roll my eyes—at him, and at my cat purring contentedly under his hand. “I gosometimes. I learned. I conquered.” I tug the filing cabinet open and work my way through the alphabet, placing files in their allotted slots. “I’m not Eliza, though, so I hardly see a reason to be there every day.”
“No one said you had to go every day,” he drawls. “Every second day would be acceptable. Don’t you care about defending yourself if the need arises?”
“Why should I, when I have people like you and Oliver Darling so intent on swooping in and saving the day all the time?”
He firms his lips and straightens out in his chair. “That’s dangerous thinkin’, is all I’m saying. You make me worry when you walk home all alone after work every afternoon. And I know Ollie doesn’t like it either. Stay back an hour later, and he can come get you. Call one of the girls, and they’ll drive you. Leave withme,” he huffs, shaking his head, “And I’ll take you. Butnooo. ‘Cos you’re stubborn as hell. The least you could’ve done is find a stray dog instead of a cat. A massive, aggressive, tear-a-man’s-face-off-if-he-looks-at-you-sideways kinda dog.”
“But you’re always admonishing me about where I should go and when I should be there.” I drop the Flannegan file behind F and close the drawer. “Even the best-intentioned dog may misinterpret such lectures as a sideways glance. Seems dangerous for you.”
“Mmhm.” He spins on his chair and warms the side of my face with hisunimpressed glare. “Orrrryou could save us all the worry and do as you’re told for once in your life. That could be a fun new thing we try.”
The front door of the warehouse-esque building opens downstairs, the bell above jingling loudly, so I wander toward the safety banister stretching all the way around the mezzanine second level and glance over the side. It’s a habit. A routine I can’t quite label, considering Cliff never makes me greet clients anyway.
I catch the broad back of a man a little smaller than what I’ve become accustomed to in Ollie. In Cliff, too. The new arrival stands at five feet and maybe ten inches. Could even be nine. He has dark hair hidden under a ball cap, and when he turns and looks my way, instead of eyes—I always look at the eyes—I’m left wanting, because all I see is myself in the reflection of his sunglasses.
He stares for a beat. A long sweeping study that puts an odd fluttering in the base of my belly, then he smiles, friendly and detached. Just like every other customer who comes in here.
“I’ve got it.” Cliff locks his phone screen and, grunting like an old man, rocks upright in his chair and moves to his feet. Walking my way, he presses Poppy to my chest and forces me to pay attention to her. To her warm fur. To her soft purr, which acts as a circuit breaker and tricks my brain onto a new track. One that doesn’t include obsessing over another strange face, the way I do every single time anyone walks in here.
Stepping in front of me, close, but not so close that he’s touching, Cliff smiles. “It’d make my heart happy if you were at the gym tonight.”
“It’d makemyheart happy to go home, change into sweatpants, and rot in front of the television while Ollie plays with my hair. Guess which option I’m gonna choose?” I turn away from the banister, cuddling Poppy to my neck as I move to my desk and switch off the computer. I don’t have a purse to collect. I don’t have anything to carry home except my phone, a key, and my kitten, so I slip the phone into my pocket and pat the key I tied to a thin rope beneath my shirt. “The sun is still out. The days are getting longer, which means I won’t even be walking home in the dark tonight.”
“You have twenty minutes,” he drawls. “At best.” He strides to the top of the metal staircase and waits for me. It’s a routine he’s created. A habit he doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts his brows, prompting me along, so when I meet him at the top, he escorts me down, his shoulder brushing mine, and every now and then, his hand flexes like he’s ready to catch me if I stumble and fall.
Does he often have to save women on these stairs? Or does he feel a certain loyalty to me, specifically?
He walks me all the way to the bottom, offering a kind smile to his customer as we pass. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”
The guy meanders amongst 3-D printed models of things Cliff has built before: single-story houses, three-story houses, and multi-story buildings. “No problem,” he murmurs. “I’m in no rush.”
Cliff takes my arm in his grip, squeezing just firm enough to steer me toward the door. Swinging it wide, he places me on the other side. “Walk straight home. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t accept candy from anyone. And for the love of Christ, turn on the tracker thingy on your phone.”
The tracker thingy… the one I can’t quite bring myself to switch on. Because every time I try, my stomach swirls and sweat trickles along my spine.
“Rose?” Cliff snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Do I need to call someone to come get you?”
“No candy. No strangers.” I smile and press Poppy to his face. She’s my secret weapon, melting even the grumpiest of men with just a touch of her fur. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Turning on my heels and taking out my phone, I open the text chat I have with Ollie and quickly begin typing.
ME - May 4th, 4:46pm
Heading back to the house now.
OLLIE - 4:47pm
I was waiting for this text. Thanks for letting me know. I’m off in just over an hour, so I won’t be far behind you.
4:47pm
Say it, Rose. You know you wanna.
