One of the plants I purchased was actually a small tree, a dracaena, that I found at Berridge Nurseries, and of course, I had to buy a deep red pot to put it in. The pot was more expensive than the plant. It weighed a ton, but I moved it in front of the largest window on the back of the house. My goal was to fill the back-facing windows with plants, thus giving me privacy without having to pull my drapes.
Now, while there had been no mention in “the rules” of whether I could decorate my place or not, I wondered if anyone from the big house would notice my plant and feel the need to comment upon it. Maybe the handsome guy would deliver the next note from Mr. Daire. Not that I was hoping for that or anything. Really.
Despite my attempts to get a glimpse at the man in the window again during the next two days, there was no sign of him. He had snapped the drapes shut as soon as our gazes met, leaving me dizzy and breathless and wondering if I had imagined the whole thing. No note came from the big house in response to mine, so I gathered that was that as far as Mr. Daire was concerned.
It was all very frustrating. Compounded by the fact that I had struck out in my quest for decent wall art and still had nothing to hang on my walls. If I didn’t find something that clicked within my price range soon, I would have to invest in some art supplies and do the paintings myself. A part of me was seriously jazzed by this option so I wondered if my inability to find anything suitable had to do with my own desire to do some painting. Maybe a portrait of a handsome man staring out a window at a young woman in a garden. Small wonder what inspired that. The image of the man in Daire’s house flashed through my mind but I shut it down.
I was not going to become obsessed with a stranger. Really, I wasn’t. On Monday, I would casually check in with my friends, Miguel and Sophie, and see if they knew who the man I’d seen at Mr. Daire’s was. They probably would, and then it would be over, because a guy that good looking simply could not be single, which was a good thing, because I would never want to date a man who was that handsome. He was likely conceited or had scores of women chasing after him and who needed that? Not me.
* * *
And so it was on Monday that I arrived at work early. Other than when I first started working a regular job after college, this had seriously never happened to me before. I blew through the office, the second one to arrive after Nyah. She was at her desk in front and greeted me with a grin, humming a bar or two of “Danny Boy,” which made me laugh.
“Thanks again for inviting me,” I said. “That was a lot of fun.”
“It was,” she agreed. “Mark your calendar. This Friday, same bat time, same bat channel.”
“I’ll look for the bat signal,” I joked. She grinned. Her phone rang, and she rolled her eyes and said, “And so it begins.”
I strode through the meeting room and communal work area, and arrived at my office. At a glance I knew I had gotten in earlier than Miguel and Sophie and so I sat down at my desk and fired up my computer. I figured I could get a cup of coffee from the break room and read my email while I waited.
I was just settling back into my chair when Miguel appeared in my doorway.
“Good morning, Annabelle,” he said. “Could you stop by my office when you get a chance?”
“Sure,” I said. I resisted the urge to do a fist pump on being seen already at work nice and early. “Ten minutes okay?”
“Perfect,” he said. He turned and left, and it hit me then that he hadn’t smiled once while he’d been standing there. Uh-oh.
Had Mr. Daire called him about me and the singing? I’d thought my note would have cleared that up, I mean, I did promise not to sing again. Surely if Mr. Daire had an issue with me, he could have sent me another note. He seemed to really enjoy those, after all.
With less enthusiasm than I’d started, I headed to Miguel’s office. I passed Soph’s space on the way. The door was open but the lights were off. She was clearly not at work yet. Hmm.
I knocked on the door frame, and Miguel glanced up from where he was standing behind his desk and gave me a curt nod.
“Close the door, please,” he said.
This did not make me feel any better. It had been a long time since I’d been called to the principal’s office, but I remembered the clenched feeling in my belly followed swiftly by an inappropriate urge to laugh.
I turned and shut the door. I’d worn a simple navy dress with a scooped neckline, fitted waist, flared skirt, and three-quarter-length tulip sleeves. I’d accessorized with a statement necklace of interlocking silver hoops and a hammered silver cuff bracelet. My shoes were navy loafers with silver buckles. It was a simple but professional outfit, and at the moment I was grateful because it was giving me the ability to cross the room with a confidence I didn’t actually possess.
“Have a seat,” he said. He gestured to the chair across from his desk, and I slid onto the cushy leather, perching on the edge of the seat like a bird ready to take flight.
“What can I do for you?” I asked. It seemed like an appropriate question, given that I had no idea what was going on.
“Annabelle, I’m going to be straight with you. I received a very disturbing phone call about you,” he said. He took his seat and rested his forearms on the desk in front of him.
“Disturbing?” I asked. I kept my face blank, but I could feel my heart rate increase triple time. It must have been Mr. Daire. Damn it! I really didn’t want Miguel and Soph to be mad at me, and yet I had apologized for my singing so couldn’t the old coot lighten up already? Sheesh.
“Annabelle, I know you haven’t worked in an office setting in a long time,” Miguel said. He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. I realized he was uncomfortable, which actually made me feel better.
“Yeah, it’s been a minute,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure how this related to the “Danny Boy” debacle. Maybe he thought I was out of practice fraternizing after work and that’s why I’d been singing at top volume when I got home. He wasn’t wrong.
He put the pen down and met my eyes. “Which is why I feel like we can talk about this and then move past it, no hard feelings, no need to make a big deal out of it, you know what I’m saying.”
I felt hopeful that he was just going to reiterate the fact that I shouldn’t make noise after 9 p.m. when I’d been out carousing with my coworkers. I could handle that, especially if it meant we never had to talk about it again.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I agree one hundred percent.”
“Great.” He sighed. “I tried to tell Carson that it wasn’t personal, that you were just new to being a team player and needed to get used to it.”
“I’m sorry.” I held up my hand. “Carson? What does Carson have to do with it?”