Page 45 of Maid for My Billionaire Boss
He never called her that, though. I would have remembered a name like that. He called her . . .
I turned back, so panicked for clarity. Jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward the photo, I whispered, “Lea.”
Her eyes filled with tears I couldn’t identify. She wasn’t happy. I don’t think she was sad. Her weakened voice floated out. “What did you say?”
“That’s my friend, Damion.” I motioned to the photo again. “This was his house.” I took another step toward her, feeling an immense sadness wash through me. “You’re his Lea, right?”
“Nobody called me that but him.” Her breath was shaky, like she had seen a ghost. “How did you know that?”
“Damion was my friend.” It was a simple comment, but it carried a heavy emotional weight which immediately impacted us both.
“I don’t believe it,” she scoffed through narrowed eyes. “I’d have known you. He never once talked about his friend Trey.”
I paced forward another step closer to her, still in disbelief about how I had missed so many details over the years. Suddenly I saw how everything wove together. I wasn’t wrong about this. “Did he talk about his friend, DJ?”
She turned away from me, but I could see the despair budding in her eyes. “Stop it. I don’t know how you know these things, but it’s cruel to come over here and do this to me.” She bawled her fingers into a fist, but even that didn’t hide her trembling fingers. I fought every urge to reach out to her, to touch her, but I feared she’d scream because she looked so afraid.
“My real name is Demetrey. My middle name is James. When I was little, my friends called me DJ and that’s how Damion knew me. When I started my own business, I thought it was more professional to use my real name. However, that was such a long name, Tonya started to call me Trey and that stuck.”
Atalie’s hand fled to cover her mouth, and she spoke from behind her palm with barely audible words. “Say that again.”
“Uh, when I was little, my friends called me DJ.”
“Not that part.”
“What part?”
“You’re real name.”
“My real name is Demetrey?” My words came out like a question as I wasn’t sure what she was fixated on. Before I could offer another word about Damion, she pushed herself off the wall and fled into the kitchen, where she stopped at a little secretary desk in the corner. With focus, she frantically pulled the drawer open and tore through a stack of papers that looked like bills. She seemed to know an organization to the piles of papers, and when she found the right one, she flipped it open and stared at it for a few seconds. Then she raised her eyes back to me, but there was an unsettlement in them I had never seen. She crossed the kitchen again in urgent steps, stopping an arm’s length in front of me, and flashed the letter before me. “Is this you?” she asked in an accusatory voice.
It was dark in the room as she had obviously been getting the house ready for bed, and I couldn’t really see what it said, but my eyes glossed over it, and I got stuck on the letterhead.
My letterhead.
I yanked the letter from her, soaking up the words I had seen before.
There’s no way.
I could never do that to her. Now it was my turn to shake my head, feeling like the floor was collapsing beneath me. I stammered back, “I had no idea.”
Her pupils were sharp and cold; daggers would look more friendly. “Are you admitting that this is you?”
“Yes . . . but I had no idea.”
My words came out in a rush, but she ignored them as she stormed toward the door, crying in a harsh whisper, “Get out of my house!”
I moved, but not toward the door. I had to make this better. I was pulled toward her, reaching out and placed a hand on her hip, wanting nothing more than to take it all back.
I didn’t have a clue.
I would have never done it.
Lord, please I prayed. Take it back!
I didn’t know.
Slapping my hand away, she yelled, “You are not welcome here! Don’t you ever say Damion was your friend again. Friends don’t do that.” She went to open the door, but when she turned the knob, the door was jammed. “This stupid door always gets stuck.” She leaned against the door and twisted the knob with two hands. “Give me a minute.” She looked back at me and snarled like she was trying to keep this argument going. Then muttered under her breath, “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Her annoyance at the door grew, and she gave it a swift kick and tried to turn the knob again, but it didn’t work.
