Page 6 of The Relationship Clause

So, I’ll keep this to myself for now.

After everyone leaves, I grab my overcoat and leather messenger bag, looking around my office. My gaze snags on the coffee cup that has been sitting on the corner of my desk since this morning, and I pick it up. The cold coffee inside sloshes around, and I can’t help examining the writing on the outside.

Mr. TDC.

My mind conjures up the image of the barista who wrote it. Milky skin, blue ocean eyes, long red hair, and a sunny smile that somehow always manages to make my mornings a little bit brighter. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing that smile until I saw her again this morning.

I wanted to ask her where she’d been. In fact, that’s almost what I did. That’s what any normal human being would have done. But what did I do? I saw the itty-bitty speck of black in her teeth and mentioned that instead.

Yeah, it was a classic Casanova move. The kind she’ll be telling all her friends about, quickly followed by the fact that as soon as she turned her back, I bolted like a coward. I don’t even know what my thought process was throughout that whole thing. One minute, I was processing the fact that she was finally back, the next minute, I was fleeing the scene.

It’s something that I’m sure if I told my therapist about, she’d want me to talk about more. Dig in deep. Unpack it. Reveal some deep-seated trauma, which more than likely connects in some way to my parents.

Which is a big nope from me and exactly why I won’t be telling her about it. At least, not yet. I need to process it a little myself first.

I take the coffee to our break room and dump the untouched, cold liquid down the drain, throwing the cup in the trash as is my nightly ritual. After double and triple-checking the locks, I take the elevator up to the top floor of our building, which also happens to be my apartment.

When Shane and I were looking for buildings for our business, this one came on the market at the perfect time. An office in the middle of downtown Greenville with plenty of room for our inventory, staff, and the extra perk of two identical, mirrored apartments on the top floor. Shane had some worries, but after a lot of talking, negotiating, and working out the kinks, we got it.

Originally, Shane was either supposed to stay in the apartment across from mine or we’d be roommates like we’d been in college and rent out the other. But then he went and bought himself a house after he found “a deal he couldn’t pass up.” We still haven’t rented out the other apartment, but as a self-proclaimed loner, I’m kind of okay with that. Who needs nosey neighbors, strange noises, and awkwardly polite conversations? Not me.

I’ll stay up here in my tower, enjoying my solitude, thank you very much.

I open my door, and a dark streak skitters from my couch, across the floor, and toward my feet, accompanied by an indignant yowl.

Okay, so I don’t live in complete solitude.

My cat, Storm, meows again loudly and weaves between my legs, rubbing against me. I take my coat off and pick her up, giving her way more love and affection than I’ll admit is probably “manly,” but I don’t care.

Storm is the only girl who can have my heart. Mostly because she’ll never break it and take me to court for half of everything I own. She’ll also never judge me for how much time I spend in the office or accuse me of neglecting her. She’s happy with the snuggles she gets when I am home and the treats I give when I leave.

Translation: my corporate lifestyle won’t negatively affect our relationship like my parents’ affected theirs.

Yeah, I’ve got some issues. Hence the reason for my therapist, who insists that everyone on the planet has issues. She’s trying to encourage me to get out of my comfort zone and try dating again, but she doesn’t understand that it’s better this way. For me and for any potential girlfriends.

“Hey, girl,” I say, carrying Storm through the kitchen toward her food bowl. “You’re not going to like this, but I’m not home to stay. I’ve got a dinner date tonight.”

She turns her large, yellow eyes on me. Okay, so she won’t ever accuse me of neglecting her out loud. I smirk and rub her head again. Her long, dark fur splays away from her face, giving her a somewhat wild appearance.

“Trust me, I’d much rather spend the evening with you. I’ll make up for it when I get home with extra snuggles.”

She meows again and swipes at my face as if she’s telling me off, but she quickly forgives me when I scoop a generous portion of food into her bowl.

After taking care of a few more things and a quick visit with the lint roller, I head back down the elevator.

Outside, the cold air tries to blow down my neck, and I lift my coat collar higher. South Carolina winters aren’t particularly frigid. I’ve been to New York, Michigan, and Illinois for business, and I’ve been to Maine, Vermont, and Colorado for vacation. I know what a real winter feels like, but right now, we’re going through a little cold front, so things are chillier than usual.

I get to the restaurant fifteen minutes early. That’s something else you can’t be with Cynthia Burton: late. Five minutes early is late for her. I learned a long time ago that getting somewhere early is the best way to start a meeting off on the right foot.

The restaurant she’s chosen for tonight is like all the others she chooses: stuffy, uptight, requiring a suit and tie, and dishing out proportions that are sure to leave me still hungry by the end of the night. Inside, the hostess doesn’t even ask for my name. She takes one look at me, lifts her pretty little upturned nose, and beckons for me to follow her. “Right this way, Mr. Ferguson.” I don’t even ask how she knows my name.

She leads me past tables with crisp, linen tablecloths and ambiance lighting. Mother always gets a table in the back.

When she sees me, she stands long enough to grasp me tightly with her scarily strong hands, gives me a half-excuse for a hug that feels more like a business handshake, and sits back down, folding her napkin over her lap.

“Owen,” she says, picking up her menu, “it’s wonderful to see you again.” She says this while looking at her menu, as if she could be talking to the appetizers.

I see that the table is only set for two and lift an eyebrow. “Where is—”

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