Just For You (2 page)

He waited a minute or two and still she didn't move an inch.

9:39 a.m.

He cleared his throat. "See something interesting? Trust me, that German philosophy is not as appealing as it sounds. Couple hours with it and you'll see what I mean."

"What is this? You're trying to start a conversation with me now?" Her eyes sparkled in a way he didn't like.

"Fine, I won't talk anymore—"

"Stop it. I'm teasing. You should lighten up. Can I ask you a question?"

"No bother asking for my permission as pretence; I know you're going to ask me no matter what my answer is."

Where the hell was his briefcase? He pushed his tie to his chest and started searching around for it, on the floor, on the desk, next to the sofa…

"How did you come by that book?"

"What book?"

The briefcase wasn't under the desk, or next to it, or on top of it.

"This one, right here. The small book with the brown cover."

He didn't have to look to know which one she was referring to. "I don't know," he grunted, shoving boxes a few inches to the left, trying to spot that damned briefcase. "I think it was in my mailbox or something. Someone just put it there, no note or anything."

Imogen blinked. "Have you ever read it?"

"No, not entirely." Aha, there it was, behind a filing cabinet next to the door. He must've chucked it there as he walked into the room, his hands full with Imogen. "I opened it once and read through it, but there wasn't anything important in it. It's a journal, full of inconsequential thoughts and nonsensical ramblings by amateur philosophists, better known as ordinary people." He waved a hand in the air as if dismissing any other inquiries she might have had.

"Random musings on life, hu? It might be more important than you think, Cameron. You don't have to have a degree to be insightful."

"
Au contraire, mademoiselle
. That is where you are wrong. A degree means education and an education means intelligence. I prefer to let the intelligent elite do the outrageous thinking."

If Imogen had a disposition in which she was easily put off, she might have been put off then. She had never met anyone like Cameron in her entire life, and she wasn't sure at this point if this was a good or a bad thing. Always the optimist, Imogen refused to let Cameron's cynical view of life get to her right away. But she was intrigued; his raw skepticism of anything and everything was almost seductive because it was new to her.

"Do you have a degree?"

"Not the one I wanted."

"But you have one."

"Of course."

"And do you consider yourself part of this elite, as you call them, then?"

"Not at all," he said in a mockingly light tone as he looked at his watch.

9:42 a.m.

"Shit," he whispered. "I'll be an hour late."

"You have somewhere to be?"

Cameron couldn't resist. If he had to defend himself, he'd say she walked right into it. "What was your first clue, Sherlock? The fact that I raced you up here? The fact that I've been checking the clock every three minutes? The fact that I'm now trying to subtly get you out of my apartment?"

Subtly wasn't exactly how Imogen would have described Cameron's attempts to get her to leave.

"I'm an hour late for work. I hate to rush you out…"

He wanted to smile as he said the words. He loved rushing her out.

"…but I really must be going. I have a job and other responsibilities I've grown tired of which I need to see to, unfortunately, and as much as I'm enjoying sitting here with you in my apartment talking about stupid anonymous journals and whether or not the common man is intelligent enough to make profound commentary on his own meaningless life, I do, as a matter of fact, have somewhere to be."

Imogen took his outburst with a smile on her face. She allowed herself to be heaved up by Cameron and escorted out the door. She stood next to him outside his apartment as he locked the door, wished him a good day as he glared at her, and waved to his back as he retreated down the hall and into the lobby.

She couldn't be sure where the feeling came from, exactly, but she knew that was not the last time she would ever see Cameron. Anyone else might have shrunk from the knowledge, but Imogen looked forward to it with an almost perverse anticipation. Next time, she promised to herself as she hobbled to the elevator, she'd get to thank him properly for setting her sprained ankle.

Chapter Two
 Sunny Afternoon

Cameron had sweat stains under his armpits and the collar around his neck when he walked through the door of City Bank. He blatantly ignored the stares he got from coworkers and customers alike, heading straight for the door leading to the employee's lounge behind the front desk.

His boss took the liberty of exercising her power over him.

"You're an hour late."

Cameron felt his blood pressure rise and his heart rate spike. Fresh sweat broke out on his forehead. The sound of his teeth grinding together was audible in the momentary silence. He figured his chances of getting fired were lower if he kept the rude comments to himself.

"Did you hear me?" she asked. "You are an hour late." Her long finger pointed at the clock, the minutes ticking away like drum beats in Cameron's ears. "Do you mind explaining to me why?"

