Page 17 of One Small Secret

And that, my friends, is what we in corporate America call a brush off. Need a permit from a city official in under a month? Need a contractor to hire and extra crew to meet deadlines? The answer is always what Ruben just said to me, and it always means the same thing—it’s never going to happen. I try to calm the murder that must be in my eyes, but it doesn’t really matter since he isn’t looking at me. “Is it that hard to talk to me?”

That caught his attention. His head whips around and storms are brewing behind those mahogany eyes. “You know it is.”

The elevator stops. We’ve reached the 15th floor. As high as we’re going to go. He pulls his shoulders back and stands straight and it’s almost like our conversation didn’t happen. But just when I’m certain the doors are going to open and he’s going to leave me here feeling totally lost, he swipes his card one more time, and this time he pushes the button for the 11th floor.

Neither of us say anything while the elevator descends. The few times I sneak a glance at him, he's wearing his Palmer Hotel’s executive face, his back against the wall of the elevator. All business, but if he wasn’t going to talk to me, why in heaven's name did he stay on the elevator? The door opens on the 11th floor, I stride forward matching his businesslike vibe and give him a short nod of farewell. He returns my nod without expression. I only make it three steps before turning around. “You know, Ruben, I don’t think I’m that hard to talk to. You don’t have to take me on a weird elevator ride to make it happen. You could just call or text. Heck, I’d even take an email.”

His eyebrows lower like I’ve said the most confusing thing he’s heard all week. More confusing than telling him I missed him. He pushes off the wall and looks like he’s going to say something, but the doors close.

I sigh and wave to Sylvia. She smiles, but her eyes glance back at the elevator. I hate the fact that maybe she’s proving me wrong and Ruben can’t just call or text me when he wants. At least not if anyone in the office notices. Maybe friendship between a lowly employee and the future owner of all of Palmer Hotels is more of a puzzle than I thought.

Thirty minutes later I get an email from an address I don’t recognize.

Cadence,

I know you’ve read online that I’m a prat, but I’d like to prove that’s not true. Thank you for telling me that I could reach out to you. This is me, reaching out. I’d love to bring Axley a Christmas present, if you’ll let me. I’m available on Christmas Eve, and I will come prepared to hold a normal conversation. Or at least as normal as I can be. Feel free to ignore this email if you feel like I’m overstepping any boundaries.

R.

My hands are frozen over the keyboard. Of course Ruben can come over on Christmas Eve. Ben, too, if he wanted to invite him. It’s the day after tomorrow, but it isn’t like I need to do anything special to prepare. If we’re going to be in each other’s lives again, he can deal with my barely decorated apartment.

“Is that a message from Axley’s father? Is he in the States?”

I whip my chair around to find Christian reading over my shoulder. I mutter a curse, then flip back to my computer and turn off the screen. “Geez, Christian. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I was wondering if you were done for the day and wanted to grab a drink. I acted a bit weird at your place, and I want you to know that Axley is cool, you know. I’d still be up for whatever.”

Still up for whatever? Like, despite Axley? It’s late in the day and I’m tired, and Christian is probably being kind, but his confession isn’t helping him. “I’m finished. But I need to get home to Axley. I’ll have to pass on drinks.”

Christian nods and grabs my coat from where I left it sitting on the side of my desk. We walk to the elevator and I jolt when it pings open. There’s Ruben. No word from him in almost a full week and then I’m riding in an elevator with him twice in one day. I don’t move until I feel Christian put a hand on my lower back and usher me in.

“Good evening, Mr. Palmer,” Christian says.

Ruben responds only with a nod, and even though I don’t need help moving anymore, Christian’s hand stays put.

We descend a few floors and Christian's hand is like fire on my back. Ruben is an executive and we're in the workplace. Why is Christian acting like he's staking a claim? I lean over to Christian so I can quietly tell him to move his hand, but before I get the chance, Ruben pushes the button for the fifth floor and the elevator stops.

I pause mid-whisper. Ruben takes two steps out of the elevator before turning around, looking hard at Christian's offending arm, and then looking up at me. “Did you get my email, Ms. Crane?”

There's that Ms. Crane again. “Yes.”

“Was my proposal agreeable to you?” His tone is too icy to sound bored and businesslike.

I step to the side and Christian’s hand finally drops. “Yes.”

“I’ll see you on Christmas Eve, then.”

His eyes flash to Christian’s for an instant, and then he's gone.

The door closes behind him and Christian immediately jumps away from me. “He is R? Ruben Palmer is the R from your email?” One of his hands covers his mouth. “Ruben Palmer is…When did you even...”

“Stop it, Christian. He's not.”

“But he wrote that email.”

I don’t answer him. I’m more than done with Christian today. How dare he touch me possessively and read my email over my shoulder? “What is your deal today, Christian? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I’m acting weird?” His eyes widen and he gestures wildly to the floor above us. “I just found out Ruben Palmer is the father of your baby and you think I’m acting weird? No wonder you always turned me down.”

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