Hate to Love You(51)
I did my job competently—no, I excelled, putting in extra time and making sure James had no reason to complain. But no matter how well I worked he was on channel I for iceberg, as far as I was concerned. I tried not to let it get to me but his constant perusal was unnerving. Why had I thought I could work with him and stay indifferent?
Because absence makes the Paisley grow stupider, my mind supplied helpfully.
Well, nearness was filling me with confusion. I wanted to hang on to my hatred but it was getting harder every day. Beyond the civil politeness required in an office situation James spoke to me very little.#p#分页标题#e#
“Glutton for punishment” had become my daily truism.
My mind zapped me when I insisted I didn’t care if James spoke to me; it zapped me when I told myself his coldness was welcome. Every time I insisted that James only affected me because he was a supercilious, arrogant prat the pain throbbed long and hard.
I insisted a lot.
My constant headaches made me irritable and defensive and by the end of the working day I was eager to escape the man who’d turned my mind into a sadist. I tried to shore myself up with thoughts of future contact with Ryan, clinging to the reasons why I had taken the job. My plan had been to wear James down with my demands but he was wearing me down with his silence instead.
Our friendliest interaction so far went like this: James, in his usual position at my back, arms crossed and looming as he double-checked my work. Me, twisting to glare up at him.
“Should I keep a chair there for you or mark your spot with an X?”
“It’s Bernardo Stuperschlick—please pay attention to detail, Miss Benítez.”
“I thought it was Stupid Dick.”
The tiniest hint of humour played tug-of-war with James’s lips and lost. He leaned over my back and pointed to the screen, washing me in a tide of expensive aftershave. I detested that potent, masculine smell and I hated it when he got close. It was an invasion of my personal space and I wished he’d stop doing it.
Zap!
Zap!
Zap!
After that, James had gone back to his desk and ignored me. That was fine because I hated it when he looked at me.
Zappity zap!
The same pain I’d felt that day throbbed in my temples now, radiating behind my eyes. Damn James to hell! Through the multi-coloured spots in my vision I pictured the face of the man who had robbed me of my child.
“I hate that man,” I said, wincing.
Tarzan’s voice was gentle. “Are you sure it’s hatred?”
I dissected the word in my mind, six little letters that spelled out what I felt for Caroline and Manuel. Is that how I felt about James? Did I enjoy that he was being talked about and ridiculed? Would I relish his misfortune or feel satisfied if he were denied happiness? I shied away from answering.
“He’ll never forgive or forget,” I said, flinching as I imagined his reaction if he found out the truth about Ryan.
“Maybe his anger will fade.”
I snorted into my glass. I might no longer be able to read James, but some things don’t need to be spelled out. “Kahlu thought so. She told me to write James’s full name in blue and stick it in the freezer. It was supposed to cool his ire.”
“Did it work?”
It had done more than that. I’d long since removed the paper and burned it but not a bit of the James iceberg had thawed into the blue-carpeted sea that separated us.
Tarzan frowned. “Have you tried praying?”
“Yeah right.”
I bit back another sarcastic comment, not wanting to get into a discussion about God. Tarzan is as stubborn as I am and our arguments about religion never end well.#p#分页标题#e#
“And what does Marcia think of you taking advice from the voodoo woman?”
“It’s not voodoo—you need wax and needles for that. And Marcia thinks it’s great. She wrote ‘Trevor Wilson’s penis and scrotum’ in black and put it in the icebox. She hopes it’ll freeze his dick off.”