Page 31 of Desperate Haste
Little Fox:
I have an open lunch hour on Friday. There’s no dragon to be slain, but I could be convinced to be saved in other ways. Meet me at my office, pretty boy.
As I read the name and address of where she works, a smirk spread across my face.
Not because of what she is insinuating we will be doing, but because of the fact that she wants to see me again at all.
beautiful
17
OPHELIA
Iknew what I was doing when I told him to come to see me at work today. When he texted me on Wednesday as I sat on my couch, alone, watching more of the “garbage” television as he called it, I couldn’t fight the feeling that I wanted to see him. It had been a few weeks since he left my place after staying over and weirdly enough, I felt like I…missed him?
I scoff at the thought ofactuallymissing amanbecause that isn’t the type of woman I am. I’m independent, self-sufficient, and able to go it alone. I’d proven that to myself after running away from an abusive relationship with a man I almost had to call my husband, and parents who were too blinded by their faith in God to see the bruises he left on me.
I’d just graduated from a small community college in rural Georgia and had been with my boyfriend since we were in high school. Jarrett was sweet, kind, and soft-spoken up until we turned twenty-one and he got his first taste of alcohol. Once he got a fixing for it, he couldn’t seem to let it go and once the liquid sank into his system, it wouldn’t let him be a civil man. When he drank, he got angry, and when he got angry, he got mean. We had been engaged for a few years after he started drinking and in my heart of hearts I believed he would change once we got married. Our families were close—his father was the pastor at the local church my family had attended since I was a little girl. When he asked them for my hand, my parents were thrilled. Their daughter would be the wife of a godly man and to them, that was the best fate I could have.
But when a few hurtful words became a few forceful grabs that became several drunken beatings, I knew I was in trouble. I tried talking to my parents about it, tried to explain to them what was happening. But it was as if they couldn’t hear me whenever I tried to ask for their help. ‘He’s just tired, he works too much,’ they would say. ‘Be a better caregiver and provider to him and he won’t have any reason to be upset with you.’ My breaking point was when, on the eve of our wedding, he threw me down the stairs after coming home drunk from his bachelor party. I hadn’t warmed up his dinner for him like he wanted me to even though he never asked and I was the one to pay for it. Once he passed out on the couch, I packed a bag, withdrew all of my money from an ATM on the way out of town, and never looked back. But not before taking a pair of scissors to my wedding dress and leaving it out on the bed for him to find.
I’d always wanted to visit Charleston growing up so I set the Holy City as my destination. When I rolled into town late that evening, I spent some of the little money I had on a motel room and started to search for places to work on my computer. I also made a plan to get a new phone and phone number once the sun was up since I had deliberately left mine behind in Georgia. If my parents wouldn’t save me, I would save myself. When they realized I wasn’t coming back after a few days, my mother emailed me to let me know how disappointed she was in me for leaving. I waited an entire year to tell her where I lived and even then, I never gave her my address or new phone number for fear that she would send Jarrett to come find me. Once in the city, I changed my name to make it harder for them to track me down and started over as Ophelia Sommers. I walked into Mr. Jenkins’s office a week after coming to town, demanded a job, and the rest is history. Three weeks later I met Bailey at a work function and she became my new family.
My hand reaches for a picture of us that sat on my desk from that night, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into reality. My index finger traces the gold rippled frame that holds the first picture we’d ever taken together. She, in a simple black dress and flats with her blonde hair pulled back, and me wearing a low-plunging, form-fitted dress and the first pair of Gucci heels I purchased with my promotion bonus from Mr. Jenkins. I feel my lips pull back to the corner of my face as the memories of that night, and all the subsequent memories we’ve made together, flood my brain. For the longest time it was just her and I against the world, but now she has Hank, and I have?—
“Ophelia, you have a…visitor.” The sound of Dale’s voice catches my attention and I look up to find him standing in the doorway. To celebrate the end of another week, Dale and I decided years ago that we would wear brightly colored suits to the office every Friday. This morning he must have woken up and felt like mimicking the colors of November because he is sporting a burnt orange suit perfectly tailored to his body. His brown and white checked tie paired with forest green socks reminds me of a pumpkin and I told him as such when he came in this morning.
