Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
16.
His words cut me off. Surprise and embarrassment clouding my gaze at the realization of what Mr. Wright had said. Why had I said anything in the first place? I was good at overthinking things, but I was even better at saying much more than needed. Mr. Wright was no different. I could feel the heat as it burned in my cheeks.

Maybe it was his intimidating presence, or the fact that this person walking beside me who chased off those men, and asked to walk me home, was why I said what I did. This wasn't the Carter Wright I spilled coffee on. Although, I told myself that it was because I was afraid and frustrated and there was no one else around me.

It was nearly impossible to tell if he cared. With those ever-expressionless green eyes, I was sure he wasn't even listening. Then again, I could've sworn I caught a glimpse of emotion, caught in the way he looked at me and pulled me from that man. The way he picked up my purse, as if he could see right through me.

I could never tell what Mr. Wright was thinking, and wouldn't be a surprise if no one else could, but this time, I couldn't help but notice the glimpses of what looked like sympathy, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.

"Mr. Wright..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "I don't want you—"

He met my stare, face hardening as he frowned. With cold yet forceful words, he said,

"I don't care."

My heart began to pound in my chest as thoughts of my apartment began to surface, coming home from the office to find my place completely torn apart. From finding my door propped open, to the upturned couch that I had been sleeping on and strewn kitchenware, maybe it was relief that I felt at the thought of staying in my boss's home. I didn't want to think about going back.

Opening my mouth to give one last objection, Mr. Wright's piercing stare shut my mouth, giving me no choice but to follow after him as he turned to walk the opposite direction.

As the silence fell over us, and relieved thoughts began to diminish my fear, I began to wonder why Mr. Wright was out so late. Glancing in his direction, I noticed the black Adidas track pants and a black tee that hugged his thick arms and lean body. There had been no question in my mind that Mr. Wright was fit, but without a suit, he looked like a completely different person.

With a good few inches on my five foot seven frame, I had to lift my chin to meet his face, taking in just a hint of his scarred face. I could tell he was in his own world of thoughts, and if it weren't for his eyes flitting around us, over each car that sped past, the way the corners of his mouth were pulled downward every so often, I probably wouldn't have been able to tell. When he caught me staring, I jumped in fright, hastily averting my eyes.

Not too far from my own apartment, we came to a quieter, street-lit neighborhood, cars parked along the street nearly bumper to bumper, the houses small and similar in style. They were unlike anything I could've imagined Mr. Wright living in, but when he led me up one of the many walkways and pulled out a set of keys, to say I was shocked was an understatement.

With only a single glance in my direction, we stepped inside.

A dimly lit lamp lit up a small living space—only a couch, coffee table and a recliner to fill the area, but it looked nothing short of cozy. A set of windows that overlooked the street.

I couldn't help but take in the place, my mind dancing both on awe and surprise, that this intimidating, arrogant boss had such an inviting home. It seemed ironic.

It smelled of him, of cologne and male and distinctly Mr. Wright.

"This is where you live?" I asked softly. Even though the place was small, it seemed my eyes couldn't take everything in. I nearly missed Mr. Wright's nod, and when I looked at him, I found his eyes already on me.