I held my breath as he turned around and studied me. He leaned closer, and I could feel the sweat rolling from my armpits. If he were a movie supervillain this would be the part where he killed me for my ineptitude.
“Doesn’t look like you’ll have a bump at all.” With that, he sat down and began unwrapping his pasta salad.
Sullivan wasn’t going to kill me in public. It seemed like he really was here to eat lunch. If I stopped acting like a nervous goose long enough, I could appreciate this lunch, maybe even learn something useful for Fletcher. Or better yet, convince Sullivan to not try and hurt Fletcher.
After my clumsiness from earlier, the lunch date felt very much like a lunch date. He asked me polite questions about my work, and we shared innocent stories of working with difficult clients.
“So, this broker business of yours, do you enjoy it?” I asked.
He took a drink of his sparkling water before answering. “You know, there are challenges I enjoy. And of course, some things I don’t. But in the end, it’s what I’m good at.”
He studied the label on the glass bottle with great interest. His eyes downcast and his lips pulled tight.
He seemed…sad. Which I knew I shouldn’t feel anything for this man but disgust, but I couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up where he was.
“You know, I’ve had some great revelations lately.” Deciding it couldn’t hurt to just talk with him, I continued, “What other people think you’re good at, and what other people think you should do, isn’t always the path you should follow.”
I laughed when he looked at me with a confused look. “I made that come out in a jumbled mess. Let me try again.”
He smiled lopsidedly at that.
“I run an interior design business. And I’m really good at it. Everyone tells me I need to expand the business because I’m so good at it. That I should hire a crew and expand my reach. My brothers. My friends. My grandmother. Everyone has been telling me I need to do this.”
“And are you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Is there a life lesson you’re trying to impart here?” he teased.
I pushed the pickle around on my plate. “No, I don’t think so. Only that I believed them. A year ago, I’d toyed with the idea of expanding my business because everyone else told me I needed to. But I personally didn’t want that. I like being the one to work with each of my clients. I like having a small personal feel to my business. I don’t want to be the head of some big business or corporation. And now I’m rambling.”
I laughed a little too loudly. “What I’m trying to say, is sometimes you don’t have to do what’s expected of you. Sometimes what you believe you have to do just isn’t true. I love my small business. I love doing the work myself. I don’t need to change it.”
Sullivan glanced over my shoulder toward the alley way. There was a truck idling next to the dumpster bin. “Sometimes people’s advice can actually push you in the right direction though.”
“But that right direction doesn’t always make you happy, though, does it?” I clenched my hands under the table. Trying to not give away how nervous he was making me with his constant study of the alleyway. “There’s a thousand ways to do something. There’s always another option.”
“A thousand ways,” he repeated absentmindedly.
“Yes, ways you can run your business that you are happy with. Something you can live with and be proud of the work that you are doing.”
Sullivan glanced back at me, his hand still clutching his satchel. “Another option.”
“Of course! I mean, in my business, I contract out some of the work that I know will be done well and professionally, but by doing that I don’t have to deal with having employees year-round.”
Sullivan slowly released his hold on the bag. “There’s always another option.”
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “You know, that’s something I tend to forget sometimes, so thank you for reminding me.”
I forced a smile and adjusted the hat on my head. I was regretting my encouraging speech. What if his other options involved something illegal? I could feel the sweat pooling on my brow.
“I hope you don’t mind if we cut this lunch short, but I have some business to take care of this afternoon.”
My stomach dropped at the thought of what he could be taking care of.
He stood up and paused. “Why don’t we do our Italian dinner sometime next week?”
I nodded. “I’ve been dreaming about pasta for a while.”
His smile slowly stretched across his face. “For some reason, I think you’ll be getting it soon.”
With that, he picked up his satchel, took one last long look at the truck parked in the alleyway before he disappeared inside the bistro.
Ambrosia licked my ankle, reminding me that I still had a companion.
Hopefully, whatever I said, had distracted Sullivan from Fletcher. My stomach churned at the thought of anything happening to Fletcher. I promised myself if he made it out of this thing unscathed, I’d get him that dog he’d been talking about ever since I met him. I might have to go to therapy to get over my fear of them, but I’d get him that darn dog.
But first, I needed a nap. All that lying had worn me out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saidy
Fletcher: I’m at your back door.
I paused the TV and jumped out of bed, running down the hall and flipping the locks on the back door. Fletcher stepped inside and caught my hand before I could flip the lights on.
“I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me in case they’re out there.”
I wrapped my hand around his and tugged him inside. I closed and
