“You sure you’re not a cop?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Just a friend,” I tell her, “I just want to help her if I can.”
Florence side eyes me and sighs a little thoughtful sigh again. “Jules is a saint, never hurt a fly, and used to come down and help out two or three times a week. She lives a few blocks that way.”
Thorne country.
“A few weeks back, someone got all up in her face, scared her. But it happens when you work with folks off the street. Not everyone’s always well behaved, some can’t help it though,” she reflects.
I feel my back up again, if the old woman was a man I’d be grabbing her by the throat.
“What happened?” I demand fiercely. “Who hurt her!”
Florence recoils, and once she sees the look in my eyes, she nods to herself.
“Just someone who needed more help than we could give ‘em. He didn’t hurt her like I said. She just had a scare is all, but she hasn’t come back since.”
I try to relax, telling myself this was weeks ago. Nothing I can do about it now.
But coming here has only made me more anxious.
It’s done nothing to help me get closer to Jules, it’s just made me want to take her away from all this. To take her home. Our home.
“Did she… does she like it here, the neighborhood?” I ask, ready to leave now. I’ve seen and heard enough.
Florence looks thoughtful again. “I think Jules is happy wherever she can make a difference,” she says finally.
I thank Florence for her time and turn to go.
“Goodbye, Mr. Thorne,” she calls softly behind me.
I feel a knot in my stomach, rising up into my throat.
I can’t bring myself to turn around, I just leave.
My car is still there, and not a scratch on it. I pass a woman bent over who looks up and past me at the no parking sign.
I scan the street, the soup kitchen, and the buildings around me one more time.
Everyone’s just going about their business, nobody’s causing any trouble.
Just trying to find somewhere to stay and something to eat.
Once in my car, I punch the dashboard, furious at so many things I can’t control, but mostly furious at myself for letting my company stand for something as meaningless as putting people out on the street.
People who are already on the god damned street.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jules
If it wasn’t for the memory of Mason, his phone call, and this feeling he’s put inside me, I would’ve probably knocked Karen out with one punch and quit hours ago.
It takes everything I’ve got to keep my mouth shut and just get on with the job, and she only leaves me because she needs to get her hair done and whatever else she’s spending time and money doing, once I’ve cleaned her crappy bathroom and started on the accounts.
Probably why she treats me so bad, and probably why she’s kept me for so long. I tend to get absorbed in my work after a while and today I almost forget all about the auction dinner, but never about Mason.
Not for one second.
He’s away there under the surface, like a pleasant itch that I don’t mind having.
A part of me wanting to hold off having it scratched until I can be sure it’s either the man himself doing the scratching. Or I guess I’ll have to take the plunge and take care of it myself.
Most likely it will be myself at this rate.
But something else tells me to be patient, something tells me that good things are coming to those who wait.
As the afternoon drags on, I notice first that Karen hasn’t come back, and when I get up to stretch some and switch on some more lights, I notice my own gown hanging by the door.
I groan and checking the time, realizing there’s no way I can get it pressed, let alone adjusted now.
Screwing up my face, I consider my options. The first and easiest one is to just not go to the stupid auction dinner.
I’ll pay the donation myself, it’s not as if anyone’s actually gonna bid for me.
But what about Mason?
I rub my eyes, and then my belly. I haven’t eaten anything all day, and this morning’s encounter has become more and more a fanciful memory as the day’s gone by.
I smile at thought of Mason, his chivalry, and most of all, his scent, that body. I could go on about it in my mind forever.
But really? Is Mason Thorne really going to miss me if I don’t go to one of his company dinners?
He must have a thousand hands to shake, important people to see.
I don’t see him pining after me. Sure he did call, but maybe he was really concerned about those programs.
‘I wished you’d stayed.’
I look up suddenly. It’s as though the man himself just spoke.
A shiver runs up my spine and I check the time again, rationalizing to myself that if I hustle, I can finish what I need to, get changed here, and just go to the dinner in my old, undressed, probably won’t fit dress.
If anything, it’s a free meal and I am starving.
With about an hour to spare, I finish up my paperwork and the other jobs Karen had listed for me. Not a bad day’s work if I do say so.
Pity, it’s for free.
The office phone rings. Karen’s phone.
My heart stops for a moment and then glancing at the clock again, I figure it’s her.
Or it maybe it’s Mason.
In two steps I’m picking it up, my heart fluttering as I half expect to hear his deep, commanding voice again.
But it’s freaking Karen. Of course, it is.
“I don’t think you should be answering my phone,” she says, her voice sounding thicker than usual. “But I’ll make an exception for today. Did you finish everything?” she asks icily.
I tell her I have, and that I’m about to get ready,
