Emerald Eyes (16 page)

Almost? What was I wrong about?

“I’m in control of this relationship every step of the way and she knows that. The only reason I keep her around is because…” Mr. Miller frowns and looks away for a moment, like he doesn’t want to tell me.

“She’s like a familiar territory.” I offer.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He shrugs.
 

We stop talking about Eliza and our conversation moves to random chitchat.

The rest of our stay in Miami is pretty much uneventful. After the day off I got, we got back to work. Eliza flew back to New York and I stopped flirting with Mr. Miller all together. Even when I would find him staring at me with wonder, concern and mostly such heat that it took all my self-restraint not to jump his bones right there and then, I still kept myself composed. I would just give him a tight smile and look away, back to my files.

On our last day in Miami, when I’m finally alone in the suite, lying down on my bed, my thoughts go back to Eliza, sleeping in Mr. Miller’s bed while he was completely naked.
 

Did they have sex? Did he kiss her the way he kissed me in that dark corridor?
 

These thoughts keep circling my mind until I feel I’m about to go insane. I decide there and then that I. Don’t. Care.
 

It’s a lie of course, but I have to make myself believe it or I will… hell, I don’t even know what I’ll do… I’ve never had this type of reaction to anyone, never had to think these type of thoughts. All my relationships were carefree and fun, and most importantly the guys were wrapped tightly around my little finger. I’ve never met resistance and never felt jealousy towards other women.
 

Why am I even thinking about this again? I was doing such a good job at being professional…

Ultimately, I settle on one thought. If Mr. Miller wants me, he will have to do all the work. I’ve never had to chase a man and I won’t give Mr. Miller the satisfaction of being the
 

I feel much better once I’m back in New York, back in my hometown and back with Laura. There’s just something in the New York air that makes my soul calmer, something that soothes my nerves and worries. I always loved the Big Apple and I’m glad to be home. Laura welcomes me to a sparkly clean apartment and hot meal on the table.
 

God, I love this woman, like my second mother.

“So… tell me everything! How was it? Did you get time to rest or was it all work, work, work?” Laura asks as she takes my bags away.

“Mostly work but I had a few moments to enjoy myself… I met Mark there.”
 

“What?” she gasps, dropping the suitcase with an audible ‘bang’.

“Yeah, out of all places… he was playing in a lounge and invited Mr. Miller and me to come by.” I keep my tone leveled.

“What? … I mean… how, how was he towards you?” her hazel eyes wide open.
 

Yep, our breakup is one of the most notorious breakups I’ve even had. I took it really hard and it affected my parents and Laura; they hated seeing me hurting so badly.

“He was fine actually, even dedicated a few songs to me, thinking it would smooth everything out… yeah right.” I roll my eyes.
 

I leave out the fact that he came to my room piss drunk and tried to force himself on me, again. No need in getting her all worried and in return getting my parents all worked up, since she tells them every word that leaves my mouth.
 

I collapse on the dinning chair and inhale the fragrant steam coming out of the beet-red soup.

“That boy needs to stay away from you or else I will hunt him down and have his head on a spike!” Laura fumes.
 

“Don’t worry about it. It was very awkward but that’s all it was.” I lie and pick up a spoonful of Borscht.
 

I hum with appreciation as the rich flavors flow over my tongue; she always nails it.

“Glad you like it.” she smiles a satisfied smile at me.
 

“I missed your cooking.” I blow her a kiss and she grins wider.
 

After lunch, I let Laura unpack my suitcase while I took a long shower.
 

Lathering up, I notice a small bruise on my thigh; it looks like a thumbprint. I close my eyes, stroking the bruise lightly while the earthshattering kiss replays in my head. I shiver and I know it’s not from being cold as I’m standing under the hot spray of water. Emotions clog my throat and desire bursts inside me. I’ve never been kissed like that, never been consumed so entirely. Mr. Miller’s demanding and passionate lips eclipsed every kiss I’ve ever received, his enticing touch overtook every sane thought and wrecked me completely… and I hate that I can’t break him, that I can’t bring him to his knees to beg for me. I am losing my natural confidence and I don’t like the feeling. I have to get myself together. Rinsing off the suds, I focus on one thought.
Don’t mix business with pleasure.

