Page 14 of Ms. Lead

One thing that’s bothered me all evening is the look he would get when we were quiet. They weren’t awkward silences and were actually very comfortable, but his eyes would change slightly. Regret. I’d swear he felt remorse for something but couldn’t for the life of me say what.

If I could break through the barriers he keeps putting up, I think something special could happen between us. He just needs to let me in.

This is crazy. I’ve known him officially for two whole days, and I’m already jumping into the deep end. I need to figure out how to live with this.

Tomorrow is our first day working together, and I’m curious how we’ll be with each other. Or, more specifically, how he will be with me. Will I just be his driver? Or something more? I need to prepare for either direction and not get my hopes up. As my grandmother used to say, ‘If you don’t expect anything, you can’t be disappointed.’ I also need to consider how I’m going to treat him. He obviously doesn’t want to admit his feelings for me, so there’s got to be a reason for that. I need to respect whatever it is, and let it go.

But I don’t like to let things go. Especially if I know something is there.

* * *

I’m early to pick him up today. Like, really early. It’s not even 9:00, but when I get out of the car to stretch and prepare for a long wait, Oliver pushes through the doors and walks toward me.

He’s wearing a light gray summer suit with an open-collar shirt that looks so damned good on him that I can’t tear my gaze away. The blonde highlights in his hair are bright in the Vegas sun, and the scruff on his jawline is perfection. Add on top of all that handsomeness the vintage aviator sunglasses that make him look like something out of a Hollywood movie, and the butterflies in my stomach are going berserk again.

The smile he directs at me is wide and honest and melts me even more than the summer heat, which is saying something because it is hot. I flash him a quick smile back but restrain myself. After last night, I know better than to try for anything more with him than a professional relationship. I don’t need to be hit over the head with how much he doesn’t think or care about me. It was silly even to consider.

“Good morning,” I say stiffly, keeping my tone professional. I round the back of the car and open the passenger door for him as he approaches.

He stops on the sidewalk a few feet away and tilts his head curiously at me.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?” I look around, trying to figure out what he’s talking about.

“Why are you opening my door for me?” His words come out accusatory like I’ve offended him somehow.

“Excuse me?” I’m still confused. “This is my job.” I’m matter-of-fact about it because it’s true. I do this all day, every day. I shrug at him. “It’s kind of what I do? And what you’re paying me to do.”

His head snaps back as though he’s been struck. “You open doors for men? And they let you?” He really does sound offended. And to be honest, more than a little sexist.

“Yes. I do…” I repeat, so he gets it. “As I said, it’s my job. I understand that you’re trying to be chivalrous or whatever, but it’s really not a big deal for me to open your door for you.”

He studies me closer, probably trying to see if I’m joking, which I’m not. His brow is furrowed, and a frown pulls his beautiful smile down. I don’t know why he’s so upset about something so small.

“Well, can I ask that you not do that for me? I’d like to open my own doors if you don’t mind.” He really didn’t like me doing that for him. Interesting. He didn’t have a problem with me hefting his suitcase yesterday, but okay.

“Sure thing.” I shrug. I walk around the front of the car and get into the driver’s seat, turning the air conditioning on full blast since the doors have been open for so long. It doesn’t take much time for the heat to turn the inside of a car into a sauna.

We drive silently for a few minutes, and today everything is awkward. Especially silences. Something has shifted in the vibe between us. I don’t know what’s changed, but it’s now uncomfortable.

I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He asks, breaking the silence. I almost jump at the sound of his voice as I was beginning to expect him to not talk at all the entire trip.

I grip the steering wheel tightly, my adrenaline pumping and my heart racing after being startled.

I guess we’re talking now.

“Yes. I turned in not long after getting home from dinner, so it was a short evening.” I leave it at that and don’t return the question.

I can feel him next to me, expecting a question of him in turn. It’s a nervous energy I wasn’t expecting. Well, he’s not getting one. It might be impolite, but I’m not in the mood to play games today.

One thing the Vegas heat does is make me cranky. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it never fails to assault my senses.

He shifts in his seat as though resigned to my silence and settles in for a long ride. The drive should take about ten minutes this early in the day. This could be the longest ten minutes of my life at this rate.

“Have you been to the mob museum?” he asks. His voice is overly friendly and polite. Even I can hear how forced it is. He doesn’t want to make small talk, so I don’t know why he’s trying. “I know locals sometimes avoid tourist traps like this and never see them.”

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