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016 - This Admiration Would Fade

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• Everett •

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I choose not to believe that I just had that feeling again, after six whole years -the warm little pull in my chest making it hard for me to swallow, and the ridiculous urge to keep myself from staring like an i***t.

Before Andrea even stepped foot into the building, I had already wasted a good amount of time scrolling through hundreds of photos on her i********: page.

It hadn’t been intentional.

You know that annoying thing i********: algorithm does? You add a contact, and suddenly it decides you’re soulmates. I was simply killing time, minding my business, and then she popped up - theandreathompson_

Her page didn’t match the version of her I had met. It was alive, unfiltered, funny even. Every beautiful post came with atleast one unserious meme, and her dresses were dangerously sexy for the polished corporate girl she pretended to be.

I had checked my wristwatch for the tenth time, before settling for my digital camera I hadn't used in months. At least that way, I wouldn't look desperate staring over the railing and waiting for her to show up.

She has a way of making me believe she’s incompetent, but Mr. Bradley had sung praises about how she handled her cases uniquely in a week, and how new clients now wanted to be assigned to her.

Just when I was capturing the hues in the skyline, a car pulled over and the graceful strut from a female in a navy blue blazer and pants stole my attention. She looked slightly unsettled, almost shocked when she discovered I'd been watching from the terrace.

I had deliberately walked up to her, asking that question, only to realize she was more breathtaking than she’d looked from afar.

She was busy glancing through the documents, sighing, her brows in a grimace as she swiftly adjusted her stance. I caught a glimpse of the curve of her thighs.

Good God. Look away.

I do just that, pretending not to care if her feet were killing her or not. Two more seconds of that careless staring, and she would’ve caught me.

I didn’t need that.

I don’t think I had ever met a blonde as disarming as her. My reactions were clearly overdoing it. With time, this admiration would fade.

It always did.

I winced, resetting my expression just as she spoke.

“Cecilia Laurent.”

“What's the most intriguing thing about Cecilia?" I asked.

"Everything. Cecilia is a professional model, Caucasian, five nine, with a soft, luminous complexion that photographs exceptionally well. She’s twenty-four, currently Miss Atlantic Elegance, and has picked up two international runway awards in the past three years.”

We look each other in the eye and she doesn't waver. Her cheeks were tight, just enough to tell me she wasn’t thrilled about being put through this little exercise.

“Her father is a retired diplomat, her mom runs a private art foundation. She’s well educated, well mannered and notably no history of public or private relationships.” she added, raising a foot to take off the shoe, but changed her mind.

I sat. “You sound really sure she’s never had a boyfriend.”

“That's because I confirmed.”

“Ooh...”

“Miss Cecilia and I had an intimate conversation for over an hour, twice, and I could tell there wasn’t a trace of inconsistency. She’s very career-focused and reserved. I think she’s finally considering dating.”

I ran a finger on my chin. “Hmmm... Did she get to see my pictures?”

“Yes, she has.”

“Then certainly she’s been waiting for someone fascinating enough to make her consider it.” I replied, leaning my back.

Andrea scratched the back of her neck, her expression blank.

“Care to see hers? I have a photo of each of them.” she asked.

I shrugged.

She quickly did a few taps on her cellphone, holding it close to her chest.

I knotted my brows. Was she expecting me to magically gain height?.

We remained that way for a few seconds, but soon I give up, taking a quick view at the picture without moving an inch.

Cecilia was dressed in a soft, ivory robe, loosely tied with one shoulder slipping free. Her lips were blazing red, and her hair, tucked into a loose head towel. She sat cross-legged on a plush ottoman, leaning slightly forward with elbows on her knees.

Seemed like the picture was captured during summer.

“You could leave," I requested. “I'm starting to feel tired and I shouldn't let you work outside office hours.”

She nodded, joining her lips. “So, do you wish to try out a date with Cecilia, or you'd prefer to check out the personality of other potential matches?”

“She's not so bad,” I said frankly. “I only wish I got another picture. She might be blonde.”

“And what's wrong with ladies who are blonde?”

“They don't catch my fancy.” I said, leaving the seat and walking towards the railing. “I don't do blondes.”

She remained mute for a moment, and when I turned to look at her, I saw her smile, ducking her face slightly to adjust her hair, stirred gently by the breeze.

It was slowly getting to evening, so the terrace glowed under the setting sun, making her skin look brighter and her teeth shine like tiny diamonds.

“Surprised? You might want to factor that into your search,” I added.

“Noted. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Langston. I’ll arrange a suitable date and get back to you.”

“Mmm.”

She walked with a slight hitch in her step, but was out in barely a minute.

I loosened two more buttons on my shirt, letting the breeze brush my skin as my eyes returned downstairs.

A white car rolled out of the garage shortly after, the driver’s jacket confirming it was Andrea.

Her windshield. Why was it...

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I pull it out, swiping 4:34p.m and noting the sender of the text.

Mom.

I gripped the phone tightly, feeling the old dread rise. I hated getting this message from her, and it has been quite a while.

Long enough that I had almost convinced myself it was over.

A mixture of lower and uppercase D's stayed on the screen, clearly typed out of rush. It was a code we had agreed on years back. D for “Danger” sent anytime it happened.