I come out of the shower, wrapped in my fluffy white bathrobe and look over my bedroom. It’s not as big as the one back at my parents’ house but still… it works for me. I designed it in my favorite colors, white, silver and lilac. I sweep my eyes over my room, taking it all in. At the right corner, a big white wooden desk with my laptop and other gadgets. Above it is a wide open wall shelf stacked with CD’s, photo albums and a custom made Cartier figurine, a snow leopard made of white diamonds and onyx stones, it’s eyes are deep, green-blue diamonds. A gift from Tom, my first boyfriend, even though I threw every shred of him out, I couldn’t part with the leopard. It’s timeless. And as I stand and look at it, I realize how similar the color of its eyes is to Mr. Miller’s gorgeous, turquoise irises. I place a finger on top of its head, petting it absentmindedly as my thoughts focus on those blazing irises. After a minute or two of daydreaming, I flop down on my plush white vanity stool, looking at my reflection through my mirror that is enclosed by an antique frame with elaborate resin carvings in silver and gold leafs, and see my flushed cheeks and startling emerald eyes.
 

I methodically blow-dry my hair, apply my lotion and add a spritz of perfume and decide on skinny jeans and basic heather grey tank top for my clothes. Before heading to the living room, I glance back at my bedroom. Overall, a modern look that fits me perfectly, I smile.
 

I sit down at the only thing my parents allowed me to take from their house, my mahogany Bösendorfer Imperial Grand Piano. I start with Beethoven’s sonata number 14, also known as, ‘Moonlight’.
 

As my fingers stroke each key with the softest touch, my eyes flutter shut and I let the melody consume me. My body sways slightly as my mind clears of everything, and I think of nothing else but this beautiful piece my hands are playing. It’s my escape, the place where I can lose myself completely and become a part of the music, a part of something perfect. A place where all my worries and feelings vanish, if only for a few minutes, a place I can be whatever I want to be, have whomever I want... it’s the resurfacing, the ‘back to reality’ that is hard to do.

After I finish, I hear a sigh. I open my eyes and turn around on the bench, finding a relaxed and slightly dreamy Laura, sitting on the sofa behind me. I smile gently at her.

“I swear, Katya, you play like the angels.” Her voice holds so much awe.

“Only because you made me practice every day.” I wink at her.
 

“And thank the lord I did. Play something else but happier… I feel like you need to cheer up.”

I look down at my bare feet and wiggle my pedicured toes. She can read me like no other.
 

If only you knew Laura…

“Sure. I’ll play you my favorite.”
 

I turn back to the keys and play my most favorite piece. Every time I hear it or play it, it lifts my spirit with its gentle and calm melody. My fingers start their soft caress and the melody of ‘River Flows In You’ by Yiruma fills the living room.

Monday started out all right. Julia informed me over a phone call that I am now no longer a temp but a full time executive assistant. I even received a bonus for my good work in Miami. Feeling triumphed; I threw myself into work, wanting to do even better.

I was in the middle of typing an rsvp for a gallery opening for Mr. Miller, when Rose opened my office door. She was ushering a deliveryman inside. He was holding a small round glass vase with a dozen pure white roses. The card that came with it had clarified who the sender was, Patrick. He wrote that he would love to get together again and that these roses remind him of me. Since I discovered that he lives in California, I have dismissed the idea of him as anything else but a friend. I don’t waste my time on long distance relationships. I need my man near and available at all hours.
 

The delivery awarded me with questioning look from Mr. Miller. Not even ten minutes later, another knock and another delivery.
 

What in the name…?
 

This time it’s a small golden box with a thick silky brown ribbon wrapped around it.
 

