My boss and I

Episode2.SANDRA REVEALED HER SECRETS

SANDRA REVEALED HER SECRETS

Dammit if he didn’t have a dimple in one cheek. A big steak, she answered in the same sarcastic vein. I had orange juice. Plane food lacks subtlety, don’t you think? Besides, I hate planes. I thought I might throw up. I didn’t want to precipitate a crisis.

He pondered for half a second. Why don’t we grab something to eat now? He suggested. There are a couple of places to grab a coffee and a sandwich.

Come to think of it, I'm hungry, too.

She didn’t bother to argue. He was used to taking charge as well. He didn’t even consult her about what she wanted but saw her seated and then walked over to the counter to order.

Two waitresses, one with a terrible hairdresser, sped towards him so quickly, the younger one. Scowling darkly, he was forced to fall back to avoid being muscled aside. No matter where you were, good-looking guys managed to get served first, Sandra thought disgustedly.

Macho Man returned a few minutes later with a laden tray. This might help you feel better, he said, trying to jolly her up.

“Thank you. She tried to fix a smile on her face, but she was feeling too grim.

He placed a frothy cappuccino with a good crema in front of her, a plate of sandwiches, and a couple of tempting little pastries. We can share.

There’s ham and whole grain mustard or chicken and avocado. I don’t care.

He rolled his eyes. Eat up, he scolded, exactly like a big brother. You’re not anorexic, are you? He surveyed her with glinting eyes. Not as I understand it,

Anorexics admit to it.

I eat plenty, she said coolly, beginning to tuck away. Pleased to hear it. He pushed the plate of sandwiches closer to her. “ What did you do to your hair, if it’s not a rude question? Is it by your hand, not a day at the hairdresser?

To his consternation, her huge beautiful eyes turned into overflowing blue lagoons.

It made him feel bad. Look, I’m sorry, he apologized hastily, remorse written all across his strongly hewn features. You have a right to wear your hair any way you choose. It looks kinda cute and must be cool.

She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and gulped air. This big machine guy looked so contrite she had an urge to tell him. A spur of the moment thing when she’d barely been able to speak of it.

A little friend of mine died recently of leukemia, she said, her expression a mix of grief and tenderness. She was only seven. When she lost all her beautiful curly hair, I cut mine off to be supportive. Afterward, the two of us laughed and cried ourselves silly at how we looked.

He glanced away, his throat tight. Now that’s the saddest story in the world, Alexandra.

You just want to die yourself.

I know.

The sympathy and understanding in his voice soothed her.

But your little friend wouldn’t want that, he continued. She’d want you to go on and make something of your life. Maybe you even owe it to her. What was her name?

Nicole. She swallowed hard, determined not to break down. She could never go through something so heartbreaking again. Everyone called her Nikki.

I’m sorry. He sounded sad and respectful.

She liked him for that. It was oddly comforting considering he was a perfect stranger. The death of a child has to be one of the worst things in life, he mused. The death of a child, a parent, a beloved spouse.

A sentimental Sandra shared entirely. She nodded for the first time, allowing herself to stare into his eyes. He had the most striking coloring there was. Light eyes, darn near silver, fringed by long, thick, jet-black lashes any woman would die for.

Jet-black rather wildly curling hair to match. It kicked up in waves on the nape. Strong arched brows, and gleaming dark copper skin, she knew his beard would rasp. She could almost feel it, unable to control the little shudder that ran down her spine.

He was the sort of guy who looked like he could handle himself anywhere, which she supposed would add to his attractiveness to women. A real plus for her, however, was that he could be kind. Kindness is much more important than drop-dead good looks.

I know what loss is all about, he said, after a moment of silence, absently stirring three teaspoons of raw sugar into his coffee. There are stages one after the other. You have to learn to slam down barriers.

Is that what you did?

Her voice quickened with interest, even as she removed the sugar. He had a sweet tooth and too much sugar wasn’t good for his health.

I had to, he said. Grief can drain all the life out of you when your job is to go on. So, how old are you anyway?

He tried a more bantering tone to ease the rather painful tensions. My first thought was about sixteen, he said, not altogether joking.

Try again. She bit into another sandwich.

They were good. Plenty of filling on fresh multi-grain bread.

Okay, I know you’re twenty. He concentrated on her intriguing face with her hair now all fluffed up.

Nearly twenty-one. She picked up another sandwich. Or I will have it in six months when I get an inheritance. If I’m still alive, that is. Once I’m on Moondai and at the mercy of my relatives, who knows?

He set his cup down so sharply, that a few heads turned to see if he’d cracked the saucer. You can’t be serious?

Dead serious, she confirmed. My mother and I left Moondai when I was ten, nearly eleven. She was a basket case. I went into a frenzy of bad behavior that lasted for years. I was chucked out of two schools, but that’s another story. We left not long after my dad, Trevor, was killed.

Do you know how he was killed?

I’d like you to tell me. Obviously, she has to talk to someone about it. Like him, she appeared to have a lot of bottled up.