Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
In the meantime, I kept showing up, and I kept my afternoon vigil going. Both of those things were comforting in a way, since I liked structure and routine.
On this particular day, he arrived at work a couple of minutes later than usual. I could tell right away that something was wrong. He was always agile and graceful, but today his movements were slower and more careful. Was he sick, or injured? I craned my neck to keep sight of him as long as possible, but in just a few seconds he disappeared into the restaurant.
Now I had to wait. The restaurant opened at five, but it was hectic then. I’d started coming in at eight, when things died down a bit. Three and a half hours to go.
I flinched when I turned away from the window and found Maureen standing in the doorway. My assistant was a fifty-six-year-old Chinese-American lesbian who was nosy, pushy, and had boundary issues. Even though she was a lot, I secretly adored her.
As I returned to my desk, she asked, “Are you ever going to tell me who or what you’re looking for every day at four-thirty?”
“Definitely not.”
“Is it a girl?”
“No.”
“A guy?” When I hesitated, she exclaimed, “What!” Then she shut my door behind her and hurried across the office. “I’ve worked for you for almost ten years, Aleksei. In all that time, did you somehow fail to mention you’re bisexual?”
She was the only person in the office who addressed me by my first name, and the only one who’d ever dare to ask me something that personal. I just stared at her after I took a seat, which was supposed to make it clear we weren’t going to talk about this. Maureen wasn’t deterred that easily, though.
“You can tell me,” she prodded. “After all, I told you I was a lesbian the day we met. I even showed you pictures of my wife during my job interview.”
“I really don’t want to discuss my personal life.”
She put her hands on her hips and asked, “What personal life? I thought maybe you’d develop one after you got divorced last year, but no. Instead, you’re here more than ever, six days a week, and god knows how late you stay every night.”
“Just until eight.” I used to stay much later, but that was before I started going to the restaurant regularly.
“Oh, okay. So, you’re only working twelve-hour days, seventy-two hours a week. Why do you do that, Aleksei? You know there are highly competent men and women in this office who’ve been clamoring for more responsibility. You could delegate some of your workload, reassign a few clients to your senior staff, and reduce some of the weight that’s on your shoulders.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. Date? Take up a hobby? Relax? You’re the only person I know who acts like free time is a bad thing.”
“I prefer to keep busy,” I muttered. “When I’m not working, there’s just…”
“Too much time to think?”
“Maybe.”
“Isn’t it kind of a problem that you can’t be alone with your own thoughts?”
“Please, Maureen, I’m begging you. Go find something else to do besides playing amateur psychologist.”
“Fine, but you know where to find me if you ever decide you want to talk.”
When she left the office, I sighed and scrubbed my hands over my face. Then I checked the time. Three hours and twenty-six minutes until I’d get to see Timothy.
That evening, I learned he’d injured his back surfing. My concern overrode my usual reserve, and I ended up talking to him for once. Then I offered him a ride home. My driver raised a brow when I told him we were giving someone a lift, but he was too professional to ask questions.
I was a ball of nerves while I waited in the car for Timothy to finish his shift. But when he joined me, he was chattier than ever, and the drive to his place passed quickly.
It turned out he lived in a house that was very similar to mine—in its basic design, anyway. Both were two-story Victorians with bay windows and period details, but his was pink and lively and flying a huge pride flag.
When he invited me in for tea, I desperately wanted to say yes, but I figured he was just being polite. After I declined his invitation, he climbed out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. I looked back as we drove off and discovered he was still standing there. I wondered what he was waiting for.
About fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of my house. I lowered the divider separating the front and back seats, which I’d put up so Timothy and I could talk in private, and said, “Good night, Reuben, and thanks.”
“Good night, Mr. Volkov.” Then he tacked on, “The usual time tomorrow morning?” He normally didn’t ask that, but I’d changed things up on him tonight. Maybe he thought it was the start of a trend.