My Riley

Chapter Thirteen — Vincent

Two o’clock.

Exactly.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

1:57.

I already knew Riley was going to be here.

He always was.

If Riley said two o’clock, he meant two o’clock.

I had learned that about him very quickly.

Yesterday, when he emailed me saying he couldn’t make our scheduled meeting because of something pressing related to the project, I had been slightly annoyed.

Not because he had done anything wrong.

He hadn’t.

In fact, his explanation had been perfectly reasonable.

But I had been expecting him.

I had gotten used to our weekly meetings.

I had gotten used to seeing him walk into my office with his folders, samples, drawings, schedules, and that calm expression that somehow made even complicated problems sound manageable.

Then he had emailed me.

Professional as always.

I won’t be able to make today’s meeting due to an urgent project matter.

That was Riley.

Everything was always an email.

Everything was always professional.

I had replied that we could meet today instead.

He had agreed to come to my house.

And now he was coming.

I checked the time again.

1:59.

Then the doorbell rang.

I almost smiled.

Of course.

I walked downstairs.

My mother was already in the dining room with my brother. They had finished lunch, and I had told them Riley would be coming by.

I opened the door.

Riley stood outside.

His long hair fell neatly around his shoulders, and he was holding his usual folder.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stanley.”

I looked at him.

“Good afternoon.”

He smiled.

Then my mother appeared behind me.

The second she saw him, her entire face lit up.

“Oh!”

Riley turned.

“Riley!”

His expression immediately changed.

He smiled warmly.

“Hello, ma’am.”

She walked toward him.

“Oh, look at your hair!”

Riley laughed softly.

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine, ma’am. How have you been?”

“I’ve missed you.”

Riley’s smile grew.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

My mother reached toward his hair.

“And it’s grown so long.”

Riley nodded.

“It has.”

“You were always such a sweet child.”

I stood there silently.

Watching.

Apparently, everyone knew Riley except me.

My mother continued talking to him like they had seen each other last week instead of years ago.

Then she suddenly said, “Before you go for your meeting, have lunch with us.”

Riley shook his head politely.

“Oh, no, ma’am. Thank you. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense.”

“Really, I’m okay.”

“I insist.”

He looked slightly embarrassed.

My mother smiled.

“Please.”

Riley finally nodded.

“Okay.”

And somehow, instead of going straight to my office, Riley ended up sitting at our dining table.

I sat across from him.

My brother sat beside my mother.

And I immediately regretted agreeing to lunch.

Not because of Riley.

Because of what happened next.

My mother talked to him.

A lot.

She asked about his family.

His work.

His business.

The project.

She asked about his mother.

Riley answered every question politely.

And then my brother started looking at him.

I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

He was staring at Riley’s hair.

Then his face.

Then his hair again.

I put my fork down.

My brother smiled.

“You look really, really beautiful.”

Riley blinked.

Then laughed softly.

“Thank you.”

I looked down at my plate.

Something tightened in my chest.

I didn’t like that.

I didn’t like the way my brother had said it.

I didn’t like the way Riley smiled afterward.

I especially didn’t like the fact that my brother didn’t seem embarrassed about saying it.

Then he continued.

“I love your hair.”

Riley touched the ends of it.

“Thank you.”

“It’s so sleek.”

He reached toward it slightly but stopped himself.

“So silky.”

Riley smiled.

“It’s my natural hair.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

My brother looked impressed.

“How long is it?”

Riley thought for a second.

“It’s below my back a little bit.”

My brother laughed.

“That’s really long.”

Riley smiled.

“It is.”

I took another bite of food.

Slowly.

Quietly.

I didn’t say anything.

There was absolutely no reason for me to say anything.

My brother was complimenting someone’s hair.

That was all.

There was nothing wrong with it.

And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The same thing had happened with my secretary.

First her touching his hair.

Now my brother complimenting it.

Why was everyone suddenly so interested in Riley’s hair?

I looked at him.

He was talking to my mother now.

Smiling.

Relaxed.

Comfortable.

It was the same expression I’d seen at the office with my secretary.

And the same expression I rarely got from him.

With me, it was always—

“Mr. Stanley.”

Professional.

Careful.

Reserved.

But with everyone else?

He smiled.

He laughed.

He relaxed.

I didn’t understand it.

And I didn’t like that I didn’t understand it.

⸻

After lunch, Riley followed me upstairs.

The moment we entered my office, he changed.

Not completely.

But enough.

He sat across from me, opened his folder, and became the Riley I knew.

Professional.

Focused.

Prepared.

“I wanted to update you on the final installation schedule,” he said.

I nodded.

He started explaining.

The last shipment had arrived.

Everything had finally cleared.

The furniture was being inspected and distributed.

The decorative pieces were being installed.

The remaining lighting fixtures had arrived.

And then he mentioned the one fixture that had been damaged.

“I managed to find a replacement,” he said.

I looked at him.

“Where?”

“One of the company’s stores had one in stock.”

“You drove there?”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

He hesitated.

“About three hours.”

