The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 8

There is a moment when your vision of someone gets clearer. It's like sitting in the eye doctor's office and they have you take an eye test where you quickly learn which of the two small visual discs they offer makes your vision clearer. Everything snaps into place, and you suddenly see the world with startling clarity. You had no idea three seconds before just how utterly blind you were.

That is what it was like looking at Tate as he stood before me, refusing to make eye contact with me. He was a boy of all smiles, but he was someone who could also lie. Because I had no idea just how much pain he had been hiding.

It took me a moment to process what I was seeing. The black v neck that stretched across his body fit perfectly. He hadn't ruined anything. Then I saw them. My eyes caught on what he had wished me to avoid seeing.

Scars. Long jagged cuts that had healed into sharp lines, cut across his arms from under the shirt. Like something had broken him apart and stitched him back together in a hurry.

More scars snaked up his chest from under the v neck and ran up to his collar. "I should have told you... I... was in an accident..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry."

I blinked, looking up at Tate as he stared at a spot over my shoulder like a lifeline. "What? Why are you sorry? You have gone above and beyond today by agreeing to do this at all." I shook my head, angry that his first thought was to apologize. "Never apologize for your scars. They are a part of you. It's like apologizing for freckles after spending time in the sun."

"Yeah well..." he shrugged. "I can't really model like this can I?" Tate shoved his hands in his pockets, still unwilling to look me in the eye. "Like I said, you can't fix this."

I crossed my arms. "Bull."

He finally looked at me, surprise registering in his dark green eyes. "What?"

"Why can't you model?" I looked him over again. "You look great in this. With or without scars. If you don't want to walk out there and have your picture taken, I won't pressure you. And if you'd prefer to hide your scars for today, I can make that happen. But..."

I walked up to him and gently touched one of the long scars on his arm. "Don't let these scars define you. Don't let them make you afraid to be yourself, or hide under layers of clothes if you don't want to."

His muscle twitched under my fingers, where I touched his scar. "You are a very interesting woman Allie Winters," he said softly.

I dropped my hand away from his arm and took a step back. "As someone who has scars of her own, I just wish someone had told me that when I wanted nothing more in the world than to hide mine."

I glanced at his scars again. "Do they still hurt?" I could tell he had gotten them in the last year. I had patched up my sister enough times to know.

He shook his head. "Not too bad."

I nodded. "Okay, I have an idea." I walked towards the dressing room door. "That is if you still want to cover them?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I think it's a good idea."

I offered him what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "It's okay you know." I rested my hand on the doorknob. "If you want to go... It's fine. But—"