No, it isn’t like that. I know that he genuinely cares about me. Why would he go through all the trouble to set me up with the program at the hospital? He always offers his money to help, but he never pushes it. He respects my decisions. He loves me.
I cover my mouth. Does he? He has never said it to me, but I feel it whenever I look into his dark hazel eyes. At least, I feel it in my heart. Because, because I love him.
My heart pounds. I realize I love this impossible man. I love him more than I ever thought it is possible for me to love someone. The realization both excites and scares me. I want to rush to his side and tell him, “I love you,” but I’m also too scared.
That means you’ve already lost. Now he has all the power. He can do whatever he wants. You’ll be left with nothing and a broken heart. Get out. Get away before it’s too late. Whatever this is, it’s not worth it.
I push the awful thought away and march back into the kitchen to reach for my ID and coat. Before I have everything in my hands, the front door flies open. A cool early fall breeze rushes in and I shiver. I had left the front door unlocked and slightly ajar earlier.
A voluptuous red-haired woman in elegant business attire stares at me with an amused look on her perfectly made-up face. She has the kind of heavy makeup on that makes her look good. Everything about her is red. Red hair. Red suit. Red lips and nails. I have an instant feeling that she looks good naked. And she knows it. My stomach lurches unpleasantly.
“You must be Amelia.” She embraces me with odd familiarity and kisses me on the side of the face. A whiff of expensive perfume lingers over my nose, and I can’t help but notice that I am wearing shapeless scrubs and smelling like disinfectant.
“I’m Valentina O’Hara. I’m Fletcher’s personal assistant.” Whether on purpose or not, she emphasizes the word “personal.” She turns away from me to get a good look at the house. “What a cute little place!” She practically purrs out the words, but I catch a look from the corner of her eye that says, “I honestly don’t know what he sees in her.”
I twist the plain cotton fabric of my baggy shirt with my fingers. “Fletcher isn’t here right now. I have to run to work, but you can wait here if you want,” I offer politely but I say it so that it’s clear that I don’t want her anywhere near the house that I share with Fletcher.
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” She laughs. Her voice bounces off the walls. “I’m here to see you, my dear.” She inches closer to me. “I have to say, though. You don’t seem like Fletcher’s usual type,” she adds in a tone that I dislike. “So what’s he like?”
“What?” I ask, while wondering what is Fletcher’s “usual type.”
She purses her lips impatiently. “I mean, like, in the sack. Fletch always strikes me as a straight-up vanilla missionary kind-of guy. I’ve known him for years and he rarely talks about anything except for work. But you never know just by looking at someone. I mean, what does he like? Doggie-style? Reverse cowgirl?” She stares at me expectedly and her red mouth agape.
I sputter and try to fight my embarrassment. “I, I don’t know—”
I want to say, “I don’t know if we should be having this conversation.” Instead, she slaps the side of her face in shock. “You don’t know? You mean he doesn’t let you see and blindfolds you? I didn’t know he has a BDSM streak in him! What kind of toys do you guys use?” She checks the bedrooms with a quick scan. “Sex swings?”
“No, he doesn’t blindfold me or hang from a swing. I, I have to get to work.” I reach for my hospital ID badge, but Valentina grabs it first.
“You work at the hospital?” She glances down at it quickly, playing with the lanyards with her long manicured fingers. “You are a nurse or a doctor?”
“No.” I hold my hand out for my ID. For some reason, I don’t like her touching my things. “I’m just volunteering there, but I’ll be applying to nursing schools.”
She clicks her tongue and hands me back my things. “That’s a lot of work. You know Fletcher is rich, right?”
I pull the ID lanyard over my head and avoid eye contact with her. “What does that have to do with me?” I mutter with my head lowered.
“I mean, he can buy you anything you want. You won’t need to work so hard. He can keep you in a nice lifestyle and you can just sit around and look pretty.”
I can feel the anger rising in me. Who does she think I am? This woman doesn’t even know me, and she is already judging me for being with her rich boss. Is that how people will see me? “That’s not what I want and I’m sure, that’s not what Fletcher wants either. He can have his money and I’ll have my life. I’m not with him because he is rich.”
Valentina crosses her arms across her ample chest and circles me. I don’t know if she believes me, but at least she stops talking for the moment.
“So, you’re one of those girls?” she asks with a tilt of her head.
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Independent Woman. Rosy the Riveter. Doesn’t care about money or status. All free-spirited and bright-eyed. I bet you tell him you didn’t even know he was rich when you met. That you’d still be with him even if he was dirt poor.” She smiles with disdain. “Yet here you are, with a rich boyfriend eating out of your hand. Nice one.”
I am fuming, but a part of me wants to laugh right in her perfectly made-up
