~VICTORIA~
"I apologize," I said. It was stupid to risk losing a job because I couldn't get over the discomfort of having my employer buy me clothes. "I will do as you ask, of course."
"I wasn't asking," Sebastian said.
I couldn't seem to be able to say anything right to this man. "Uh, no. Of course not. Sorry."
Sebastian sighed impatiently. "You don't have to like me, Ms. Slade —"
"I didn't say —"
"But if you deliver results, I might be able to tolerate your presence in my home."
"That's... good. I guess." Tolerate. He really wasn't one to hide his feelings, was he? I smiled wryly. "Is there anything else?"
"Mrs. Sellers said you were on time today, which is a promising start," he said. "But I'd like you to tell me what you think of Benson."
"Benson is wonderful," I said, grateful for the change of subject. "He's bright and has a lot of focus. And he seems to be open to new ideas and experiences." I really wanted to gush about the boy. I wanted to tell him, "He's adorable and the kind of student most teachers probably dream about," but at this point, it may only seem like I was just trying to get on his good side.
"And just what kind of ideas and experiences did you have in mind?"
I paused, thinking. "He should widen his horizons a bit. He reads a lot, but most of the books he reads are classics written by dead white men. Not that there's anything wrong with Dickens and Twain, but I'd like him to try reading some L.M. Montgomery and Yoshiko Uchida as well. And from what we've talked about, I think he'd really enjoy Jacqueline Woodson's books."
Sebastian nodded. "I'll leave that to you, then. I suppose that will be all for now." He stood up. "Will you be able to get home all right?"
I stood up quickly. "Yes, I ..." I looked at my watch. One a.m. Drat. I missed my window. There wouldn't be another bus until two; I would have to wait at the bus stop for at least an hour. I couldn't take a cab, it wasn't going to be cheap.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I assured him.
He didn't look convinced. "Shall I call you a cab?"
"No!" I winced when I realized how loudly I protested. "No, thank you." I picked up my purse from the coffee table. "I'm sure I can find one outside."
"It's late," he said. "It's a safe neighborhood, but I'd rather you not stand outside at one a.m. waiting for a ride."
"I'm taking the bus, actually."
"At this time of the night?"
"Oh, it'll be fine. Good night."
***
~SEBASTIAN~
I caught up with Victoria as she was halfway out the living room. "I'll drive you out to the main road," I said.
"What?" she said, surprised. "Oh, no, that's really not necessary."
I admit, I felt guilty: the idea of her outside, waiting for a bus past midnight was worrying. She had to wait up this late for me to get home.
"I insist. The garage is this way."
I took the Bentley. I didn't often drive it, but it was the only convertible I owned. I thought she might like a convertible, even if we were driving without the top down.
I wouldn't have been able to tell if she did anyway. She looked nervous, and while I was used to people getting nervous around me, I wished she would relax a little. It was hard enough trying not to stare at her eyes or her body, without her looking like she would jump out of her skin if I so much as touched her hand.
"Do you ever drive?" I asked as we settled into our seats.
"I used to. I don't have a car anymore."
It was at the tip of my tongue to ask why, but that was too personal a question. "You may have to drive Benson to school activities sometimes. Do you think you can handle this car?" I watched her as she fastened her seatbelt. She had small hands. They looked very soft.
"This is a really expensive car, Mr. Chase. I'm not sure I trust myself to drive it."
"You will be driving my son. Do you think it's the car I'd be worried about?"
She looked at him. "No, I suppose you'd be more concerned about Benson."
I maneuvered the car out of the garage and up the driveway. "Do you trust yourself to drive him?"
"Yes. I do."
I liked the confidence in her voice. "Then trust yourself to drive the car. It's just a car."
She smiled. "You're absolutely right."
She'd already fought me about the clothes I offered to buy her, thank God she didn't argue about the car this time. "That's a first."
"First what?"
"The first time you ever agreed with me on anything."
Victoria didn't respond. Neither of us spoke during the short drive to the bus stop.
"I don't see any buses," I said, searching the road.
"There's one coming around two," she said, and began to unfasten her seatbelt.
"That won't be for another ..." I looked at my watch. "Forty minutes."
"It's fine, I can wait."
Like hell she was. "Put your seatbelt back on, Ms. Slade."
"Wait, where are we going?" she asked, looking puzzled, as the car moved forward. "The bus stop is right there."
"I'm taking you home."
"That really isn't necessary —"
"We're already on our way, Ms. Slade. Your seatbelt, please."
She buckled up again. "I ... um ... live in Calista," she said.
"34 Fenton Street. I know." I regretted the words as soon as I said them. Was it inappropriate for me to know where she lived? No, of course not. After all, she knew where I lived.
"Do you know where all your employees live?"
"The ones I entrust with my child, yes."
"Do you ... know whom I live with?"
Yes. Of course I did. "Why would I know that?"
"I'm thinking now that maybe you'd have run a background check on me."
"Nicolette West. You went to college together." I glanced at her. "Of course I ran a background check on you." What I didn't say was that I had hired her before I ran that check. Because I didn't expect to see her that day at the coffee shop. I didn't expect to find out why she was late to the interview.
"How much do you know?"
She didn't sound defensive, just curious. As a man who ran a banking conglomerate, I wasn't used to talking to people who weren't keeping something from me — an agenda, a deal with a rival company, a desire to take my position someday.
"I know enough."
When we stopped at a red light, I saw her look around the car appreciatively. "Do you ever drive with the top down?" she said.
I pressed a button, and the top of the convertible folded back.
The breeze felt cool and gentle as we moved forward when the traffic light turned green. I couldn't see the stars, but the nearly full moon was beautiful and cast a picturesque glow over the horizon. I breathed deeply. I felt...young. Tonight I wasn't an overworked CEO of a large bank, but a young man taking a beautiful woman out for a drive.
I glanced at Victoria.
Her eyes were closed, a small smile playing on her lips. Small strands of her hair were flying in the wind and whipping around her face, but she didn't seem to mind.
"Is this better?" I said, trying to ignore the strange flutter in my belly.
She opened her eyes. She looked surprised when she saw I was staring at her. "Uh, yes," she said, looking embarrassed. "But do you like it top down? I wasn't really asking you to—"
"Do you think I ever do anything I don't want to do?"
"I guess not. I really appreciate you driving me home, Mr. Chase," she said.
I nodded. "I appreciate you waiting up for me," I said, after a pause. "I had a conference call that ended late." I don't know why I felt compelled to tell her this. There were very few people to whom I ever bothered explaining myself.
"I understand. I know you must be very busy."
"Your time matters too. No one should have to waste their time waiting for other people."
"Sometimes you have to," she said, almost wistfully. "Sometimes it's worth it."
I looked at her. What did she mean by that?
She smiled. "I was afraid you'd fire me if I didn't wait for you."
"And yet you didn't think I'd fire you if you didn't get new clothes like I told you to."
"I didn't think you were that serious about it. Don't get me wrong," she added when I my raised my eyebrow. "I'm definitely going to do it. I said I would."
She fingered the sleeve of her blouse thoughtfully. I wanted to kick myself. I must have made her feel terrible, insulting her clothes. No one deserved that. I knew how fortunate I was to have what I had. Being poor was not something to be desired, but no one should be made to feel like they should be ashamed of who they were.
Back at the house, I practically berated her about disobeying my instructions. But I wasn't angry about her clothes. I was furious at myself for the thoughts that ran through my mind as I watched her sleep.
I wanted to touch her face, and her hair.
I wanted to kiss her.
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