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I remind myself not to read into these little comments and smirks from him. Men like him get off on making others feel inferior to them. Even knowing that, I don’t know what it is about this man, but he brings out my inner rebel, or maybe it is my inner smart-ass. Maybe it’s because men like him just assume that every woman wants them and they’re used to getting what they want. Whatever the reason, it makes me want to antagonize him, even though I know I’m playing a dangerous game.
“Just saying.” I shrug. “It’s hard to live on a teacher’s salary in the city.” When I worked as a public schoolteacher, that was absolutely true, but now at a private school, I make three times what I did. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
The smirk slowly dissipates from his face as his brow knits together. I can’t tell if he’s angry or concerned. “Tell me you’re joking,” he says, his tone serious. I laugh but he says it again. “Say it, Daphne.” This is the first time he’s said my name and it sounds delicious in his low, almost growling tone, even if he is angry at me.
“I was joking. Jeez. I don’t work there.”
He releases the door, turning around and walking to the elevator without another word. I stand there for a second, thoroughly confused when Daisy’s small voice brings me out of my thoughts.
“Can we do a paint by number?”
I spin around as she holds up one of the canvases that has two puppies on it.
“Of course we can.” I smile and lead her over to the coffee table where I set up a piece of plastic and grab the paints. “What color do you want to start with?” I ask, holding up some options for her.
“Glitter!” she shouts as she grabs for an iridescent pink. “Where’s your mom?” She focuses her attention on the picture, spreading the paint with small, slow strokes of the brush like I showed her.
“Oh, I live alone. My parents don’t live with me.”
“My mom died,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Um…” I pause for a second, completely unsure how to handle this situation. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. My mom died too.” I don’t know if I should have shared that. I don’t know what her father has taught her about death or an afterlife. “Tell me something about your mom,” I say, hoping to steer the conversation into a more positive light.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, continuing to paint. “I was a baby.”
“Wow, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” I look over her shoulder at her pink, glittery dog. “That looks so beautiful!”
She giggles, her eyes big. “No, I told you I have—I have not.” She stumbles over her words a little in her excitement.
“Well, maybe we should ask your dad very nicely to get you some of these to do at home. I’m sure he’d love to hang them on the refrigerator or in his office.”
“Will you come over to do them with me?” she asks hopefully and it makes my heart sink a little.
“I don’t think I can but maybe we can after school sometime if we have time.”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “What’s pissy?” she asks, changing the subject abruptly like kids often do.
“Uh, that is not a word we should really be using. That’s kind of a bad word,” I say it softly so that she knows she isn’t in trouble.
“Oh.” She stops painting and looks directly at me. “Dad said that’s what you are.”
“Ha.” I can’t hold back the half laugh, half huff.
Very classy, Mr. Vaughn. I can think of a few choice words for you myself.
“I’m sure he probably meant something else. Sometimes grown-ups say things they don’t mean when they’re mad.”
My phone dings with a text and I look down to see Mr. Vaughn’s number on my screen. I slide open the message, adding his name to my contacts before I forget.
Mr. Vaughn:Everything going okay?
I’m half tempted to respond with a comment referencing howpissyI am, but I decide against it. I look up at Daisy who yawns.
Me:Just fine. She’s starting to yawn so I will put on a show for her to fall asleep to.
Mr. Vaughn:Great. Will be leaving here within the hour. I’ll bring cash to pay you. Make sure you program my name and number into your phone.
Me:Already did, sir.
