Page 21 of Jordan

“Why don’t you sit down? Let me make you tea.”

He turned to find the guard still standing there. “I will, only to piss everyone off.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a win, but I’d take it to be in his presence a while longer.

There was something fucked in my head. I got a glimpse of the other side of Jordan, and I still wanted him here. I still wanted to make him tea and have him see me as someone other than a designer.

In the kitchen upstairs, I went to work boiling water in the microwave and getting out the tea bags. I knew this wasn’t the best way to make tea, although this was all I had.

The sound of shoes on the hardwood ascending the stairs had me rushing out of the kitchen to find Jordan near the top.

“I’ll bring it down to you,” I told him.

“Why don’t you want me up here? There’s nothing dangerous or Reghan and Raiden wouldn’t have allowed me inside.”

I dropped my head. “This is all I have. And it’s a rental. Downstairs is nicer, where I can run my business for the time being.”

“Hartley, look at me.”

I raised my head at his soft command, unable to fight it.

“It doesn’t matter where you rest your head at night. What matters is how high you hold it when you’re awake.”

10

JORDAN

The upstairs wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. The wooden floor had a few boards lifted in spots. Stale air greeted me when I got to the top. It didn’t matter. Only the man in front of me did. And he was offering me tea.

The last time I drank tea was when Irene insisted on it. My throat had grown hoarse from tearing into one of my guards for slacking on his job. Not in front of Irene, but she heard my voice when I returned. She sat me down and made me drink until I offered her a semblance of a smile to assure her I was okay.

I didn’t care for the taste, but it made my throat feel better. I also hadn’t had it since. Apparently, I had to today. Telling Hartley no wasn’t an option. He appeared so defeated in front of me. I would do almost anything to put a smile on his face.

And where the fuck was that coming from? I didn’t care if people smiled. I reveled in their misery. Yet Hartley didn’t seem the same to me, looking so down.

“You might as well come all the way up,” he said. “I have a little table in the kitchen.”

I followed him into the small kitchen with cabinets and appliances on one side while a small bistro table sat on the other. The chair had seen better days, though it didn’t collapse when I sat down, so I wasn’t going to complain. Hartley kept glancing over his shoulder, like he was afraid at any moment I’d change my mind and leave or start criticizing where he lived.

There wasn’t a smile on my lips. Not a twitch of anything, except the fucking cough rising in my throat. I wanted to find whoever got me sick and stick a knife in their neck. There was too much to be done for me to not feel well.

Hartley turned with a plain white mug in his hand. A tea label hung on a string over the rim. He set it on the table next to me. “Would you like milk in it or sugar? I added some honey, but nothing else.”

“Honey is fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

He stumbled over his words before getting out, “You’re welcome.”

“Why is everyone so shocked when I thank them? I’m not a complete monster. I have manners.”

“Because you’re you. People don’t expect pleasantries.” He quickly bit his lip.

“Hartley, speak freely. I don’t want you to buffer your words on my account. By now, you should realize I’m not going to harm you.” I’d rather slit my own throat than cause him pain. Jesus, what was wrong with me? Maybe I should have the doctor check me out after all. I must have a fever.

Hartley sat on the other chair and faced me with his hands folded on the table. “I like that you thank me. It lets me know I’m doing a good job, and you appreciate the time I take to create the clothing for you.”

“And the tea.” I lifted the mug and took a sip. The honey added a bit of sweetness. Surprisingly, it soothed the tickle in my throat a bit.

A smile formed on his lips. “And the tea.” He looked around the room. “I used to have more. A place I was proud of, but life got in the way and here we are. You have no idea how grateful I am for you selecting my design and your willingness to work with me, given the situation.”

“I don’t judge a person by their circumstances, but rather by their actions. You are not your home. You’re a talented designer.” Before I could say anything else, I sneezed, then sneezed again. “Fuck’s sake,” I growled.

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