Chapter 8: Morning After
He looked at her now, a small smile playing on his lips. It was exactly what he had hoped for, leaving the ball entirely in her court.
"Are you asking me out?" He inquired teasingly. It was a cliche question, but he just couldn't resist.
She rolled her eyes, but he could see the smile lingering on her lips as she faced him fully. "What if I was?"
He chuckled huskily. "Then I will take it."
When Isla woke up the next day, it was to the sound of her alarm ringing. It was set to ring at 3 am every morning. Groggily, she stretched her arm out to feel her phone. When her hand touched the cold, vibrating device, she clicked the power button and the alarm stopped. She reached for the light switch above the headboard next, switching it on.
The sudden brightness made her squint until her eyes readjusted to it. She looked around her room from where she lay, trying to recollect the events of last night. She had fallen asleep—her eyes widened comically when she remembered—she had fallen asleep with George present, on the sofa, maybe an hour after he visited. She had been so tired from work that she couldn't keep her eyes open for their conversation. Heat rose in her cheeks at the embarrassing thought. How then, did she get to her bed? She couldn't remember walking to it. Had George put her to bed and taken the sofa? He couldn't possibly leave her here without waking her up to lock the door.
Panicking, she rushed out of it and to her front door, twisting the handle to see if it would open. When it didn't budge, she almost slumped against it in relief. He had the sense to lock it, but how did he get hold of the key? Her eyes went to her table, and she went to it. Another flood of relief washed over her when she sighted her bunch of keys, the house keys were short of one duplicate. Something tugged at her heart at the thoughtfulness, George just kept surprising her. He was nothing like what she initially thought of him. He was honorable, funny, gorgeous and so...sexy. Feeling parched, she went into the kitchen for some water.
Her eyes almost popped out of her sockets at the sight of the kitchen. The dirty dishes and pots that littered the sink were all washed and upturned to dry. They sparkled with how clean they were. Had George washed them? Just who was this guy? Goosebumps prickled her skin at the thought of him now, this was the man she had treated like trash. This beautiful man that had bought her food, had the self-control to pull back from their kiss and cared enough to put her to bed, wash her dishes and lock her door? She grinned to herself and then prayed to God above that he would be her final resting place. She was old enough to trust her intuition that George was more than a good man.
What did George even do for a living? He had single-handedly financed the fixing of the wall. He never dressed shabbily, his skin alone glowed like one pampered since birth, but to live in this apartment complex...people who lived in this complex were mostly just getting by. He didn't exactly fit into that description; she had seen him home. The furnishings were top-notch. That would be a question for later though. His financial status was of no consequence to her.
Isla returned to her desk with her bottle of water. Her whole body still felt warm from what she saw in her kitchen. She clicked the power button on her laptop screen and sat down to think while it booted.
Again, thoughts of George filled her head. Could she trust George with her heart truly? What if he's after her money? He had read her bio from the book and may now be aware of who she truly was, apart from being a renowned author. Though, the fact that she was from the Jackson family wasn't information she threw around anymore. Not when she didn't feel like a part of it. How could she? When her mum abandoned her at eight and went to live in Canada with her lover? Or when her dad came back home from a business trip one day with twin boys four years older than she was as well as their mother and introduced her as his former mistress and his new wife. They were his sons, her half-brothers, and Isla had loathed them. The feeling was made worse by Julie, their horrible mother. Julie was the stereotypical wicked stepmother, and her father doted on Julie too much to scold her for it. She had been suffocating in her own father's house. Her break came when she moved to New York for her Bachelor’s Degree in Literature and Creative Writing.
With the laptop fully operational now, Isla quickly opened the recent file. The unfinished second-to-last chapter of her book stared back at her. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and started typing. Three hours later her book was complete. She quickly forwarded the manuscript to her computer in her office and to Amaka, who was the chief editor and was sure to get it proofread on time.
The neighborhood was noisy, most people were awake and about. She could make out the voice of the granny upstairs, drifting past; she seemed to be talking on the phone. There was only one person Isla wanted to see though, but she didn't want to go out there. She didn't want to risk the nosy bunch of neighbors seeing her at his door this early in the morning.
Whistling softly, Isla stared at the patch of wall that was recently a large hole. She now wished the wall hadn't been fixed; it would have been so easy to go into his room and show him her heartfelt appreciation. Sighing, she got up from her desk and started getting ready for work.
By the time she had brushed her teeth, bathed, eaten, and dressed for work, it was almost nine in the morning. She wore a silver pantsuit with a white shirt underneath, black pump shoes, and her usual briefcase. It contained all the files and documents she needed for work. Her unruly shoulder-length hair was slicked with gel and packed into a ponytail. With a dusting of powder on her face, lip gloss, and perfume on her clothes, she was set.
Her phone was ringing; she pulled it out from her pants pocket before she got to the door, checking the caller ID. It was her Dad. Frowning, she silenced the phone and put it back in her pocket. Why was he calling? Hadn't he vowed not to contact her again since their last communication four months ago? He was the second to the last person she wanted to speak to. The last was his wife.
She was locking the door to her apartment when she felt a presence behind her. Isla turned her head over her shoulder expecting to see George, but it was Jake. Curbing the disappointment, she muttered her response when he greeted her. Slid her keys out of the lock and turned to face him.
Jake with his beady eyes and unkempt blonde hair was among the residents in this building that Isla didn't think twice about. In fact, she didn't think twice about any of them except George. And she didn't just think twice about George, she thought about him EVERY single minute.
"Is there a problem?" Isla asked, struggling not to scrunch her face in disgust. He reeked of sweat. Probably just ran a marathon or something; the guy was obsessed with working out.
"You are going to work?"
Obviously. "Yes, I am," Isla replied, mentally rolling her eyes at the dumb question.
He shifted his weight to one leg. "Well sorry for holding you up."
Isla continued to look at him, waiting for him to spit out whatever he had to say that was so important he stood in her path.
She waited for one minute and yet he said nothing, just continued to stare. Was he waiting for her to prompt him? Her eyes twitched in annoyance. "You are wasting my time," she told him plainly. "Well?"
He rushed his reply as if he was being pursued. "I wanted to know if you can agree to go on a date with me? This evening? I would--"
"No," Isla deadpanned, interrupting him. Then as an afterthought, she added, "Thank you but no."
Thinking that was it, she moved to step around him and toward the exit of the hallway but Jake stepped into her path, blocking her. "Babe--" he started.
Babe!? How dare he? Isla glowered at him. "What is this? Get out of my way now!"
His eyes narrowed at her. "You are so full of yourself Isla. Is it your car that makes you feel like you are better than all of us huh!?" His hand shot out and gripped her arm almost painfully. Isla yelped and was just about to deliver a slap when they heard someone growl behind them
"Jake, what the hell do you think you are doing!?"