Cameron read the clock. 10:12 a.m. Even though he ran to the bank at full speed, nearly knocking over many more people on his way, he still didn't make great time.

He ran a long hand through his hair and threw his bag down on the table, moving then to the sink where he wet a paper towel and ran it across his face.

"I'm sorry, Susan. It's--- it's a long story that you're not going to buy, even though it's completely true. I promise I won't be late again."

Susan's eyebrow arched and she crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight onto her right leg. "Try me."

Cameron laughed to himself. "Just suffice it to say that my alarm clock didn't go off this morning."

Half true. But Susan didn't need to say anything. Though he didn't see it, he could almost feel the change of expression on her face.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he turned toward her and shrugged. "I mean, at least I still came in today. I could have said 'fu--- screw it all' and lay in bed, but I didn't."

He wasn't surprised that Susan's eyes were glazed over with boredom.

"Can't you people ever come up with anything new and exciting? These old excuses really wear on me."

By her tone, Cameron knew he was in the clear, and he dropped his chin to his chest and ran the wet rag over the back of his neck.

"This is your last chance, Moody. Next time you're late?" She placed her forefinger against her neck and made a cutting motion and the appropriate noise.

Cameron rolled his eyes and went back to patting himself off, thinking to himself that losing his crappy job would be the cherry on top of his year.

* * * *

It was a beautiful day; just the type she loved. Hidden birds chirped their songs in the dense thickness of the trees, the sun shone high and bright in the morning sky, and it was a comfortable 72° Fahrenheit. In her mind, she was a girl of six years again, walking along the pier again, watching the boats out on the horizon while the birds sang noisily above her, the warm breeze rustling the green leaves of the willows.

She hobbled along the sidewalk, taking her own sweet time. No one offered to help her, but Imogen didn't stop. By the time she got to the street around the corner from her new apartment building, her ankle was throbbing and she was almost sure it was swollen but she told herself she wouldn't be long here and that she'd heat up a bath for herself as soon as she got home.

It was cool and refreshing inside the lobby of the small building. Imogen closed her eyes as the air breathed new life into her, her long hair blowing in its soft breeze.

It was more crowded there than she thought it would be, but most of the people were at their mailboxes, opening and skimming over new credit card offers. She smiled and said hello to the bellhop who tipped his hat at her.

The water in the bathtub was so hot that Imogen could see the steam rise up and feel it hit her face. She closed her eyes and slid carefully in, a bit disappointed at her misfortune that morning. It was such a nice day; she wanted to spend it outdoors rather than cooped up inside.

She planned all along to spend it at the park, and that was where she was headed when she literally ran into Cameron. To Imogen, it all felt like it happened simultaneously in slow motion and fast-forward. She never even saw him coming.

Imogen slid back in the tub, resting her head on its back edge. But she wasn't in her tub anymore; no, she was somewhere off, far away.

The smacking of body against body reverberated in her ears. There was something hard underneath her hands, something that gave in easily when she pressed her fingers into it, attempting to grab hold for safety: flesh. There were hands on her shoulders, fingertips pressing almost painfully into her back. Her equilibrium was thrown off and the street and people and buildings and cars in front of her eyes became a large, colorful blur. The scene then was as if an artist swept his brush across the masterpiece he decided wasn't good enough anymore.

Hands protected her head when she fell. Someone rolled so that she would be spared the brunt of the fall. It took Imogen more than a moment to realize that she was no longer standing up, but that she was half-splayed across the pavement and half-splayed across a body that wasn't hers.

Then there was pain. Sharp, shooting pain that made her see stars.

"Ow!"

She yelped, grasping for her ankle.

Grunts and the indifferent shuffling of feet were now the background music. A hand grabbed hers and yanked her up before she could even ask for help.

"Sorry," was the gruff apology she got from a tall man with too much hair on his head. It fell in messy, bouncy curls over his eyes and cheeks.

Imogen swallowed and nodded her head, pulling away from him. He seemed only too happy to let her go. She turned and tried to walk, but when she put pressure on her left ankle there were stars again.

"Ow…" she moaned, closing her eyes and grabbing on to the nearest thing she could find- a mailbox- for support.

From the corner of her eye she could see the stranger still standing there, watching her, and having an obvious internal debate with himself. Imogen took a deep breath and tried to walk again. This proved to be a lost cause. Her last hope was to call a cab and just as soon as she raised her arm she was clutched around the elbow and her arm was being tossed around the back of the stranger's neck.