Page 59 of His to Seduce
Chapter 19
Camden
After I got home from work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the client files I’d gone through all day long. It wasn’t that the general ledgers of our client’s companies had been handled incorrectly; money was legitimately missing.
Taken. It had been stolen, right from beneath our noses.
I had one idea who was responsible, no evidence to prove it, and a president who I knew would never hear it. I’d brought home stacks of files, paper records I’d kept of everything. I had a nasty habit of printing everything out after I’d updated the computer files. Coworkers had laughed at my paper accounting for years, but now I hoped like hell it would pay off. Otherwise, I was going to be blamed for stealing thousands of dollars from clients I’d respected for years.
Exhausted and frustrated, I had planned on skipping girls’ night out for the first time since we’d started it. It wasn’t just my job I was upset with, either. I understood David’s excuses that he’d given me earlier in the week for hiding things from me, but I hadn’t yet gotten over Trina doing the same thing. Chelsea, Suzanne, Paige, and I had been friends since college. Our tight group of four went through everything together—Suzanne’s and Paige’s weddings and marriages, Chelsea’s divorce along with her infertility struggle, and then welcoming Blue and Trina into our group when they’d come to town.
It had been seamless and easy. They belonged with us from the moment we pulled up chairs at our margarita nights and invited them to join us. We were with Trina when we learned about her abusive husband, when she was scared to stay yet felt unable move on. I’d been there for her when she struggled with her feelings for Declan, and then when she was attacked in the alley outside Fireside Grill when her husband finally found her. We held her when her evil husband died and helped her cope, helped her move forward from that. I didn’t trust easily. My trust had to be earned, but once you had it, I was loyal to the death.
Trina hadn’t earned it…I had trusted her and loved her from the moment we’d met. For one of the few times in my life, I’d simply handed over my trust and my respect and my loyalty. To know that she’d held something like the truth about David back from me, that she’djudgedme for my feelings without ever truly trying to understand why I had them…
That stung like a bitch, and I wasn’t quite ready to move past it.
Tossing back margaritas with her at the table seemed to be an impossible task.
Unfortunately, I’d promised Chelsea we’d get together; and as much as I wanted to avoid Trina, I needed my friends.
Since David had left my house on Monday, we’d talked on the phone. He’d called and checked in on my day, but the conversations were short and sweet, lacking intimacy but friendly. He was moving slowly, like I’d asked.
He was building a friendship, which I’d also asked for.
The problem was every time I heard his voice and his laughter through the phone, I wanted him next to me. I wanted his arms around me and the heat of his body surrounding me while I was in my bed. I wanted his touch and his kisses.
My body wanted him while my head screamed at me to slow down.
For the first time in my life, I truly wanted to follow my instincts and desires instead of the rational part of me. David showing up, chasing me down, sharing the truth about himself, and trying to respect my wishes only made me like him more.
Being around him at Fireside Grill, watching him work behind the bar, could drive me insane. I still had one more day until our first official date, and the anticipation was already driving me crazy.
I went to my closet and debated. Wear the suit and skirt I’d worn to work and stay looking nice for girls’ night?
Or get more comfortable?
“Comfort,” I whispered, reaching around to the zipper at the back of my skirt. “Tonight is definitely for comfort.”
I kicked off my heels and stripped out of my clothes, tossing the suit into my dry-cleaning bag, and placed my heels on the shoe rack at the back of the closet. Scanning my closet, I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to dishevel every perfectly hung article of clothing. It was full of clothes, perfectly separated on hangers, all hung by season and color-coded in the order of the rainbow, with white and black at either end, perfectly arranged. What would happen if suddenly, my long sleeves were next to my short sleeves, my reds next to my purples instead of oranges? What was the worst that could happen if it took me thirty seconds longer to find a shirt or matching skirt?
Had I really become what my mom suggested? Someone so tightly closed off that I couldn’t handleanyform of mess?
Had the lists and order my therapist suggested for moving on and regaining control in my life become a crutch and a curtain to hide behind instead of a coping mechanism to help me heal?
I didn’t have the time to consider it. I had even less inclination to stand in front of my closet, debating everything I’d learned during the last sixteen years.
Besides, making a mess would mean cleaning. As much as I liked order, I despised the cleaning it took to keep it that way.
Resisting the strange urge, I grabbed a simple pair of dark gray yoga pants and a long-sleeved purple shirt and headed to the bathroom.
Once I had retouched my makeup and changed clothes, I undid the clip holding my hair back and let it fall to my waist. Crinkled with messy waves from the twist and the teeth of the clip I’d worn all day, I did nothing else to fix it except run my fingers through it and left the bathroom.
Small steps.
Hair down today…messy closet tomorrow.
Proud of myself for whatever the heck I’d just accomplished and what I was beginning to realize, I jumped when a knock hit my front door at the same time my phone in my purse began to ring.