His eyes flick to one side as Malcolm steps into eyesight behind him. The two of them side by side almost make me laugh because at just around six feet tall, Malcolm towers over Dale and is twice his size based on muscle mass alone. Dale is bald, white, and looks as harmless as a baby bunny sitting in an Easter basket. Malcolm, on the other hand, has broad shoulders and long dark hair that when he shakes it out, does something to the space between my legs that should be criminal. He’s tattooed to all hell and looks like he can snap your neck in a heartbeat if he wanted to. I almost grab my phone to take a picture of them standing side by side so I can look at it whenever I need a good laugh. When my eyes land on his, he gives me a lazy smile that his perfectly straight teeth peek out of.
“Ophelia,” Dale repeats my name and clears his throat, taking a step forward and away from Malcolm. “This”—he turns and gives Malcolm a once over—“nice man says he’s here for lunch. I don’t see anything on your calendar for a working lunch.”
“It’s okay, Dale, he’s supposed to be here. I asked him to meet me. Thank god you’re finally here, I’mstarving.” My eyes flit from Dale to Malcolm who leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest. When he does, the long-sleeved tee he’s wearing stretches over his forearms. He has his hair pulled back today and I can easily see how his eyes narrow in on me.
“So am I,” he says slowly.
Dale, who is standing between us, picks up on the tension in the room and fusses with his suit jacket, awkwardly straightening it even though it isn’t a centimeter out of place. “Well then, enjoy lunch.” Before he turns to leave, he gives me a face that screams‘We are so talking about this later!’to which I silently reply with a calm smile. He scurries out of my office quickly and nods to Malcolm as he passes him in the doorway.
“Come in and close the door please,” I instruct in his direction as I set the picture down and close my laptop.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, taking a step inside and closing the door behind him. I don’t miss the clicking sound of the lock as he does. My office is on the fourth floor of a building downtown with windows along the back wall. I spent a lot of time trying to get the decoration right because I wanted it to feel bright, airy, and light. The old board and batten walls were painted white at my request and pops of pinks and purples fill the space. Over time, small golden accents have creeped in to make my office feel like me. Seeing Malcolm take in the space feels like it did when he came to my place for the first time. Like something was out of place but also felt like it was meant to be there.
“Nice office,” he comments with raised brows, doing a spin to take in the large open room.
“Thanks, I worked really hard to earn it.” It took me years to get to where I am today and I’m not going to let anyone tell me otherwise. I started at ground zero when I first walked into this building and worked for everything I have.
“I don’t doubt it.” He looks at me where I’m still sitting at my desk and a small smile creeps across his lips as he takes me in.
“Is today ‘crazy color day’ in the office or something?” His eyes scan the power suit I pulled out of my closet this morning which is bright, fuschia pink. The pants and the suit jacket are a matching shade of pink to the Manolo heels I have on which I paired with a crisp white tank top underneath. When I checked myself in the mirror this morning before leaving my place, I loved the way the color accented my dark brown hair and olive toned skin. I felt like CEO Barbie reporting for duty.
I laugh as I look down at my outfit before looking back at him. “No, it’s this thing Dale and I do. We like to make Fridays exciting by wearing bright colors. It’s our thing.” I scrunch my nose up at him from my seat.
“Ahh, I see, ‘your thing.’” He nods in understanding and takes a few steps closer to my chair. Once he reaches me, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “And when can I make youmything?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be one person’s ‘thing.’” His hands explore my lower back and he brings his forehead to mine. We’re looking at each other’s lips as our breath begins to get heavy between us.
“How about I just use you as my play thing for right now?” His voice is gravelly as he grazes the side of my neck with his lips. My hands have found the inside of his shirt and are resting on his well-defined waist. I can feel the ridges of his abs with my finger tips.
“I’d love nothing more if you did.” I sigh as his hand slips under my shirt and palms my breast. I slip out of my coat and throw it over the back of my office chair and turn back to him, letting him wrap his arms around me and pull me in for a kiss. As our tongues clash together, he loops his hand through my hair and pulls it tight between his fingers. I gasp at the sensation and let out a laugh.
