A nightmare invaded Monica’s sweet dreams about Tyson, stirring her awake. Pulling the covers back, she got out of bed and peeped out the window. Her car was missing in the driveway. Either someone stole it, which would have been her preference, or she really did freak out last night and her boss had to drive her home.
Rubbing her face, she groaned again. Since she couldn’t return to sleep, Monica started her day two hours earlier. Somewhat refreshed by a shower and a cup of coffee, she called Veronica and gave her a play-by-play of what had happened.
“Number one,” she finally snapped, “you should have called me last night—”
“And deal with your wrath for disturbing your beauty rest? No thanks.” Not a morning person, Veronica would sleep until noon every day, if she could, but she was well paid to report to work by seven. That translated to going to bed early. She walked into the bathroom to start on her makeup after slipping on her clothes.
“I’ll ignore that…you and these attacks are aging me! I add wrinkles every time you tell me about them. At least you weren’t alone, although I wish you had called, so I could’ve drove over to check out Mr. Graham.” She chuckled and Monica shook her head, causing her to smear her eyebrow pencil. While she repaired it, Veronica continued her rant, “And third—”
“What happened to number two?” she teased.
“Be quiet. I can count. I’m not fully awake. Anyway, if the man offered to foot the bill, you should have accepted it like you won a cruise.”
“And be a charity case? I can wait until my insurance kicks in.” She hoped.
“Well, I can’t, and if Miss Ollie knew…”
If her mother knew, she would move in with Monica uninvited. The doorbell rang. “Hey, that’s my ride.”
“Literally, call me the minute you get home this evening. Love you.”
Yeah, this evening. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that she wouldn’t have a repeat of the previous night. Why wasn’t God listening to her? “Right. Love you too, sis. Bye.”
She raced to answer the door, not wanting to be the cause—again—of her boss being late for work. When Monica opened it, Tyson’s woozy cologne drifted inside. A fresh-shaven man was always her weakness. Their business relationship didn’t give her liberties to touch his jaw.
“At your service.” He smirked, activating a slight dimple that seemed to wink and go back into hiding.
“Let me get my coat and briefcase.”
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Wait.” He gave her an intense expression.
Twirling around, she asked, “Ah, is something wrong?”
Tilting his head, he seemed to study her. “Your skin is flawless. You don’t have beauty marks.”
She frowned. “Excuse me, was that a compliment or something?”
“An observation.” Tyson snickered. “I didn’t realize you have a tiny mole under your right eye. It’s cute.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.
“What?” She studied her reflection in a nearby decorative mirror in her hall. She hadn’t completely wiped off the smudge of her eye pencil, but it was barely visible, even she’d missed it. Yet, he had noticed it. What else had he observed about her?
“Little can distract from your beauty, trust me,” he said in a casual manner, as if he didn’t have to think about it.
Monica didn’t want to read more into his statement, so she tried to clear her head. When she reached for her coat, he took it and helped her slip her arms inside as he had done at work. His closeness tickled the hairs on her neck, so she put some distance between them by hurrying to open her door.
“Feel up to driving this morning, or would you prefer my chauffeur services again?” He jiggled her car keys as they stepped outside.
The only nervousness she felt was being close to her boss.
Evidently, her hesitation caused him to touch her elbow and guide her to the passenger side. “I don’t mind giving you curb service.”
Once they were buckled up, he gave her a worried look. “Are you going to be able to drive back this evening?”
“Yep.” She prayed that she wasn’t lying.
#
Tyson hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her, but every time he studied her, he saw something else alluring. She didn’t have any marks, moles, or blemishes. He knew that for a fact. Her face had sweetly haunted him since that day on the highway.
Unlike then, he was glad he could rescue her the night before. Taking her car home was like a part of her going with him. The moment he drove off, he couldn’t wait to return the next morning, especially with her scent teasing him inside her car.
Monica’s carefree spirit where she was chatty, witty, and animated was thrilling, addictive, and automatically made him a member of #TeamMonica. The woman was fascinating. He glanced at her and remembered the dinner she had prepared. “I woke up this morning still thinking about your leftovers.”
