Will Be Yours Ch. 05

"I'll always have you. No matter how far you are, you still remain my daughter."

She softly squeezed my hands. "I'll sure miss you, though. A lot."

"We don't know anything yet, so relax." I returned to my chair and finished up the meal.

"NJ had called today," mom said, "She's moving to Birmingham in a few months."

NJ, or Norma-Jean, was a first cousin of mine, whom I hadn't seen in ten years. I vaguely remembered what she looked like from a few pictures my mom had shown of her. For some unknown reason, mom liked her a lot, not because she was her sister's daughter, but because she found her headstrong and feisty.

"Really? But why? She never liked this city."

"Her husband has been transferred here. He has arrived. But since their kid attends school there, it'll take some time before they can make the move."

"I see." I'd never been interested in my siblings or relatives, so it didn't matter to me.

"You want some chocolate cake?" she asked me once my plate was empty of all the duck, stuffing and sauce. I burped softly and tapped my tummy.

"I think I'm full," I said. I really was after the way I had orgasmed on the roast. "But since you ask, I might have a bite."

"That's like my good girl." Mom happily collected the plates and went back to the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with two small plates with some tempting chocolate cake. Mom and I often chatted over dessert or coffee after dinner. I liked to hear about her work and she always wanted to know how life was for me. Mom was a cross between a friend and a mentor, but since I was the younger one, she was more affectionate towards me.

When I went to my room that night with a belly full of food, the first thing I did was share the wonderful news with Scott. I had met him about two years ago, at a Rotaract Club meet here, and had eventually become friends. A retired Army man, he now ran a cafe at Velmont Town, a small hill station a few hours' drive from here. Scott was my closest friend and confidant in a sense. Despite being married with two naughty sons, he gave his friends all the attention that he possibly could. You need advice? Help? A drive at 3 a.m.? Count on Scott to come to your rescue. He was that kind of a man. A special man.

"Hey, sweetypie," his cheerful voice sounded on the other end, "How was the interview?"

He hadn't forgotten. He never forgot anything.

"I am selected," I squealed softly, "I join tomorrow."

"Wow! Congratulations!"

"Thank you! Are you still at the cafe?"

"No, I've been home all day. Carrie hurt herself."

"What happened?" I was worried now. Carrie was Scott's wife of fourteen years and the mother to his boys, who also happened to run the most popular Thai restaurant in Velmont Town.

"Oh, nothing much. She injured the index and middle fingers of her left hand making tomato paste. Needed twenty stitches to fix them."

Twenty stitches? And it was nothing much?

"That's... terrible." I didn't know how else to put it. "Is she okay now?"

"Yes. She just can't use her left hand for some time now."

"I wish I could come to see her," I rued.

"You can come to see all of us sometime later," I could sense his smile. "As of now, you need to decide what you're going to wear tomorrow." He paused, and from the sounds, I figured he was cooking dinner. "How about the short blue skirt you were wearing in the photo you sent me last week?"

"Scott!" I glared, even though he couldn't see. Scott broke into his full-bodied laughter, his deep voice resonating in my ears, down to my soul. He could joke about everything. Perhaps, being in the Army had taught him how to face any situation calmly.

"You're sexy when you glare and smile at the same time," he said, "I'm sure the people at your new workplace are going to have a tough time keeping their heads straight with you around."

"Geez, am I that troublesome?" I pouted a little, slipping in between the covers.

"You're a firebrand."

"No, I'm the good girl. I can do nothing wrong."

"Oh no, you can't. No wonder your mom and the rest of your family love you so much."

"I don't care much about the rest of my family. But my mom's support means the world to me. She's taken great pains to raise us."

"I know. And I think you've pulled out all stops to make her proud."

"I just hope I can keep up at it." I sighed, turning to my side. "I'd hate to fail."

"You won't." I could almost hear him smile down the line. "All the best, baby."

"Yeah, I need it. Because I feel my life is going to change in the next few months."

