Page 23 of That First Night
How long have I been sitting here staring at him? Shit.
I break the silence by asking, “What would the week look like as far as working with James?”
“James wakes up around 7am every morning to get ready for school. I am out the door by 7:30 and then a car comes to get him around 9am,” he states.
“Okay, great.”
“He only does a half day at preschool, so the car drops him back off around 1pm. Once he is home, you’re free to do whatever you’d like with him,” he says. “James loves going to the park or just staying home and playing with his never-ending pile of toys.”
“How far is the park from where you live?” I ask, forgetting that I haven’t told him that I don’t own a car anymore. It was one of the things I had to part with to be able to afford moving to the city. Kali assured me that I wouldn’t need one because everyone gets everywhere on bike or by foot.
“It’s not far, about 3 miles away,” he says. Sensing my newfound nervousness, he asks, “Is that okay?”
“I-I…” shit, how am I going to tell him I’m a broke bitch without telling him I’m a broke bitch? “I don’t have a car,” I say, frowning at him. “I had to sell it in order to afford moving here. Plus, I assumed I would just use the subway or walk anywhere I have to go.”
He stops for a moment to take me in. He’s not looking at me in disgust or pity, he’s looking at me like he wants to know more. I want to tell him all about me and I want to get to know him more, but these lines can’t be crossed anymore. We have our history and it’s just that. History. From here on out, it’s going to be about James and keeping my relationship with Thomas as professional as possible.
Reaching into his desk, he digs for a moment and pulls out a set of keys and tosses them to me. Looking down in my lap, I see the symbol of what I think is a foreign car brand. I don’t know jack shit about cars, but I can tell from this thing-a-ma-jig, that this is probably the key to something expensive as shit. It doesn’t even have a key to insert into an ignition.
“Take that one,” he says without hesitation as if he’s got a plethora of cars at his disposal. “It’s an SUV, so it’s safe for you to drive around with James. The backseat already has a car seat installed for him. It’s yours while you’re working for me.”
“I can’t accept this.”
“You can,” he abruptly replies. “The safety of James is a priority for me, and I want you to be able to take him where he wants to go, without question.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just tell me you’ll accept the job, Peyton.”
I came here to his office already knowing I was accepting the job. He might have thrown me a couple curve balls with the car, crazy pay and talk of living in my own space of a penthouse but I am one hundred and ten percent sold on the job because it’s more than I have ever dreamed that would happen for me.
“I just have one last question,” I say to him, trying to find confidence in my words, “When can we expect you home each night?”
I can tell that I have offended him with that question when I see a shift in his body language and the look he points in my direction. It’s a valid question on my part, though. I need to know if he's going to be home at normal working hours. Does he have a girlfriend who he stops by to see after work? Does he like to go out for drinks at the bar if he has a long day? I don’t know enough about him to know for sure.
“I’m always home right after work, Peyton,” he pauses. “You can expect me home anywhere around 6pm, but sometimes as late as 7pm. It just depends on how late my meetings run.”
“I don’t mind staying with James longer if you go out.” I shrug.
He stalks across the room to stand directly in front of me, closing in on my personal space. The temperature in my body begins to rise with him being this close to me and I feel myself sucking in a breath, waiting for what he’s going to say.
“I don’t go out,” he says as he looks me in the eyes. “I don’t live that life anymore, Peyton.”
What does he mean by that?
I want to ask him more, but at the risk of sounding too clingy and blurring the lines between us, I just say what I came here to officially say.
“I-I would like to officially accept the job, Mr. Ford.”
The corners of his lips slightly curve up. “Please, call me Thomas.”
He starts to move away from my personal space. The air suddenly feels colder now that he’s no longer in such close proximity.Come back,I want to say, but it would come out hoarse like Rose laying on that stupid door in the cold ocean after the Titanic sank. There was plenty of room on that fucking door for Jack to live.
Thomas walks behind his desk and removes his suit jacket to place it on the back of his chair, then rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. His thick, corded muscles on his forearms are covered in tattoos, something I hadn’t seen before today. Seeing the veins protruding from every exposed part of his arms, just proves to me how strong this man is. I am such a hoe for a man's forearms.
With him standing behind his desk, I use this moment to take him in and watch him as he moves. I can only imagine how he dominates the boardroom and I bet he owns the shit out of it. He’s wearing a dark navy-blue suit, the same as the first night I met him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if his entire closet was lined with navy blue suits. He starts shuffling through his desk to pull out a piece of paper.
“Here is the address to the penthouse,” he says, handing me the paper. “When you get to the building, just give your name to Jim at the front desk. He will get you a personal key card and guide you to the private elevator at the back of the building that goes directly to my floor.” He pauses, to take me in one more time. “And here’s my cell phone number, program it into your phone. Send me a text later today and let me know what day you plan to move in. I will get the housekeeper to have your room ready for you.”
