Page 64 of The Stranger

Forcing out a smile, I nod my head twice as I try to swallow down the knot that’s forming in the back of my throat. “Great.” I take a few steps backward, preparing for my escape. “Is that all? I have a lot of work to get through.”

“I’m really sorry, Delilah.”

“I know,” I say, storming back towards his desk to snatch up the card I dropped there.

The first tears fall as I hurry back to my desk, bypassing it to head straight for the bathroom. I don’t want Spencer to see how much this has upset me.

When the end of the day comes, I don’t bother saying goodbye. I think he’s made it clear where we stand. I get it, I do. He runs a multi-million-dollar company. He has so much to offer, and I’m just …me. Despite those glaringly obvious facts, the rejection still stings.

On the plus side, as of next week, I won’t have to see or interact with him at work, but after hours is a different story. It’s going to take me at least a month, maybe more, before I can save up enough money to pay the bond for a rental. Even a dingy motel room is not something I can afford right now.

I might have to hide out in my bedroom until then.

I could go back to my parents’ house, but that seems like a fate worse than death, considering what happened the last time I was there. Would they even want me back? Apart from the initial phone call I got from my mother, it’s been radio silence ever since. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

Sliding into the back of the limousine that’s parked by the kerb waiting, I greet Damien before reaching for my seat belt. “Would it be possible to stop by the grocery store again on the way home?” I ask him.

“Of course, Miss St. James. Are you going to cook Mr Prescott dinner again?”

“No. I just need to pick up some supplies.”

Sustenance for my impending hibernation.

Chapter 22

Spencer

It was close to six o’clock before I realised Delilah had already left for the day … without so much as a goodbye. She didn’t take her flowers; she either couldn’t carry them or simply didn’t want them. Probably the latter, since I also found the card that was attached sitting in the waste paper bin beside her desk.

I spent the next hour standing by the window in my office, staring aimlessly into the distance, wondering how things between us went south so quickly. Logically, I knew why. I kissed her, brought her to orgasm, and then transferred her to another department. It sounds cold when I lay it out like that, but I did what was best for both of us. I needed to nip this shit in the bud before things got even more out of hand.

The only way to resist temptation is to escape from it.

By seven I now feel like I’m going out of my mind, so I decide it’s time to head home. I can’t function while my head is all fucked up.

Everything I did today was for us, but I’ve inadvertently done the one thing I hoped I wouldn’t … I’ve hurt her. I need to make things right.

When I arrive back at the apartment, she’s nowhere in sight. Her bedroom door is closed, so I can only presume she’s in there.

There’s no beautiful smile waiting to greet me when I enter … no delicious aromas wafting in the air from a meal being prepared in the kitchen. Although Delilah only cooked for me one time, I’d been hoping for a redo.

She had no idea what that moment meant to me. It was the only aspect I enjoyed when I went to her parents’ house that first night for dinner. I was in awe that they sat down for a home-cooked meal as a family because it was something I never experienced growing up. My mother would usually have the chef prepare me something early since I was in bed by the time my father arrived home from work. She would wait to dine with him, which meant I usually ate alone.

I liked the idea that she brought that family tradition into my home.

Crossing the main space, I head towards her bedroom. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach when a thought hits me … what if she’s gone? Have I pushed things too far? My solitude has always been something I preferred, but having her here has made me realise that is no longer the case. I enjoy coming home to her.

When I reach her door, I raise my hand to knock, then pause it mid-air. I place my ear against the wood instead, and although there’s no light coming from under the door, I can hear voices inside. She must be listening or watching something on her phone.

Should I disturb her?

Does she even care that I’m home?

Would she even want to see me if she knew I was?

Has she eaten?

With that last one in mind, I knock. “Delilah, it’s me.”The room suddenly falls silent. “I’m going to order some food, are you hungry?”