Chapter Five
I had a quick lunch of peanut butter and jelly before I worked my shift at the library. There wasn't as much to do as the night before so I found a little time to do an internet search on Mr. Crawford. I typed in 'Elijah Crawford' as it appeared on the business card Patricia handed me on my way out, and a bunch of news articles on various sites popped up.
I could have clicked on any of them. Some of the blurbs boasted a mini-bio with an exclusive interview. Others mentioned his most recent accomplishments in business. But one article in particular caught my interest more than it should have:
'Crawford/Newman split'
I clicked the link and was taken to a tacky looking tabloid site with a summary of Mr. Crawford's most recent break-up:
'Elijah Crawford and Ophelia Newman have recently formally split and gone their separate ways. The socialite has eluded to, but not explicitly stated, that Mr. Crawford was notorious for his cheating and unfaithful behavior. When questioned, Mr. Crawford did not comment. The couple had been together for at least three years with mention of an engagement until the unexpected split.'
I recalled how Mr. Crawford spoke about not wanting an attachment. Was it because he was incapable of being faithful? It would make sense to me. He seemed to have it all. The looks, the money, the life. He could afford to play around and not have to fully commit to another person. Before I had time to continue my research, students began to line up at the help desk to check out references. The rest of my shift was spent pulling books or re-shelving, and before I knew it, it was time to clock out.
After effectively having punched out, I hurried home and carefully pulled on the dress that Jess had laid on my bed before putting the heels in my purse. I would change into them once we arrived at the restaurant. My insulated boots would have to do for the time being. I pulled on the wool overcoat that Jess insisted I wear, and threw on my knitted wool cap and mittens.
Once I was ready, I waited by the window, unsure of what I should be watching for. I double-checked Patricia's email and didn't see any other instructions other than that he would pick me up. As I was scanning the message, an incoming call lit up the screen. I didn't recognize the number but answered anyway.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Mitts. This is Elijah. I'm just around the corner. I'll be there in about five minutes. Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. See you soon." He hung up.
A few minutes later, as promised, a sleek black car pulled effortlessly into the driveway. I hurried to the door and pulled on my boots before opening it and locking it behind me. He met me on the path to the house and stopped, waiting for me to approach him. My heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest as his large frame towered over me. Even in my clunky boots, I was still a good head shorter than him.
"Good evening, Ms. Mitts."
"Good evening, sir."
He held out his elbow and, like I'd seen in movies, I slipped my hand into the crook. He secured it with his other hand, and a waft of his cologne puffed out of his coat to permeate the air between us. It was subtle and unlike anything I had ever smelled before. It reminded me of the forest and just stepping out of the shower. A rain shower. And sex. Or, what I imagined sex might smell like. But, yes, this scent was probably most definitely sex.
"I assume you didn't take note of the dress code at Nonna Leoni's?" He looked down at my boots as he opened the passenger side door for me and motioned inside. He seemed upset, but I tried to ignore it. I settled into the seat and reached behind me for the seatbelt. Even his car smelled delicious. He closed the door softly and I watched as he walked over to the driver's side. Once he was buckled in his seat, he gripped the steering wheel. "I was hoping we wouldn't have a repeat of yesterday. I can't take you into the restaurant if you're not dressed appropriately."
I was suddenly glad that Jess had taken initiative and helped me with my wardrobe, but also irritated that Mr. Crawford didn't think I had taken my interviews seriously. Or even consider that I may not have the means to dress for a place like Nonna Leoni's.
I pulled the heels out of my purse and dangled them in front of him. "I take it you don't know anything about women and their secrets in the winter?"
I expected him to get angry and blame it on me instead. I braced myself, waiting for him to raise his voice at me, but it remained quiet for a long moment. He glanced over at the shoes and it felt like the energy in the car plummeted.
With a heavy sigh, he let his hands fall into his lap and his shoulders slumped. "I guess an apology is in order." His eyes closed and he blew out a harsh breath. He looked back over at me, completely composed and sincere. "I'm sorry, Avery. That was not right of me. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt."
I stared at him, unsure of what I should do or say. Had he really just said that? I brought the shoes to my purse and carefully tucked them inside. It was hard to swallow and I couldn't look at him. "It's okay."
"We're good?"
I nodded. "Yeah. We're good." I peeked over at him. "I'm curious, though. Did you expect me to wear high heels in this weather?"
He gave a curt shake of his head. "Of course not. I had assumed you would wear boots that were a little more formal. I suppose that's what I'm most accustomed to with the women who work in the office and my exes."
"Oh. I see." So, it was obvious, then. He wasn't used to someone who didn't have everything at the drop of a hat. It made sense. My mind wandered back to Ophelia Newman. Ms. socialite extraordinaire.
"Even with the boots, you look lovely tonight." His lips pulled up into a handsome smile. Even in the dark, I could see the twinkle in his eyes. Like yesterday, he was clean shaven with a subtle five o'clock shadow. I could feel his eyes looking me over. It made me feel really self-conscious, and I couldn't look at him while he assessed.
"Thanks. I think you look nice, too."
"Thank you. Are you ready?"
I nodded and he put the vehicle into reverse. After pulling out of the driveway, he sped at a speed a little more than I was comfortable with out to the main highway. The little sports number zipped and zoomed around other cars with ease, and his skill made it seem effortless.
"This is a really nice car."
His mouth pulled up into an almost boyish smirk as he kept his eyes on the road. "I have a few toys here and there. It's definitely not one I use to commute with regularly."
"I see. I thought that this was an interview. It feels a little more like," I paused as a I searched for a word that wouldn't offend him. Could I say that it seemed like a date? How would he take it if I told him that it felt like I was being interviewed for more than just home-making?
"If it feels like a date, that's not my intention. You have my apologies. I rarely get the occasion to take out the vehicles I store for enjoyment so I take advantage of the opportunity when I can. As for the nature and location of the interview, I chose Nonna Leoni's for a specific reason. I can explain more in detail later if you're hired."
I shrugged. "Whether you decide to hire me or not, I get a free fancy meal out of tonight." I gestured with my chin at the steering wheel. "So, you're an opportunist."
He chuckled slightly. "I suppose it's fair to say that. I suppose it's also fair to assume that you are as well since you applied for a position with little to go off of. I purposefully left the ad vague."
