Page 40 of Frayed Bonds

“Who said anything about pretending?” Kaia asks, and I don't miss the sudden seriousness in her tone. “Anyone would be lucky to be your date, Ambrose.”

“Not so sure, especially with all the things the media is saying.” I slump back into my chair.

“Fuck the media. This isn't your first rodeo with them. You know better than anyone they'll spin whatever story inflates their paycheck, and right now anything with the Vitale name means money in their pockets,” she says, and a small smile falls on my lips at her blind confidence in me.

Regardless of everything that has happened between us, Kaia has, and always will be my biggest supporter and me, hers.

“Thank you Kai, I have to go,” I say.

“Let me know how it goes,” she chirps before hanging up.

I drag my palm along the scruff of my beard and sigh trying to take in what Kaia said. What do I have to lose at this point? I pick up my phone and dial the extension for her phone.

“Yes, boss,” she says, and I hear a bubble pop a few seconds later.

“Can you come in here for a minute?” I ask, the phone hangs up and a few seconds later the door to my office opens, revealing another new shade of pink. Today it’s softer, a pale version of the usual bright colour she wears. It makes her caramel blonde hair seem lighter, and it makes me wonder if she changed it recently.

“Actually, I did,” she says awkwardly, and I realise I've asked the question out loud.

“It looks nice.”

Nice? You know what’s nice? The sweets your nonna gives you on a Sunday in church. Nice is the way the sun feels on a summer's day.

Valerie is far from nice, but of course, my brain cannot comprehend a more accurate adjective.

“Are you busy Friday evening?” I stare straight into her eyes. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable I assume, under my stare.

“Depends,” she says, her brow raises a silent question, asking me to elaborate.

“There's an important dinner our financial group is having on Friday-”

“Yeah the CFP dinner, I know,” she cuts me off.

I run my tongue along my teeth, swallowing my snappy retort, knowing that if I decide to snap at her, the chances of her agreeing will drastically decrease.

Once I swallow down my remark, I say, “I need a date.”

I choose to go with the simple statement rather, leaving her room to ask questions. I’m met with silence, and I can’t tell if it's awkward or not, but by the way her eyes won’t meet mine, I assume it must be.

I lean forward to rest my elbows on my desk. Hoping to return her attention to me, and it works as I watch her eyes dance down to my exposed forearms, I wish I could read her mind to see exactly what could be going on up there.

“What do you want me to do about that? Call up Alexander, or something?”

A hearty laugh leaves my body. Her comment catches me so off guard that I don't even have time to try and stop it, and for a second I think she looks scared before she chuckles along awkwardly.

I don't bother correcting her about the name, because, in all honesty, I can’t remember the girl's name right now either.

“Uhm no. I wanted to know if you would like to accompany me.”

It’s her turn to burst out laughing and it sounds all too familiar. I want to say it's because it sounds similar to how my brothers laughed at me earlier this morning. But deep down, I know it's because it’s the same laugh that graced my family home for years before, and I can't help but notice how it's barely changed since then.

“Are you being serious?” She stops laughing long enough to ask.

“Gravely.”

“I’d rather paint an entire canvas with a single hair, than be your date to anything, Ambrose.” She crosses her arms. “No offence, it’s just weird,” she quickly adds.

Her rejection stings a lot more than I thought it would.

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