I Speak...Love (A Different Road #3) by Annalisa Nicole

fair to her to wait until the last minute to call her. She’s going to need time to hire another photographer.
    I look at Stephen, and he’s staring at me with concern because I haven’t answered him yet.
    “I’m good,” I lie. “How are you?” I ask.
    His face has morphed into so many emotions since he walked in the door in such a short amount of time that I’m having a hard time keeping up with what they all mean. He was happy when he walked in to see me, he was sexy when he kissed me on the cheek, he was concerned just a second ago because I didn’t answer him, but now I’m not so sure what’s on his face.
    Oh God. Yes, I do know that look. He knows I just lied to him.
    I have a tattoo of a chameleon on the left side of my upper back that represents so many deep and personal things to me, and right now I wish I could blend into the brown leather seat cushion so he stops looking at me like that. I’ve had to morph into so many different people and put on so many fake faces over the years to hide my feelings that I’ve perfected the art of being a chameleon.
    It’s an absolutely stunning tattoo. It starts at the corner of my shoulder with a pink orchid, then the chameleon stretches across my shoulder blade. He’s sitting on a branch surrounded by green foliage, followed by another pink orchid at the edge of my spine. I certainly could never afford a tattoo and I didn’t pay for it. It was done by a tattoo student for free. She was just learning the art of tattooing, and it was part of her training. She did an absolutely amazing job. Last I heard, she’s now an award winning tattoo artist working out of Las Vegas.
    “Maddy?” he calls.
    I really need to stop drifting off in thought.
    “I baked you some chocolate chip cookies last night,” I say with a smile, reaching into my catering bag.
    I take out the cookies, remove the lid and extend the container toward Stephen. His eyes close and he visibly inhales their sugary goodness.
    “What’s wrong, Sweetness?” he asks, opening his eyes.
    Oh God, not the nickname again. I could answer that question so many different ways right now. I’m still devastated my camera was stolen. I’m definitely still beating myself up for becoming attached to it in the first place. I know better. How about this big one? I shouldn’t even be here in Stephen’s office, this will definitely hurt worse than losing a broken camera when he’s taken away from me. Not that he’s mine to begin with. But currently, I’m devastated about upsetting Courtney.
    My mind is traveling in ten different directions all at the same time. Stephen’s eyes are moving back and forth as he searches mine like he’s reading my thoughts again and he’s following each direction. His head tips to the side in some sort of realization like he just found the direction of my current problem.
    He gets up from the chair next to me, then he walks to the other side of his desk. He opens one of the bags and removes one of the items. My heart instantly feels like someone just hooked it up to a defibrillator and shocked my heart at the highest setting. As he walks closer to me with the box, I sink farther and farther into the chair.
    No. Please say this isn’t happening. Too much goodness. He can’t do something nice like this! The consequences will be too great. As much as I hate showing weakness in front of people the quickest tear I’ve ever shed escapes and rips a path down my cheek. I know I’m selfish for even thinking a person like Stephen could be interested in a person like me. It’s even more stupid to believe in wishful thinking that someone good like Stephen could just walk into my life.
    “No,” I manage to whisper.
    He sits down in the chair next to me, then he opens the box. He removes the packaging, then takes out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and one I could only ever dream of touching in a dream of a dream.
    “It’s you,” he says, holding it out to me. I shake my