CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Owen
People were everywhere. Swarms of them flooded the curb performing failed attempts at grabbing an available taxi. A steady stream trickled out of the automatic doors, never allowing the broad passage to close. Several loitered around benches and smoke bins with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths and blissful relief strewn across their faces. Yet, amongst all those people, I didn’t see the one face I was hoping to see.
“What time is it, Stephan?”
There was a pause rather than an immediate response, and I knew why. I never asked my driver for the time, as I always had my phone on me and simply checked for myself. My phone was on me now, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off those doors. I felt Stephan’s eyes on me momentarily through the rearview mirror before he responded, “Half past three.”
“Her flight was supposed to get in at quarter after,” I muttered unhappily under my breath. If Stephan heard me, he didn’t say anything.
I had tried not to delude myself into thinking Tabby’s arrival was imminent. The invitation had been just that… an invitation. Whether she’d decided to accept or not was a whole different matter, and in my desire to tempt her with mystery by omitting a phone number at which she could RSVP to me I’d also robbed myself of the opportunity to find out if I was wasting my time sitting in a limo beneath the concrete canopy outside the baggage claim. My stomach apparently hadn’t gotten the message from my head, though, because it was rolling around in anticipation. Part of me was expecting to see her, and that part of me was becoming almost sick with anxiety.
A sea of couples puttered onto the sidewalk wheeling brightly colored luggage behind them. I groaned inwardly. It seemed like everyone — excited tourists, traveling executives, homebound locals, stressed families, affectionate couples, adrenalized college kids — had decided to come to New Orleans on this particular Saturday. Everyone except Tabby.
“Stephan, get out of the car and stand next to it on the curb, would you? I want her to recognize you in case I don’t see her coming out.”
His door immediately opened. “Of course, Mr. Driscoll.”
I wasn’t a fool. To see Tabby making an appearance through those taunting doors was a longshot. She’d only left Louisiana a little less than two weeks before, and what on Earth would she come back for so soon? Me? It was a nice thought, one that made my gut churn, but an unrealistic one. People didn’t often travel cross-country to spend time with someone they’d only met a couple of times.
There was her job to consider too. Being a freelancer, she obviously had the luxury of a more flexible schedule than others, but I’d gotten the impression she needed to maintain a constant flow of gigs to keep herself financially stable. I’d paid her gratuitously for the photography at the restaurant, of course, but I wasn’t privy to how she’d spent that money, or if she even had. It seemed highly unlikely she would’ve been able to make the trip down here a second time after already finagling time off for her cousin’s wedding, not to mention the extra day I’d roped her into staying.
“If you care this much about her time and finances, you should just employ her yourself, you jerkoff,” I admonished myself.
Stephan, now posed outside my door, turned and bent to peer through the window with a confused face. I rolled it down, letting the cool December air pour in.
“Did you say something, Mr. Driscoll?”
“No,” I said before realizing that wasn’t entirely true. “Well, yes, but I was talking to myself.”
“Ah. Please pardon my interruption, then.” He bowed his head slightly, and I caught a glimpse of a seedling smile on his lips. I might not have ever discussed my life with him on a deeper level than that which his job entailed, but he always had a knack of knowing what I was dealing with at any given moment.
On a whim, I decided now was as good a time as any to open up about myself a fraction to a member of my staff.
“She probably won’t come,” I said. I tried to sound nonchalant, but even I heard the disappointment emanating from the core of my tone, and the vocalization of my worry brought with it an unprecedented hollowness that swelled in my belly.
“Well, if she does, we are here ready for her,” Stephan assured me.
His positivity was like a tonic to my soul. The muscles in my neck relaxed, and my stomach acid stopped trying to erode away necessary organs. “Did you confirm with the hotel?”
“Yes, sir.”
I nodded and tried to think of something else to say in the realm of casual conversation. “Did she happen to mention anything to you about flying, if she prefers it to driving? I didn’t think to call and ask before arranging a plane ticket for her,” I rambled.
Stephan smiled, and there was a measure of understanding on his face. “Mr. Driscoll, I am no expert, but I feel fairly confident in saying the young lady was quite taken with you,” he said. “I sincerely doubt a distaste for air travel would have prevented her from making the trip if she was able.”
He was right. If she wanted to see me again, she was going to walk through those doors any minute with a bag or two in tow. If she didn’t… well, I didn’t like thinking about that. Neither my ego nor my nerves were willing to venture into that territory of misread signals quite yet.
I fell silent, and Stephan resumed standing with stick-straight posture beside the door, facing the airport. My brain meandered back to the notion I’d had about employing her myself. Perhaps there was something to that idea, assuming she actually showed up. Making a couple trips in short succession was one thing, but her ability to afford frequent trips to New Orleans if we continued seeing each other was doubtful. I had the capability of traveling to her, though my schedule was more often than not packed and sealed to the last minute without much wiggle room for change. If I made her one of my employees, an in-house photographer for all my investment properties, she might be accessible and financially stable.
The corners of my vision tunneled as I realized what was happening. I was thinking about a future with this girl. I was calculating visit efficiency and mulling over the possibility of making her a relatively permanent fixture, work-related or otherwise, in my life.
“Get. A. Grip,” I snarled to myself.
This was all wrong. I’d broken my rules, and now I was tangled up in the web of messy feelings and unrealistic hopes and idealistic outcomes. My entire career was based on determining levels of success and proportionate wagers to maximize my profits, but here I was waiting for a woman who I didn’t even know would show up. I was setting myself up to fail.
And it felt good.
Just as jarring as planning a future was the discovery that I was as light as a cloud. Even with my stomach tumbling and my disappointment waiting in the wings, I felt like a feather. This brand of romanticism hadn’t occupied my being in years, and I’d forgotten what I’d been missing. Since the college breakup with Darla, I hadn’t missed it, not even the awesome endorphin rush of a new love interest, but now I found myself relishing its presence.
I turned and pinned my eyes to the doors again.
A trio of women in their late twenties were strolling out, designer purses slung over their shoulders with two men trailing behind them carrying enough luggage to furnish a small boutique. They were tanned, manicured, and confident, and they were just the kind of women I would have sought mere weeks ago. In fact, if it had been a few weeks ago and I’d happened to find myself sitting outside the airport for whatever reason, I probably would have clambered out of the limo, sweet-talked them for a minute, and ended up seeing them naked all at once after vetting them through The Club.
Not anymore. I’d become a one-woman man without warning, and I didn’t even have the woman. This was a situation that needed to be rectified immediately. I needed to turn off the emotions and sexualize Tabby until my head was clear and my reason returned.
And, on cue, an ash-blonde stepped out of the airport onto the sidewalk and pushed black frames up on her nose.