Page 8 of When Love Takes Over
“The kitchen? I don’t—are you the head cook?”
“I am.”
“The building is closed. Why are you still here?”
I sighed as I held back tears. I already had nowhere to live, and I’d be out of a job shortly.
“I’m sorry. I can’t afford a hotel, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I slept in my car the past two nights, but I thought I could stay in my office for the weekend. Please don’t fire me. I needed?—”
“Enough!” he said firmly, cutting me off and causing me to jump.
The tears I held at bay trickled down my cheek, and to my surprise, he cupped my face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe them away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’ll go get my things and leave, but please don’t fire me. I really need this job.”
“Why are you homeless? Are we not paying you enough?”
“My salary is fine, and I’m very responsible with my money. I haven’t always been, and I’m paying for it now. I have a lot going on, but I’m trying. If you could please give me?—”
“You can’t sleep here. I’ll give you money for a hotel?—”
I shook my head. “No, please. I can’t have you do that. I won’t be able to pay you back.”
“You don’t have to pay me back, but I can’t have you sleeping on the floor in your office.”
“I—”
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I asked, confused.
“Your office. We need to get your things.”
He pushed past me, entering the stairwell, and I caught the door before it closed in my face. When I made it to the first floor, he was waiting for me with the door open. I was too embarrassed to look at him, so I kept my eyes on the floor.
Once inside my office, I quickly gathered my things while he leaned against the doorframe, watching. After putting on my shoes, I put my purse, then my duffel bag on my shoulder, and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.
“Let me take your things,” he said.
“It’s fine. I can handle it.”
“I didn’t ask what you can handle. Give me your things.”
The tone of his voice caused me to give him my eyes, and I surprised myself by staring into his for a moment. When I didn’t make a move, he reached for the handle of my suitcase, then removed the strap of my bag from my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said to his back because he was already headed out.
After locking up my office, I rushed to catch up with him. He held the door open for me again, letting it close behind him when I was a few steps away.
“Where is your car?” he asked.
“I moved it to the street. It’s right around the corner.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“You didn’t ask,” I responded with a shrug.
