Page 15 of Denying Davis
“Oh, it’s fine. I make enough.”
Shaking his head, he reached into his back pocket and produced a small white envelope. “I know this is against the association rules, and we’re not supposed to tip staffers, but my wife and I wanted to give you this.” He slid the envelope across the desk. “It’s not a lot, but it’s something extra.”
Tentatively, I took the gift. “That’s…I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say thank you.”
“Thank you.” Heat flushed my cheeks. I wasn’t used to people being this kind, but here he was, doing it anyway. I took the envelope. “It’s been a long time since someone has been this nice to me without any strings attached.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe your luck will change soon.”
“I sure hope so.”
We made some small talk, but I waited until he went back upstairs before I opened the envelope. One hundred dollars in crisp twenty bills lay inside. I’d forgotten that kindness like this existed.
I already knew exactly where I’d spend it.Thank you, Howell McDougal, thank you.
Sighing, I clicked back through the Google search I’d done on Davis Armstrong. In a way, it was fun to fantasize about his gilded world, and a life spent not having to worry about looming bills or when the next stroke of luck would come. In the images section, rows of photos of him greeted me, each one of them windows to a world I’d never get to live in, and a better life I’d never lead. I lingered on the ones I liked best, including one of him in a tuxedo on the red carpet for the previous year’s Met Gala. His jacket was dark navy velvet with black trim. The camera loved him, and the image’s angle highlighted his chiseled cheekbones.
God, it’s like time has only made him more handsome…
My phone buzzed. I found the device underneath a stack of paperwork related to the building’s next board meeting, and when I looked at the screen, my heart sank.
Mom:When you get off work, do you mind picking up my painkillers at the pharmacy? I had the doctor call in another round. I know it will be late, but the window is open 24 hours.
During a bad month, Mom’s medicine often ran us upwards of two hundred dollars when we added up all the insurance copays and out-of-pocket expenses. Most of the time, we barely paid it. And that month had already been one of her worst.
Still, I couldn’t deny her the things she needed.
Me:Sure thing. You’ll have it when I come home.
Even Howell’s gift wouldn’t take care of all my problems. The knot it the pit of my stomach told me I’d probably have to charge the remainder on the starter credit card that I’d managed to secure a few months earlier, one that had a five-hundred-dollar limit and a thirty percent interest rate. Mom didn’t know about that, and I hoped I’d never have to tell her.
I texted her good night then placed my phone in my tote bag so I wouldn’t forget it. As I did, my thoughts turned back to Davis. I shouldn’t have agreed to see him, and I knew it. It was too dangerous. Too risky.
We couldn’t afford such a gamble.
About fifteen minutes after I got off work at Royal Palm, I parked my car at The Hamburger Stand and took a deep breath. As I surveyed the parking lot, my gaze fell on a black Ferrari in the far corner of the lot, and I recognized its vintage model as the one Davis’s grandfather used to keep in the four-car garage on his island property. Even ten years later, the polish still gleamed under the soft glow of the street lights.
So, Davis wasalreadyinside the restaurant, waiting on me. I tapped my fingers on the car steering wheel and again considered the implications of dropping out of the meeting. If I drove away, I might never see him again. I’d get to avoid any awkward conversations about the past. But if I stayed, I’d satisfy my curiosity.
No, I won’t back out. I won’t stand him up. I’m going in.
I got out of the car, smoothed my shirt, and walked across the lot. I saw Davis seated in a booth at the far end of the room as I pushed through the rickety glass door.
His eyes seemed to smile, and his face brightened as he saw me enter. “Samantha,” he said as he got up from the table, “you didn’t chicken out.”
“Nope. Did you think I would?”
“Yeah, I did.”
I hesitated as I reached him, unsure if I should give him a hug or shake his hand. In the end, I didn’t do either. I just tossed my fabric tote bag onto the booth bench and slid in, following it. “Have you been waiting for a long time?”
“Only a few minutes.” Davis resumed his seat on the opposite side of the table. In front of us were two glasses of water, some silverware wrapped in paper napkins, and two laminated menus. “I would have ordered you something other than water, but I didn’t know what you like to drink.”
“Just a diet soda.”
“No alcohol?”
