Page 19 of His Obsession
“What’s wrong with you today?”
She looks up from her notes too casually. “Nothing.”
I lean back in my chair, studying her. “You’re distracted.”
“Is my performance not up to your standard?” she asks, the sarcasm sharp.
“It’s not your performance I’m worried about.”
Her mouth tightens. “I’m fine.”
I let the silence sit for a second, then nod once. “Fine.”
The relief that flickers across her face is small enough that she probably thinks I miss it. I don’t. I notice everything about her, whether I want to or not.
She recovers quickly after that, or at least makes a convincing show of it. We go through the auction sequence, media angles,donor gifting, parking flow, and stage lines. When we’ve covered every detail, she closes her folio and stands.
“I’ll send revised staffing notes tonight.”
“Good.”
“I also want final confirmation on the donor green room before I lock floral counts.”
“You’ll have it.”
She nods and reaches for her phone. For a second I think she’s going to say something else. Instead, she just slips it into her bag and heads for the door.
“Valentina.”
She pauses, one hand on the handle.
“If something changes,” I say, “and it affects the event, I’d rather know before it becomes a problem.”
She turns slightly, enough that I can see the wariness return behind her eyes.
“Everything is fine,” she says again before she leaves.
I sit there for a moment after the door shuts, staring at the empty chair across from me. A low, familiar irritation settles in, though this one is aimed more at myself than anyone else.
She isn’t my problem to solve. I repeat that to myself with decreasing conviction.
I cross to the windows with a glass of water and look down at the parking structure below. The office tower has multiple levels reserved for executive and tenant parking.
Valentina is halfway across the top level, moving toward a dark-blue sedan parked near the outer edge. From this height, she’s just a slim, controlled figure. It’s unsettling to be watching her, and I know that. The knowledge isn’t enough to make me stop.
Halfway to her car, her stride slows. It’s subtle. Her head turns slightly while she moves forward, like she wants to check her surroundings inconspicuously. Then she stops altogether and looks over her shoulder toward the ramp entrance behind her.
I know that look. I recognize the precise alertness you feel when you think someone’s watching you. When you feel hunted.
To be fair, I am watching her, and maybe that’s what she senses. But she’s had to hone those instincts somewhere. At some point in her life, something bad enough happened that she feels the need to look over her shoulder in a secure parking garage.
Once again, I’m left with more questions about Valentina than answers, but the pieces are starting to come together. She had a bad breakup. I’d bet my entire fortune he hit her. Abuse rewires the brain.
I watch her get into the car safely, then sit there for a minute. I can’t see her through the tinted glass, but I imagine she’s catching her breath. Maybe even crying. I want to comfort her so badly it aches, but that’s not my place, and it never can be. Obsessing over her in private is bad enough. Actually inserting myself into her personal life would be a disaster.
7
VALENTINA