--

The next day was busy, so were the following days at work. I interned till afternoon, then wrote the day's project report, and went to college to submit it. I discovered on the first day that I was the only intern at the company that year. Back in the School, I had heard a lot about how picky they were, but it still baffled me to think they chose me out of all other candidates.

For the first few days, I was handed the task of cold-calling or prospecting for potential clients, members, or partners. From my knowledge and my earlier experience at work, I was aware that this job often came to entry-level biz dev employees or interns. Since I had already worked with marketing companies earlier, my sales pitch seemed convincing to the organisation and they put me in charge of convincing other companies that a partnership would add value to their business.

However, very soon, I was put in the team for a new product development. Cold-calling had been easy and I had also managed to initiate a couple of deals. But I didn't really have any product development experience besides a few projects in class. The organisation found my skills too good to be used for prospecting and wanted to make better use of me. In the next few days, I found myself providing creative inputs and suggestions that were readily lapped up by the team. The more promise I showed, the tougher roles I was given.

More than three weeks since the start of my internship, I got four days off to complete a project. In the meantime, I managed to squeeze in a few extra classes and a seminar on Business Communication. For some peculiar reason, I liked to attend the seminars held at the School and outside, unlike some others who looked for excuses to skip them. The announcement on the notice board let me know that the seminar on Business Communication was being conducted by Samuel Fischer and was titled 'Business Communication and the Key to Positive Relationships'.

The fact that Sam would be delivering an hour-long seminar and then interacting with the students for the next hour made it an irresistible offer for me. Sam was by far the youngest teacher in the School and had many female students crushing on him for being so mentally stimulating. These business management girls preferred men who they could talk to over the all-brawn-no-brain types. Despite Sam's ordinariness, he took no time to become popular among students, as much for his fantastic grasp over his subject as for his brilliant camaraderie with students.

Sharp at four on a Thursday, I walked into our conference hall that was a huge, state-of-the-art room for lectures, seminars, conferences and screenings. I made myself comfortable on the second row on the right and searched for a friend or classmate in the crowd. No one. There were familiar faces, some of whom smiled and waved at me, but no one I could actually start a conversation with. I anyway had very few friends. Besides two or three friends with whom I stayed over at their dorms to work on class projects, Scott was my only other friend. Business school was for networking and professional relationships. Hardly anybody cared about friendships here.

Ironically, I was there to hear a lecture on building positive relationships at the workplace. Sam as usual was dapper in a black suit minus a necktie. Hands clasped in front of him, he walked up the stage and took the podium, as I fetched the leather folder from my bag where I took down notes.

I was soon to realize that it was unnecessary. Sam had the audience enthralled from the first word, to the extent that most people didn't even get a chance to take their eyes off the stage and write something. I was one of them. It was the first time I had attended any of his lectures or seminars, and I found myself wondering why he hadn't come to our college earlier. He was a brilliant speaker- witty, intelligent, charming, knowledgeable. He didn't hold a PhD in Management Science for nothing. He absolutely deserved it. If one minute he had the audience in splits with his funny workplace anecdotes, then the next minute he'd stimulate our grey cells with challenging questions that nobody had an answer to. Although he'd been a teacher almost all his working life so far, he had sound knowledge about the workplace culture. At the end of the first hour, I looked down to find I hadn't even opened the folder.

The Q&A session was even more interesting. Interesting and uncomfortable. For me. Because his eyes scanned the audience time and again, and they stopped on me much more than they should have. Sam and I had met several times in the last few weeks, on the campus, at the press, or at the library. I had noticed that despite having a Mac, he preferred to get information from books. I had also often seen him noting down things in his notebooks. But whenever we had met, our conversations had always been restricted to professional talk. Work, studies, future career goals. We also talked about books. When I once happened to mention that I liked Ayn Rand's style of writing, he went on to speak three whole paragraphs on how and why he didn't quite relate to her theory of objectivism. But amidst all that professionalism, his fondness towards me was apparent. I was aware of my prettiness and of my personality, that had often attracted men into my life and unknowingly made way for relationships. I wasn't ready for a relationship in the next few years since it was a crucial time for my career. But with Sam around, I felt my hormones playing merry hell with my senses.

