We stared at each other for what seemed like hours, her sharp, angular face scrunching up in anger. Her lined lips pressed into a thin line, almost like she was trying to hide a smile behind all that annoyance.
"I'm not paying you to be late, Delilah. We have so much to do in so little time!" Annoyance laced her tone, as if she was lecturing a child who had just spilled juice on the carpet.
Forcing an apologetic smile in her direction, I quickly set down my bag and hurried over to my desk, my heart racing like I'd just sprinted a marathon.
"I'm so sorry, Patricia; I really am! I had a situation."
"Mmm." She hums, tapping her long acrylic nails against her hip, a sound that could probably shatter glass. Her thin, tall frame leans against my desk like she owns the place—actually, she kind of does.
"A situation involving a coffee date with one Sebastian King?" she quips, raising an eyebrow like she's just caught me in a lie.
"Well, no, it's not what it looks like; I can explain." The words spill out of me in a frantic rush, like I'm confessing to a crime I didn't commit.
"We ran into each other, and he wanted to talk about the search tonight, the one for Angel Thomas. It was purely platonic." I try to sound convincing, but I can feel her skeptical gaze boring into me like a drill.
She saunters off, her red high heels clicking on the hardwood floors with a rhythm that says she means business. Dark brunette curls sway over her shoulders as she glances back at me, her expression a mix of disapproval and amusement.
"Don't let it happen again, and for the love of all that is good, don't waste your time thinking you can win him over with your awkward, dumb-girl persona."
"Those are unattractive qualities. Now hurry up and get to work; the flyers aren't going to print themselves." Her tone is almost snide, a perfect blend of sarcasm and authority before she slams her office door shut with an echoing thud.
"Bitch," I mutter under my breath, exhaling like a deflating balloon. Patricia Mills is a force to be reckoned with—cold enough to give someone hyperthermia. I let out an exhausted sigh before jumping on my computer to print out more missing persons flyers. Not that they help much; it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.
Time passes me by in a daze, a monotonous blur of paper jammed in the printer and sorting through returned books, until finally, it's time for my lunch break. Pulling an apple and a snack bar out of my bag, I walk down the hallway, past all the impressive artwork that covers every wall, until I reach the break room. I sit down and make myself comfortable, ready to enjoy my meager lunch in peace.
But my solitude is short-lived. Patricia storms in, her footsteps echoing like thunder, mouth slapping as she chews her gum with the enthusiasm of a child with bubble gum.
"Delilah, I've been looking all over for you!"
"I just got here," I trail off, my voice lacking the energy to argue.
"We're closing early, so you have to go. Take these flyers and post them around town, will you, sweetheart?" Her tone is sickly sweet, almost dripping with sarcasm as she pulls me out of my chair and practically shoves me out the door.
"Thank you, Delilah; I don't know what I'd do without you," she huffs, slamming the door in my face like we're in some kind of melodrama.
"No problem," I call out, but I know she won't hear me. As I make my way back home, my mind begins to chatter, trying to make sense of my interaction with Sebastian and everything in between. Why is he interested in me? As Patricia made very clear, it just doesn't make sense. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. It's an unknown number. Weird, I think to myself, and then realize it's from Sebastian. Okay, this soon-to-be mayor has a way of finding out everyone's personal information. Like your coffee order or phone number is getting a little much.
"Hey honey, just checking in, we're still on for 8:00?" the message reads, complete with a heart at the end. I glance at the time and realize it's already 6:45. I gather my wits and quicken my pace as I approach my small one-bedroom apartment.
I unlock my door and kick off my Converse sneakers. All I want to do is curl up in my comfy pajamas with a good book, just me and the pages of a new adventure. But as I glance around my chaotic apartment, I can hardly find a spot to settle down. Clothes are strewn everywhere—on my leather sofa, my wooden coffee table, even the kitchen counter looks like a fashion war zone. I let out a sigh, collapsing onto the sofa, the cushions enveloping me like a warm hug.
"Where do I even begin?" I mutter to myself, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of my sweater. I reach for the TV remote and start flipping through the channels, catching fleeting reflections of myself in the large, domed mirror that dominates the corner of my living room.
I pause for a moment, examining my features like an artist studying their canvas. My curly auburn hair tumbles over my pale skin, sprinkled with freckles that dance across my nose. I have a round face, high cheekbones that seem to flirt with the light, and a small, slightly crooked button nose that makes me feel a little quirky. My big doe eyes, blue like the ocean on a sunny day, seem to spark with a hint of mischief, while my delicate pink lips curl into a half-smile at my reflection. The black long-sleeved sweater hugs my waist before flaring out to my thicker hips and thighs, giving me a sense of comfort in my own skin.
My gaze shifts to the moon clock hanging on the wall, and a rush of panic washes over me. "Damn it, only forty minutes till he gets here," I exclaim, my heart racing as I scramble to shake off the lethargy.
With a dramatic sigh, I drag myself off the sofa, feeling like a sloth in a hurry, and stumble into the bathroom. Clothes fly off in a flurry as I jump into the shower, letting the water wash away the day's exhaustion. After a quick rinse, I step out, greeted by my own tired eyes staring back at me in the mirror.
"Okay, Delilah, time to work your magic," I say to my reflection with a playful wink. I reach for my under-eye concealer, a dab of mascara, and a swipe of lip balm, transforming my tired look into something a bit more vibrant. I toss my hair into a messy bun, strands rebelliously escaping, and I can't help but chuckle at the chaos.
Turning to my closet, I remember the evening chill that's creeping in, especially near the sugar cane fields—the last known sighting of Angel Thompson. After a moment of deliberation, I pull on a cozy gray scoop neck long-sleeve sweatshirt that feels like a warm embrace, followed by some sleek black ribbed leggings and my favorite high-rise sneakers.
I spritz on my favorite body spray, a scent that always makes me feel a little bolder, a little more like myself. Grabbing my purse and denim jacket, I hear a knock at the front door. My heart does a little flip, excitement mingling with a hint of suspicion.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door, a smile already forming as I greet Sebastian. "Well, look who decided to show up," I tease, arching an eyebrow, my voice playful. "I was beginning to think you'd forget how to find my little sanctuary."
His eyes twinkle with amusement, and in that moment, I can't help but feel a spark between us, a lingering tension that's been building for far too long. Maybe it's time to let someone in.