At the Right Time

Chapter Nine

Rylie ~ Present

What am I supposed to wear on the first day of working for my ex? Someone let me know. I can't believe I agreed. It's got to be my lowest point.

This fucker broke my heart and here I am, accepting his money like I need it.

I do need it, but I don't want him to know that.

I also need the experience.

I graduated early last fall, and haven't had any clients book me.

I get it. People want an interior designer with tons of prior jobs who know exactly what they're doing.

But how the fuck am I supposed to get that history, if no one will hire me?

I decide on black jeans and a beige top, figuring business casual will help me keep this strictly business.

I can't let my emotions get involved. I can't cuss out my first client, even if we have a past.

I throw my hair into a bun, leaving my bangs to hang close to my eyes.

"You look nice." Brian walks through my apartment. He came over last night, and I felt bad that I went to sleep early. I couldn't bring myself to have a normal conversation with him, let alone do more, when my mind was racing with the events of the evening.

"Thanks. I'm about to head out."

"All right." He grins, coming up behind me and pressing his lips to my neck. "Have a good day. I'm working late the next few days."

I nod, feeling a twinge of resentment that Maxwell got into my head and messed up the only night I'll have with my boyfriend this week.

I look at Brian in the mirror. He's everything Maxwell is not.

Sandy blonde hair, bright, blue eyes. He's got scruff on his jawline and he only stands at about five ten. He isn't very muscular, though he is lean.

Brian and I have always been calm. Constant. Safe.

He's a gentleman.

But even though we've been together six months, I still feel like there's so much I don't know about him.

Like, what his deepest secret is. Or what song got him through the hardest time of his life. When was he hurt the most?

I know his favorite color and the toppings he likes on his pizza. I know his favorite TV show. I know he likes to sleep with white noise and that he keeps the movie ticket from our first date in his car.

But I don't know his soul, and that bothers me.

I hadn't really thought about it until now.

I want to know what makes him, him. What scars does he carry, if any? What almost ruined him but he came back even better?

With a kiss goodbye, I leave him to get ready for work while I head out.

I stop for a coffee on the way, ordering my favorite— iced espresso with sweet cream.

The GPS takes me to the address Maxwell sent me. It's in the heart of Atlanta, tucked off of Main Street, down a side road.

I text him that I've arrived, and wait in the parking garage for him to appear.

I take a calming breath when I see him come through the elevator doors.

He's in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair is tousled like he's just gotten out of bed. Tattoos wrap around his right arm and half way down the left. He looks like a freaking model.