And it wasn't the best thing when sitting at a seminar in a room full of people. It didn't help when he unbuttoned his coat or walked about on stage in those tailored trousers. He wasn't conventionally sexy or good-looking. But there was something about him that distracted me.

"Yes, Ms Adamson?"

His voice echoed in the hall, jolting me back to reality. I realized that I had been staring at his face the whole time. And he had decided to go ahead and make me more nervous.

"Umm... yes?" I muttered like an idiot. Now the whole room was staring at me.

"Any question?" he smiled at me. I removed my gaze from him and looked down at my folder. "No..." I stammered a little, "Nothing."

"Well, then, I'll take the last question for today..."

To my relief he returned his attention to the audience and for the next few minutes I pretended to remain very busy writing. He obviously loved making me nervous. One of my boyfriends had even told me that I was cute when nervous.

What a nice thing to say to a girl!

Sam, I felt, echoed that sentiment. As the seminar came to a close and the people started shuffling out, I used the people in front of me as buffer and tried to exit the hall without having to bump into my object of distraction. But luck seemed to be on his side. Inches away from the door, I collided with someone and dropped the folder on the floor. It opened and had the papers scattered all around. To add to the horror, my bun came undone as I kneeled on the floor to pick up the pages. I was struggling to collect the pages before anyone stepped on them while trying to keep my hair out of my face when a pair of black formal shoes stopped in front of me. I lifted up my eyes to find Sam grabbing several pages at once with his big hands and placing them in the folder.

"You looked like you wanted to ask something," he said, neatly arranging the papers in the folder. We weren't looking at each other. "Why didn't you?"

Because I was distracted. "I didn't have anything to ask," I said, taking the folder from him. "Thank you."

I rose to my feet and proceeded to tuck the folder in my bag. Behind me, Sam had also risen.

"Are you okay?" He gently asked.

"Yes."

"You seem upset."

No, just distracted. "I'm fine, Dr Fischer."

I turned to face him. Our eyes met. And it just made my legs weaker. He gazed at my open hair. Not many people on campus saw me in untied hair normally. He had just become one of the lucky few.

"Are you sure?" He asked, coming forward, hands firmly shoved in his pockets.

"Yes." I gulped, lowering my gaze.

"I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

He brought his hands out of the pockets and crossed his arms against his chest. "Well, I thought we'd agreed you'll call me Sam."

"You called me Ms Adamson," I shrugged.

"I was addressing a seminar," he explained.

"And we're still on campus. So it's fair."

He finally laughed, shaking his head. His teeth were even and bleached. Or so they seemed. I liked the way his hair bounced when he shook his head.

"I think I should leave," I said, rolling my hair up again. "It was a great seminar, by the way. I enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed delivering it as well." He held the door open for me and I walked past him outside. I had never noticed his perfume but that day I did. It smelled manly.

"Cynthia." He called out and I stopped. He approached me, looked around, and pulled me to an isolated corner. "I wanted to ask something," he said. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'm off from work till Sunday."

"Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow?"

He asked it so coolly it gave the impression we'd been friends for a long time.

"Dr Fischer—" I began.

"Sam." He corrected me.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said earnestly, "You're a professor here."

"You said we're friends?" he crossed his arms again.

"But not coffee buddies," I shook my head. "There should be boundaries."

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. I lifted my gaze to find him staring at me. Exactly. What was I afraid of? In another six months, I wouldn't be a student anymore. What was the harm in having coffee with him once? Was I conscious about the fact that he could be my professor, even though he wasn't? Or was I afraid that he'd reciprocate my feelings?

"Sam..." I felt my voice trembling as he came closer to me. I looked up at him, his big broad physique towering over me. I had grown up without the presence of a father figure in my life. Sam was older, gentle, wise. Having him in my life would be a dream. But would he feel the same way about me?

I needn't have worried. Because when he smiled, it seemed to have all the answers to my questions.

"Tomorrow at four," he said slowly, as though he was making a five-year-old understand. "Do you know Coffee Time?"

I nodded. "I often go there." I said.