After I signed my name, I reach for the card:

Kissa,

You have no idea how sorry I am for my behavior. I am embarrassed and ashamed for treating you the way I did. I want to ask for your forgiveness – I know I don’t deserve it. Thank you for not pressing charges. After that night, I decided to admit myself to rehab. That night was a wake up call and I won’t ever let that happen again.

Forgive me.

Mark.

I force myself to breath deeply and slowly as I fight the tears that started rimming my eyes.
 

This is not the place to cry.
 

But while my mind tries to rein my body into submission, two fat tears escape from each eye. I swipe them quickly with the back of my fingertips. I knew Mark would feel horrible for that night.

But Mark would never apologize like that; he would text or call, and him going to rehab?

Something feels weird…
 

Yet relief floods me at the thought of Mark seeking help and finally taking responsibility for his drinking. I look at the small box and take off the lid. Inside lay eight chocolate truffles by
Pierre Marcolini. I reach to close the lid and notice a post-it on the inside:
 

I know how much you love these.
 

A small smile pulls the corner of my lips at the memory that pops into my mind, us sitting on the grass in Central Park, feeding each other chocolate truffles and strawberries and drinking Cristal. That feels like ages ago. I put the box away in my purse and as I straighten, I find Mr. Miller standing in front of my desk, scowling down at me. My eyes widen.
 

“Is… is something wrong?” my voice wavers slightly.
 

A dark brow rises, “This is a workplace. I would appreciate if your suitors wouldn’t send their declarations of love here. It distracts you from your work.” His voice is like ice brushing over my skin, sending a little shiver down my spine.
 

Immediately, my mind has about twenty different snarky comebacks but I can’t say any of them since he’s my boss. Instead, I decide to bite the inside of my cheek and nod.
 

Mr. Miller gives me a look over, still frowning, although something brief passes in his eyes, too quickly for me to read, then he retreats back into his office.
 

What was that all about? Jerk.

At lunchtime, I looked up from my monitor at Mr. Miller and saw him talking on the phone rather avidly.
Oh right… he had a conference call.
Since I’ve done most of my tasks, I decided to spend my lunch with Julia, a very giddy Julia.
 

She led me into a small Italian restaurant across the street. Even though space is small, it is finely decorated with deep mahogany wood tables and aged wooden floors. White linen tablecloths cover the tables, adorned with small vases holding white and pink peonies at the center of each table. It’s pretty busy but apparently, Julia knows the host. After a few words are said between them, Julia loops her arm through mine, leading me to the back of the restaurant to a corner table.
 

“Guess who’s joining us?” she’s almost squealing with excitement.
 

“Who? I thought you said it was just me and you.”

“Nick! Nick is back from Paris!” Her smile might split her head in two if it gets any wider.
 

But her grin is infectious and I find myself smile back at her, “When did he land?”
 

“An hour ago! He’s going to stop by our place to literally throw in the luggage and then straight here. My God, Katya, I’ve missed him so much I think I’m gonna bawl when I see him.” Her eyes start to shimmer.
 

Oh. No.
 

“Julia, pull yourself together. You haven’t seen him in a week not a year. God! You guys are always so touchy-feely. I remember you two in high school, you could never be apart from each other for no longer than two days without one of you going into some sort of emotional breakdown.” I roll my eyes to emphasis my point.

“Oh, shut it!” she slaps my forearm teasingly.
 
“You know how we are. We can’t be away from each other for too long. We start missing each other and we get sad. Like really sad.” She pouts.

My eyes stay on Julia’s face even though I see the familiar silhouette of Nick’s body approaching our table from behind her.
 

Nick covers her eyes with his hands and whispers, ‘Guess who?’ into her ear.
 

This time she actually squeals and jumps out of her seat, throwing herself into his arms. I shake my head, smiling at them when suddenly I feel an unfamiliar pang. It’s working under the surface of my conscious feeling of happiness for them, twisting and curling itself around my heart. Tightening with each passing second. I take a deep breath to loosen up the tension but it refuses to yield.