Chapter 3
NATALIE
S tomping resentfully, I march my way back to my bedroom. I was obviously
pushing my luck thinking of asking him about moving out. He has always
made it crystal clear that everything he does for me is his responsibility, never out of actual care or concern. If I were to bring up the topic, I’m sure he’d toss the idea out instantly, insisting it’s his obligation to keep me safe and all that blah-blah-blah.
I sigh heavily after slipping into my pajamas, staring listlessly at the dew that’s formed on my window. Fortunately, the rain has stopped, but regardless of the absence of thunder and lightning outside, there’s a storm brewing inside my head.
I’m not a child anymore.
If my grandfather were around, he would have already allowed me to move out on my own.
Living with a cold man like Derik in a large, desolate place, having my every move dictated and scrutinized, has only made me feel emptier through the years.
If only he could show me a little warmth, then it wouldn’t be so bad.
I would be a liar if I said that I’ve never once felt my heart flutter when near him. But he never fails to remind me that he’s only concerned with what is expected of him, and there is nothing more to it. Derik Lewis is all business and nothing but.
Clearly, he doesn’t want me to get the wrong idea.
The idea that he might actually have a heart.
Over time I’ve gotten used to him, numbing out and finally getting over my stupid, unrequited crush. It could never work out anyway. My background is not as affluent as his and, in a sense, we’re like family.
I’ll head downtown and do some shopping for new clothes tomorrow. I refuse to give him the chance to see me as incompetent and childish when I show up for work. Turning off my bedside lamp, I curl up and drift off to sleep.
“Good morning, Ms. Quinn.”
William, a professional man in his late thirties, greets me with a plain expression on his face when I enter the breakfast room in the morning. Seeing that Derik is not around, I frown. He’s never been one to skip breakfast.
“Mr. Lewis has business to attend to at the headquarters. He had to fly back to San Francisco early this morning to deal with it.”
I flash a polite smile and nod in response.
Derik is a busy man, after all. Being the chairman of a large and listed company like Lewis Corporation is not child’s play. I admire his discipline and work ethic, but I can’t understand his character and disposition.
“Mr. Lewis also told me to help you choose appropriate clothes for work. He’s collected a list of brands and new releases for this season. Would you like to
have a look?”
I flash a look of suspicion toward the tablet in his hand.
“He asked you to do what?”
“These are the styles he’s approved of,” William responds, swiping and scrolling on the gadget. “I’ll make calls and have them delivered today after you finish choosing.”
My jaw drops.
I’ve never been stingy. I have my own financial freedom. Thanks to the assets my grandfather left me, money has never been an issue. But I can’t get around the fact that Derik has the time to nitpick what kind of clothes I should be wearing.
Is he trying to impose martial law on me?
I scoff silently.
This is fashion terrorism and a violation of my expressive rights!
Mrs. Whittle sets the food on the table quietly and urges me to eat. I oblige after inviting William to sit down and have a meal with me, which he declines politely, saying that he needs to make calls while waiting for me.
After about twenty minutes, I’m unhappily seated in the living room with the fashion enforcement tablet. I can’t help but snicker at the clothes that are ‘Derik Approved.’ All of them are from high-end brands but are styles a woman in her fifties would wear.
Tossing the gadget aside, I dial Derik’s number, it immediately goes through–
as usual. He always picks up my calls, probably making sure I’m not in an emergency or something.
“I know you feel like you’re responsible for me, Derik. I understand that you’re a loyal person, but you don’t need to nitpick everything. I’m not incompetent.”
The line is quiet for about three breaths.
“Nitpick? This is not debatable, Ms. Quinn.”
I pause, realizing this is the first time I’ve ever called him by his first name.
“I am not wearing clothes made for a middle-aged woman! How will I ever find a good man if you insist on dressing me up like a nun?!”