"Coffee Time it is then," he announced, "Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No." I looked away and closed my eyes for a brief moment. "I'll be there by four."

"Listen," he gently held me by my arms, "Don't be afraid, okay? We're not world famous celebrities. No one's going to know. I promise."

"I'm not afraid," I mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. I felt his hands leave my arms. And then he had one finger under my chin, turning my face towards his.

"Give me a smile," he said, "I want to be sure I'm not making you do something you don't want to do."

"You're not." I finally allowed a smile. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"Good." He put his hand in his pocket and came up with a business card. "Keep this," he gave the card to me. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure what I'd need to call him for.

"I'll see you tomorrow at four." He patted my arm and walked past me. I was still looking at the card in my hand when his voice came again.

"Cynthia?"

"Yes?" I turned around.

"I love your hair."

And with that, he had walked off, leaving me to almost hyperventilate. I sagged against the wall, holding the business card against my chest, eyes closed, pulse racing. Tomorrow at four, I was meeting Dr Fischer. No. Sam. I only hoped the excitement wouldn't kill me by then.

--

I looked at my watch again. Three fifty five. I had been too nervous to remain home any longer, so I'd dressed early and left for the coffee shop. Sam wasn't here yet. Of course it wasn't four yet either. But I couldn't help the little fear bubbling inside me. What if he didn't turn up?

I looked down at the book I was reading to while away time. The waiter had come for my orders but he went away when I told I was waiting for someone. I wasn't in the mood to eat either. The nervousness in the pit of my stomach was too much already.

"Hi." I felt a soft touch on my back and lifted my head to find Sam sitting down at on the chair next to mine. "I see you've got your nose deep into a book here as well."

"I was just passing the time." I felt a little embarrassed. I did read a lot. But I loved to.

"I was kidding," he laughed a little, rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal hairy forearms. His fingers too were pretty hairy. He was wearing a casual white and black nautical striped shirt and blue denims. It was the first time I had seen him in something other than a suit. And he looked very smart as always.

"Do you want me to place our orders?" I asked, putting the book inside my bag. "I was waiting for you."

"Sure. Go ahead," he smiled, "What do you prefer?"

Something in his smile caught my attention. He seemed... distracted. On all the days that I had met him, his smile had been heartfelt. But that evening, I found the silences longer and he often sank into thoughts. I knew it wasn't me. Something was bothering him. Although it was none of my business, I still felt compelled to know if everything was alright with him.

"I'd like a choco latte." I said. "What about you?"

"I'll have an espresso."

I called the waiter and placed our orders and from the corner of my eyes, I saw him lost in contemplation. Was it something at the School?

"Are you okay?" I finally asked, unable to hold back anymore. "You seem lost."

"I'm sorry," he looked apologetic. "It's nothing. I just have a few things on my mind, that's all."

"You can tell me, you know that, right?" I touched his arm. "We're friends."

"You wouldn't understand. You're too young."

"You had said I'm more mature than others," I countered. He laughed again, but it wasn't his usual happy laugh. He was definitely subdued.

"Let's not spoil the evening, alright?" he told me, as our coffees arrived.

"I'll understand," I said, "Tell me what's wrong. We're here to talk."

"Cynthia-"

"Sam. Please."

I liked him. I'd feel great if I could hear him out. Sam paused for a few minutes, during which he fiddled with his coffee mug and I stared at his face. I had a feeling that anything that he'd tell me after that silence would change our equation forever.

"I had a fight with my wife a couple of hours ago," he said softly, still rolling the mug. Then he looked at me and gave a rueful smile. "It's nothing new, though. We fight all the time."

The mention of a wife made me draw my hand away from his arm. I looked down at my chest to find the hot knife that I felt I'd just been stabbed with. I hadn't expected him to be married. I was under the impression that he'd been too busy with his research and teaching to get married and my hopes had been strengthened by the absence of a ring. That's what had made me say yes to the coffee in the first place.

"She doesn't live here at the moment," he continued, "Sometimes we don't even talk for days. But when we talk, we end up fighting."