She chuckled. “I get my cooking skills from my mom.”
“And you can rival a sous chef,” he added.
“Thanks, and despite what you witnessed last night and the other time, I’m a courageous soul. My father and my brother instilled that in me.” She sighed. “The anxiety attacks make me feel helpless.”
He reached over and patted her hand.
“You’re a strong, intelligent black woman. I’m happy to be on your team.”
The shock on her face preceded the release of her signature laugh. “Me? I’m honored to be part of your team. I applaud the successes of black men beating the odds. Not that you need my accolades, but I’m proud of you anyway.”
Wow. “I’m humbled to have your stamp of approval.” Her opinion mattered. Tyson swallowed to regroup. “I have to give credit to my Ivy League education.”
“I bet you ranked at the top of your class.”
While changing lanes, he caught a glimpse of a hero worship expression on her face. “Cum laude, not only was I awarded an academic scholarship, but my skills on the football field earned me an athletic scholarship as well.”
“Summa cum laude,” she upped him. “BA in mathematics and a minor in business, but you know that from my résumé. And my full ride came in an academic and athletic scholarship too.”
Glancing at his passenger, Tyson winked. “Two peas in a pod.” He had the same thought about them being dateless on Valentine’s Day. He grinned at what he had done because no one sent her flowers.
“What?” She nudged him.
He wasn’t about to share that. “Ah, what sports did you play at OSU? Let me guess, basketball, volleyball, or swimming?”
Monica angled her body and faced him. He chuckled at her mischievous snicker. Whatever she was about to say, he prepared for a tall tale.
“Jump rope,” she announced with pride.
Tyson couldn’t stop the rumble of laughter escaping from his throat. “Are you serious?” he stuttered, then laughed some more. Her irked expression didn’t help as she folded her arms. “Jump rope? How competitive could that be?”
“Try coordinating with three jumpers in Double Dutch and world champions that have performed with the Cirque du Soleil.” When she playfully stuck out her tongue at him, Tyson wanted to kiss her. “I know, impressive, huh? Jump rope is considered the perfect fitness regimen. It’s a great cardio workout, builds muscles.” She paused and slapped his arm as if he wasn’t paying attention. His biceps flexed in response. “If you can play tackle in college, I can jump rope.”
“Are you challenging my abilities, Miss Wyatt?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not when your company signs my paychecks.”
He didn’t want to be reminded of their business relationship. Unfortunately, their tit-for-tat ended when he parked her car into the same spot as the day before. Tyson craved more of Monica, over dinner at a nice restaurant instead of in her kitchen. She was the type of woman to make a man break all the rules, but at the end of the day, his baby was Tyson & Dyson Communications and was the relationship that he had to nurture first.
As he was about to get out to open her door, she stopped him. “Do you mind if we go in separately?” She squeezed her lips. “I don’t want to start any rumors.” Her eyes pleaded for his understanding.
In all honesty, neither did he. Nodding, Tyson handed over her keys. Noting the absence of a ring on her fourth finger reminded him that she once belonged to someone. Whoever her ex was, he wasn’t man enough to keep her. Tyson was—he wasn’t going there, so he quickly dismissed that thought.
After unlocking his car, he slid behind the wheel and started his engine to kill time, watching Monica gathered her things. Her air of confidence was back in place as a burst of wind propelled toward the door.
The last twenty-four hours had been frightening and enlightening. Although he promised not to fire her because of the episode, he still feared she might cave under pressure without a doctor’s examination and medication.
You promised, a whisper tickled his ear.
Yeah, I know. He gritted his teeth, wondering if her attacks were limited to the road. Would they overtake her in an elevator, or in a room full of people, or even while giving a company presentation to a prospective client? Those scenarios concerned him.
He still needed to keep an eye on her, but now, his heart was invested in her. And the evidence of that was waiting inside for her. However, if there were a next time on his watch, he would take her to the ER himself—no buts.
Bring her to Me, God spoke and Tyson trembled.
