Page 14 of Keeping Denver

With my appetite lost, I pick up the remainder of my lunch and decide to finish it later, and retreat to the break room for the duration of my lunchtime. No way am I sitting at my desk while Joslyn gives Callan his desert. The thought alone of his hands touching her, and not me, makes me green with envy. Where the hell did that come from? What is wrong with you Denver? Get yourself together. Walking down the hall, I square my shoulders. I have much more important things to worry about besides Callan Hawk, and what he's doing in his office at this very moment. Focus on yourself. I keep repeating those words in my head as I approach the breakroom. Lucas is sitting there eating his lunch when I walk in.

"Denver. We meet again." He throws another boyish grin.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

"A pretty lady never has to ask to sit by me."

Rolling my eyes, I take a seat. I'm starting to catch on to the way Lucas operates. I have a sneaky suspicion he's a player. "I bet you say that to all the girls, Lucas." My retort awards me a full-on smile, dimples, and all. Lucas is cute. In that boy next door kind of way.

"Only to you, Denver."

I laugh. "Liar. But I'll take the compliment anyway." I don't know what it is about Lucas, but he's comfortable to be around. His easy-going personality helps. His compliments make me blush. Not in the, I'm attracted to you kind of way, though. It's not often someone like me receives a compliment. When Lucas does it, it feels foreign, Yet, makes me feel good.

"So, you and Mr. Hawk?"

I look up at him, confused. "What?"

"You don't have to play coy with me, Denver." Lucas nudges me with his elbow as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Lucas grins, a mouth full of food. "I'm sure you will soon enough, sweetheart."

"Whatever. You're talking crazy." I ball my napkin up and toss it at him.

"What's going on here?"

I peer over my shoulder to see Mr. Hawk has yet again busted mine and Lucas's conversation. "Nothing. We're eating lunch."

"I think lunchtime is over. Wouldn't you agree, Lucas?"

I answer for him. "Actually, we still have ten minutes."

Pushing his chair back, Lucas stands and begins cleaning his mess. "The boss is right. I should be getting back." Lucas tosses his trash in the garbage bin. When he walks past me, he places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. "I enjoyed this. Let's do it again sometime, sweetheart." With a wink, Lucas walks out, brushing past Mr. Hawk and I swear I hear him mumble "not fucking happening," under his breath.

Following suit, I stand. "In the future, if you require me to take a shorter break, can you please tell me in advance so we can avoid confrontation."

"In the future, all of your lunches will be spent in my office, with me. Problem solved."

"Except on the days your girlfriend is here," I let the snarky reply roll off my tongue as I brush past him. Yeah, I went there.

7

With the weekend finally here, I get ready for the day and even add a little pep in my step. I don't meet the guy about the apartment until noon, so I decide to go ahead and get my laundry out of the way. The good thing about weekends is I get to change back into my well-worn, secondhand jeans. Even though my shoes have a broad strip of duct tape covering a hole in the toe, they are more comfortable than my work shoes.

The laundromat I use is right around the corner from the shelter. When I arrive, I find it packed. Looking down at my watch, I see I have several hours until noon, so I don't fret. Besides, waiting inside for a machine to free up is better than waiting out in the cold. Luck was on my side today. There was a large clothing donation at the shelter this morning. I was able to snag two more shirts for work and they all needed washing before I can wear them. The articles are a little outdated, but beggars can't be choosy, right? Either way, I'm grateful. Every little bit helps, and I know I'm one step closer to getting my life back on track. Since there were no appropriate work shoes in the donation bin, I plan on buying myself a brand-new pair in a few more weeks. And, if I get that studio apartment today, I'll have just enough money left to purchase an airbed and do some grocery shopping.

Finally, after an hour and forty-five minutes, the couple who was hogging three washers and dryers, finish. I only have enough clothes for one load, so I'll be in and out in no time. While waiting for my clothes to finish, I can't help but let my mind wander. The only thoughts that fill my head are of Callan. That man has taken up permanent residence inside my brain. It's stupid of me to be having the feelings I am, yet I'm completely powerless to stop it. I'm so far out of my element when it comes to him.

During high school, I focused on keeping passing grades and stressing about how long my current foster parents were going to put up with me before they decided they were finished with me. Seriously boys were not on my radar. Since I have been on my own, my days are spent trying to keep my head above water. At my old job at the diner, I was asked out frequently by customers. A few times, I said yes, but neither of those dates turned into anything.

Not that the guys weren't pleasant. There was just no spark. Callan Hawk is the first man to ignite something inside of me. It figures the first man to invoke anything is not only unavailable but out of my league. Hotshot billionaire Callan Hawk. A man known to only date supermodels being interested in a nobody like me? Can you imagine the two of us standing side by side? Him in his three thousand dollars suits and me in my second-hand jeans and shoes wrapped in tape. It's laughable really. I have no delusional fantasies of my boss and me. I sigh. "A girl can dream."

The subway commute to where my potential new home is located took nearly an hour, and, now, I'm standing outside the building where the man I talked to told me to meet him. I look down at the piece of paper in my hand and back up at the numbers hanging on the brick wall next to the entrance, where three men are sitting drinking beer. They eye me with suspicion, and their attention makes me uncomfortable.

"Are you Denver?" a man stepping out the door asks, and for a split second, I think about bolting. The guy in front of me is at least a foot taller than myself, is wearing a stained t-shirt, has greasy brown hair balding at the top, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Look, lady. It's colder than a witch's tit out here. Are you interested in the apartment or not?"

I go against my better instincts and answer the man. "I'm interested."