Page 43 of Truth Be Told
I nod in agreement. “That’s right, you have. Over a year now, isn’t it?”
“And,” she goes on, brushing me off, “I wouldn’t lie to you. But it would be nice to know what I’m being accused of.”
I can certainly relate to that; although in my case, I was telling the truth. “In that case, I’ll get to the point.” I thumb to my left, not wanting to draw attention to Stella inside, but having no other choice. “Were you or were you not aware that there was inappropriate activity going on inside this office?”
She cocks her head, briefly acknowledging the office. “When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
At first, she doesn’t say anything else. Then she brings her hands together in front of her waist, pushing her shoulders back. “Yes, I was.”
“So you admit that you directed Stella to this office in the hopes of her thinking it was me in there with some other woman.”
“I don’t admit anything, Mr. Thatcher. And I won’t.”
Her answer is one of attempted provocation, but I relax, having gotten most of what I needed out of her. “Of course you won’t. Just tell me something. Is this a regular thing that I don’t know about?”
“Is what a regular thing? I’m not sure what you mean. And I told you, I’m not admitting to anything.”
Part of me wonders if she just wants to hear me say it outright. I start to, but close my mouth before a word is uttered. I’m not going to give her that satisfaction. “It seems my company is in need of a culling.”
“A culling, sir?”
“Yes, a culling. And the first to go is you.” Well, the third, actually. But I don’t want her to know that.
That blow hurts her. How could it not? But she does a good job of not letting it show. Her pride won’t allow it. And she might be waiting for me to say more, but what more is there to say? Slowly, she steps forward. She touches my shoulder with delicate fingers, and then leans in and plants a single, carefully-placed kiss on my cheek.
I don’t hold back my stoic glare when she pulls away. “Goodbye, Scarlet.”
“Goodbye, Cohen.” She turns, her eyes the last of her to break away from me.
I step back inside the office and am met by Stella, waiting. I know she saw the whole thing though the panes of glass. Hell, there’s no way she couldn’t have. She more than likely heard all of it, too.
Sure enough, she’s sitting exactly where I left her – that is, directly facing the glass panels, which gave her that perfect view. Her feet are flat on the floor and her hands are cupped patiently in her lap. The look on her face is one of exhaustion.
“I’m ready to leave now,” she says.
I sigh. “Me too.”
After lunch, we head back to her place. She stops, her keys dangling in the door, and turns back to me. “It’s messy.”
I rub the back of my neck. The day and all of its drama is finally getting to me, and I want nothing more than to lay down, anywhere, with her. “That’s okay. You should see my place after I actually spend time in it.”
That makes her feel a little better; her face lights up, but only for a moment before she turns her attention back to her keys. She swings the door open, and then reaches in front of me to switch on a light on the wall beside us. I’m greeted by the warm smell of candles. There aren’t any burning, I notice as I look around, but she’s clearly a candle person.
“It’s nothing compared to your place.”
I take a seat at the stool in front of her counter, swinging it on its hinges and taking the seat backward. I haven’t sat like this since I was in high school. It feels good. “Why are you being so hard on yourself lately?” I take another look at her apartment, scanning the area. “I like it.”
“Am I?” She closes the door of the fridge, turning around with nothing. “It’s just a habit I guess. An impulse when I get stressed.” She shrugs. “I guess I don’t really mean it.”
It hurts, realizing that I am a part of that stress.
She leans forward across the counter. The heat kicks on in her apartment, wafting a warm wisp of her scent toward me. “I understand why she kissed you,” she says.
I don’t look away from her like a lesser man might do. I’m glad she brought that up. I didn’t like it lingering, staling the air between us. I laugh. “Why? Because of my money?”
Stella keeps her straight face. “No. Because…” she straightens up again, fishing for words but coming up short. “Because you’re Cohen.”
