"Come in," Mr. Stirling beckons, his voice resonating with authority.
Summoning my courage, I grasp the door handle and push open the elegant glass door, its weight yielding to my determined push.
"Excuse me, Mr. Stirling," I address him, my voice steady but my heart racing.
He acknowledges me with a nod, his piercing gaze fixed on my face. I gather my thoughts, preparing to deliver my message.
"I came here to clarify a misunderstanding, sir. Your son wasn't attacking me."
"Miss, I know what I saw..." Mr. Stirling interjects, his voice firm but tinged with uncertainty.
"You saw it wrong!" I quickly interject, my words laced with urgency. "I mean, you interpreted it wrong. It wasn't what you were thinking."
Inwardly, I berate myself for using the term "you." Will my slip of tongue cost me my job?
"No?" he questions, his confusion evident.
"No," I respond, my voice deliberately measured. "In fact, he was merely helping me with my arm."
"Maxon? Helping someone?" Mr. Stirling scoffs, his disbelief coloring his words. "That's not like him at all. Did he force you to come here and tell me this, young lady?"
His expression morphs into one of concern and seriousness, his eyes searching my face for the truth.
"No, he didn't force me, I swear," I vehemently shake my head. "I'm simply telling you the truth."
He studies me intently, his countenance pensive, as if weighing the validity of my words.
"Very well. If you say so... I apologize for the commotion," Mr. Stirling concedes, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of regret.
Silently, I reassure myself that I don't need his apology. However, it's best to leave that unspoken.
"By the way, I would like to express my gratitude for securing me a scholarship at Roosevelt School. It meant a great deal to me," I offer, my voice tinged with genuine appreciation.
"You're welcome," he responds nonchalantly, as if the magnitude of his action is inconsequential.
With a polite farewell, I exit the room, a wave of relief washing over me as I confirm that I have done the right thing. Yet, there remains one final task on my agenda.
Summoning my resolve, I knock on Maxon's bedroom door before tentatively pushing it open, a tray balanced carefully in my hands.
"I told you I didn't want dinner, Kate," Maxon reprimands, his back turned to me, bare-chested and engrossed in manipulating an object in his hands.
My gaze involuntarily traces the landscape of his back, mapping the tapestry of scars that adorn his skin.
"Hey," I address him, my voice laden with tenderness.
Slowly, he turns his head, meeting my eyes with surprise etched on his face.
"Oh, hi Margo," he responds, taken aback by my unexpected presence.
Gently, I place the tray on the nearby table, my eyes momentarily captivated by the intricacies of the camera he had set aside.
"I told the truth," I assert, my words direct and unwavering, my gaze fixed on his face, awaiting his response.
His gaze flickers briefly, descending to the ground before returning to meet mine.
"Okay," he utters, his voice void of emotion.
YOU ARE READING
A Bad Boy in my life
Romance"I used to think I knew what being hurt felt like, but then I met him. How I miss the days when he was a stranger to me" *** When Margo is dragged into the Stirling family's house, where her mother works as a maid, she comes face to face with Maxon...