I stared at him.

“You drove three hours for a light?”

Riley smiled slightly.

“Six hours altogether.”

I leaned back.

“You could have waited for another shipment.”

“Six months.”

I said nothing.

He continued.

“I didn’t want the project delayed because of one fixture.”

Of course.

That was Riley.

He would drive six hours for a light because he didn’t want to compromise the project.

Something about that impressed me.

More than I wanted it to.

He continued explaining the schedule.

Everything was organized.

Everything made sense.

The final stages were coming together faster now that all the materials were finally available.

He showed me the updated floor plans.

I asked questions.

He answered them.

I made a few suggestions.

He considered them.

We discussed the final finishes.

The meeting was productive.

As usual.

And despite everything I had been thinking about downstairs, I couldn’t find anything wrong with his work.

He was excellent.

There was no other way to describe it.

When we finished, Riley closed his folder.

“That should be everything.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

He stood.

“Thank you for having me.”

I looked at him.

“You’re welcome.”

He smiled.

“Goodbye, Mr. Stanley.”

I stared at him for a second.

Again.

Mr. Stanley.

I almost said it.

Call me Vincent.

But I didn’t.

I simply nodded.

“Goodbye, Riley.”

He turned and walked toward the door.

I followed him.

When we reached the staircase, my brother was there.

He smiled when he saw Riley.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Riley smiled.

“Thank you.”

I watched them walk downstairs together.

I followed a few steps behind.

And then my brother stopped.

“Oh, Riley.”

Riley turned.

“Yes?”

“Can I get your number?”

I stopped walking.

Riley looked surprised.

“Why?”

My brother shrugged.

“I have a space I’m working on. I might need some advice. Maybe some little tweaks here and there.”

Riley smiled.

“Sure.”

He pulled out his phone.

My brother gave him his number.

Then Riley entered it.

They exchanged contacts.

Just like that.

I stood there.

Silent.

Something hot moved through my chest.

He gave him his number.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

No formality.

No email.

No office.

No secretary.

Just his number.

I stared at Riley’s phone.

Then at my brother.

Then back at Riley.

And suddenly, something clicked.

Riley had never given me his number.

I didn’t have it.

Not personally.

Not once.

Every time Riley needed to contact me, he emailed me.

If something was urgent, he contacted my office.

If he needed approval, he sent the request through the proper channels.

He had never texted me.

Never called me.

Not once.

But my brother?

Apparently, he could have his number in less than thirty seconds.

I felt my jaw tighten.

My brother smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Riley smiled again.

That smile.

The same one.

I didn’t like it.

Not at all.

Riley said goodbye to my mother.

Then he left.

I watched him walk toward his car.

My brother closed the door.

Then he looked at me.

“What?”

I stared at him.

“Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You look angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

He laughed.

“Sure.”

I walked away.

⸻

I went back to my office.

Closed the door.

And stood there.

I didn’t understand myself.

Why did I care?

Why did it bother me that Riley had given my brother his number?

There was nothing wrong with it.

He had asked for professional reasons.

Riley had agreed.

Normal.

Completely normal.

So why was I irritated?

I sat down.

Then stood again.

I walked toward the window.

My thoughts wouldn’t stop.

He had never texted me.

Never called me.

Not even once.

And I had his email address, his company’s contact information, and every professional channel imaginable.

But apparently, my brother now had Riley’s personal number.

I frowned.

Maybe Riley simply preferred keeping things professional with me.

That was probably it.

Except—

He had been perfectly comfortable with my secretary.

And my mother.

And now my brother.

Maybe I was the problem.

The thought irritated me even more.

I picked up my phone.

Opened my email.

There were several messages waiting.

One was from Riley.

I stared at his name.

Then opened it.

The email was exactly what I expected.

Professional.

Detailed.

Organized.

No unnecessary words.

No personal message.

Just the project.

I read it twice.

Then put my phone down.

I leaned back in my chair.

“What is wrong with you?”

I said it quietly to myself.

There was no answer.

Only that same irritating thought.

Why was it so easy for Riley to smile at everyone else?

Why was it so easy for him to give my brother his number?

Why was I always Mr. Stanley?

Was my first name really that difficult?

Vincent.

It was four syllables.

No.

Two.

Two syllables.

Vin-cent.

I frowned.

Was he deliberately avoiding it?

And if he was—

Why?

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

I remembered the last time he had said it.

Vincent.

Just once.

And I remembered how strangely pleased I’d been.

At the time, I hadn’t understood why.

Now I was beginning to wonder if I had understood more than I wanted to admit.

I opened my eyes.

No.

That was ridiculous.

Riley was my interior decorator.

That was all.

I had hired him because he was talented.

He was professional.

Dedicated.

Reliable.

And apparently willing to drive six hours for a light.

That was why I respected him.

Nothing else.

Absolutely nothing else.

So why, when I thought about him giving my brother his number, did I feel like I’d been personally insulted?

I didn’t know.

But I knew one thing.

I was pissed.

And this time, I couldn’t even blame the project.