And how was he supposed to do that? When God didn’t answer, he racked his brain. The only person who came to mind was Solae.
#
After waving at Jennifer and Dennis, Monica made a beeline for her corner cubicle. She almost stumbled at what was on her desk. Her Valentine’s flowers were clinging to life, but there was a new delivery. Now things were getting creepy. Had she unknowingly entered into some “win flowers for a year” contest or was she dealing with a stalker?
They had the same florist logo as the other delivery. Hesitation replaced the eagerness she experienced from receiving the roses.
After taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, she drummed her fingers on the desk, debating how badly she wanted to know the sender. She counted, but didn’t make it past three before releasing beautiful red amaryllises from their bondage. “Wow.”
Hearing Solae’s voice, Monica cranked her neck out of her cubicle to see her coworker talking, possibly through her Bluetooth. Back to the flowers, she reached for the envelope and slipped out the card.
The card read: You’re fearless. What kind of cryptic message was that? Frowning, she tapped into her mind for possible meanings. It definitely wasn’t romantic, simply a morale booster. Who would have known she needed a pick-me-up—Veronica or…Tyson? What about the first delivery? She and Veronica didn’t send each other flowers and she and Tyson were barely cordial around Valentine’s Day.
After pushing back from her desk, she walked down the hall and knocked on Tyson’s door, waited, then peeped her head through the opening. On the phone, he glanced up and gave her a welcoming smile before waving her in. He covered the phone with his hand and mouthed, “Give me a minute,” before tilting his head for her to take a seat.
She did, admiring this confident black man work his business. Monica imagined him on a magazine spread, highlighting the quintessential CEO. The man knew how to speak, act, and dress the part. His colorful ties caught her eye. She hadn’t seen him wear the same one twice. She liked his fashion statement.
Forcing her eyes away, she scanned his office. Her visits there had been limited to quick questions only when an email would have been too lengthy. She relaxed and took in the warm colors of blues and browns. One wall had white built-in shelves that housed more than books—artwork, framed certificates, awards of accomplishments, and numerous article write-ups. Next to his college graduation photo was that of a football team.
She smirked and glanced back at Tyson who was watching her. Ever since last night, his eyes seemed to twinkle whenever she caught him staring. As if to prove her assessment, he winked as he disconnected the call. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. She wanted to scream, stop doing that, but she happened to like the warm-and-fuzzy feeling the gesture triggered.
Linking his fingers together, he graced her with a grin she doubted any man could duplicate. “May I help you, Miss Wyatt?” he teased.
“If you sent me flowers—thank you, if not, I have a stalker and I need security detail at the office.”
Tyson chuckled and rocked back in his chair. “Consider me your security detail…and yes, I sent the flowers.” He stared. “You are fearless, remember that. You’ve got this, whatever this is.”
She blinked, then choked out, “That means a lot coming from you, but I noticed they came from the same florist as the post-Valentine’s Day flowers. You know anything about them?” She lifted an eyebrow, mimicking a stern disciplinarian.
Was he acting bashful? “Guilty.”
Not expecting that answer, Monica sat speechless. Finally, she stuttered, “Why? You barely liked me!” Or me you—but this wasn’t about her attitude, he started it.
“Let’s just say it was my peace offering before the truce.” He grinned again.
Woooo. She wasn’t mad, but embarrassed. “And you caught me doting on the flowers and thinking I had a secret admirer.” They chuckled together, then she lowered her voice. “The flowers are beautiful, but no more, please. It could make for some uncomfortable conversations with the others.”
He picked up a pen and toyed with it. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, giving her his undivided attention. The eagerness on his face let her know her answer mattered.
“Not anymore,” she responded softly and stood to leave. “Thank you for everything—the job, the flowers, and your kindness.”
Back in her cubicle, she flopped in her chair. This time when she sniffed her old and new flowers, Tyson’s handsome face came into view.
Solae’s appearance at Monica’s desk startled her. Her friend snickered as she folded her arms. “Back-to-back deliveries…hmmm. Your secret admirer again?”
“Yep.” She shooed Solae away. This was one secret Monica planned to keep.