Melting the Ice

thanks guys :hug:

Chapter 2
At five P.M. sharp, like always, Sydney shut off her computer screen and grabbed her purse from underneath the desk. Once all her things were away, she walked over to the office door and knocked softly on it. She heard a gruff, “Come in,” from inside and cautiously opened the door. When she poked her head inside, Mr. Vaughn looked up at her. “I’m leaving,” she told him.

“Alright,” he sighed, turning his eyes back towards his desk. “Have a good evening, Sydney.”

“You too. See you tomorrow,” Sydney told him before shutting the door and walking towards the exit, pulling her car keys from her purse as she walked.

The usual twenty minute drive between her father’s house and Mr. Vaughn’s took nearly an hour that day, due to an accident on the highway. When Sydney arrived home, her father was already there, waiting, and looking furious. “Where have you been?” he demanded the moment she walked in the door.

“There was an accident; the road was closed and I had to wait,” she explained simply.

“Oh,” he said shortly. “Well… you weren’t here, so I didn’t know what to do for dinner.”

Sydney sighed and looked down to the floor, shaking her head slightly at her helpless father, who treated her more like a maid than a daughter. “I’ll start it right now,” she told him obediently before walking to the kitchen.

She shifted uncomfortably under the watchful eye of her father while gathering the ingredients necessary for their dinner. Finally, when he walked away to sit down in ‘his’ chair so he could read the paper, she relaxed with a sigh. Her father always made her feel tense, especially when he was hovering around, scrutinizing her every move. When she was younger and he did this, he would tell her in harsh tones what she was doing ‘wrong’ and how to do it ‘right’. As Sydney grew older, she realized that the ‘wrong’ way wasn’t the way her mother had done things and he was trying to correct it so that it was ‘right’ in his mind.

That was the one thing she truly hated about her father. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be anything like her mother; she simply wanted the freedom to be her own person if she so chose, but with her father, that wasn’t an option. She was trapped and, unfortunately, too afraid of him to do anything about it. He controlled everything, every aspect of her life. He took the checks she received from working and deposited them in a bank account that he controlled. She only had a limited amount of cash at her disposal, but she couldn’t even use it; he limited her outings to going to work and coming home, unless he accompanied her. She was trapped.

Once dinner was ready, Sydney sat across from her father and took her turn leafing through the newspaper while they ate, like she usually did. Typically, their dinner was silent, so when her father spoke, Sydney wasn’t sure what she was more surprised by: the fact that he was speaking, or what he said. “Sydney, what time will you be home from work on Friday?”

“Um,” she stammered, taken off guard by his question. “Um, five-thirty, the usual time, barring any traffic incidents. Why?”

“Well, I’m having a guest for dinner, and I was wondering what time to tell him,” her father said casually.

Sydney looked up and searched his face for any further explanation. In twenty-four years, her father had never had a guest over for dinner. “A guest? A business partner?” Sydney asked.

“Not exactly,” he told her, but offered no further explanation. Sydney knew better than to press the issue, so she let it go, though she wondered what exactly her father was up to for the rest of the evening.

~*~

The next morning, when Sydney awoke at six A.M., she began her typical morning routine. She crawled out of bed and showered quickly. Then, clad in her robe, she ran downstairs to start her father’s oatmeal for breakfast. After that, she returned to her room and changed into her work clothes. Once dressed, she returned to the kitchen and completed her father’s breakfast just as he was staggering down the stairs looking sleepy.

She then grabbed her purse and any other necessary items and was out of the house by a little after seven. On the way to work, she occasionally stopped and bought coffee (if she was feeling extra sleepy) and, finally, arrived at work at exactly seven-thirty, just as Mr. Vaughn was coming out of the main house and making his way into the adjoining office.

“Morning Sydney,” he said in a polite tone (the tone he always used in the morning, when no one had been able to irritate him yet and set off his irritable attitude).

“Morning,” she mumbled through a yawn. She walked over to her desk and flicked on her computer as Mr. Vaughn disappeared into his office. Then, she looked at the appointment planner on the computer and printed out that day’s schedule before carrying it into Mr. Vaughn’s office and handing it to him. “Not too many today,” she commented at the only three scheduled appointments on the paper.

“Good,” he said shortly. Then, without another word, Sydney returned to her desk, ready to continue the tasks she had been doing the day before.

At eleven thirty, sometimes a little later if things were extra busy, she’d take out the lunch she had packed the night before and grabbed on her way out of the house. Her lunch typically consisted of a cup of yogurt and a piece of fruit, sometimes a small sandwich, but never very much; she wasn’t a big fan of eating throughout the day, but usually snacked during the evening when she was at home.

Usually around this time, Mr. Vaughn emerged from the seclusion in his office to return to the main house, where he made his own lunch. Sometimes he would prepare whatever he was eating and bring it back to his office, so he could work while he ate, but other times he simply stayed in the house and returned half an hour later.

Day in and day out their routine stayed the same; hardly ever a change. It was comfortable, Sydney told herself, but some days she wondered if maybe it was too comfortable; the kind of comfort that becomes a rut a person is permanently trapped into, never able to get out even if they wished too. That was what she worried about most; that she’d always be the secretary to the bitter financial advisor, who was too closed off to have a real life, simply doomed to his self-made empty life, with her, sitting outside the door, waiting for her life to begin.
 
Jack is so controlling.

But, Jack and Michael sound a little alike.
They both have empty lives.

I wonder who the dinner guest will be.
 
I wonder if Jack is going to try and matchmake Sydney with the dinner guest or maybe the dinner guest will be Mr. Vaughn... -_-

Thanks for the great update!
 
Jesus...Jack is really bad......He needs to let her live.

Why do I get the bad feeling that his "guest" is someone he think would be a good relationship for her or something like that. Since he seems to want to control everything about her.
 
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