In David's home, the old woman, Mrs. Rita hurried back to find him staring sternly at his bleeding hand, the shattered glass nearby.
"What happened, David?" She rushed to his side, forcing him into a chair. "Please tell me you didn't break that glass with your hand." She began cleaning the wound with cotton wool, her concern evident.
As she tended to him, David remained stoic, his inner turmoil evident in his distant gaze.
"What's wrong? Is it a woman's problem?" Mrs. Rita prodded gently.
The mention of women caused David to flinch, his pain evident in his expression as he glanced at her.
"Mrs. Rita, it's nothing," he replied dismissively. "And I'd appreciate it if you could be a bit more gentle."
"Hey, don't talk to me like you're playing poker. I'm your elderly nanny, and you should speak to me with respect," Mrs. Rita chided.
David rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask you to come live with me in Los Angeles."
Mrs. Rita raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You can try to act tough, but I know you better than that."
"I don't like it when you act like you know me so well," David retorted, his frustration palpable.
"I don't care," Mrs. Rita shrugged, letting out a giggle.
His phone buzzed on the couch beside him. Glancing at the caller ID, he quickly turned the screen face down.
"Who's calling?" she inquired.
David hesitated, reluctant to answer.
"Oh, let me guess. It's Nikki," she ventured with a knowing smile.
David shot her a surprised look, prompting her grin to widen.
"You're probably wondering how I figured it out. Well, your dear sister has been bombarding me with calls for days," she confessed.
David raised an eyebrow suspiciously, prompting her to continue. "Yes, I've been avoiding her," she admitted, exhaling as she began to bandage his hand. "She's been adamant about coming here. I have a feeling she might show up soon."
"No, she won't," David asserted confidently. "I'm sure she'll let you know before she arrives."
"She did threaten me, though. That's why I decided to tag along with you to L.A. I may love New York, but I can't stand Nikki. She's intolerable," she explained.
"You left her because you think I'm better?" David rolled his eyes.
"No, I left because I love you more, silly!" she retorted with a playful grin.
"I'm not a boy, for heaven's sake. I'm a man," he scoffed.
She waved dismissively. "Whatever."
"But if Nikki calls, talk to her and try to convince her to stay in New York," he instructed.
Rita's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"
"Because even though you may not be fond of her, she tends to listen to you, and you know why," he explained.
"Okay, but why don't you want her to come over?" Rita inquired further.
David paused for a moment before replying simply, "Maybe I have some things to sort out first…"
"I suppose with that woman," Rita interjected eagerly.
David silently stood up and walked towards his room upstairs, leaving Rita to ponder his words.
The following morning, David stood by the glass wall in the living room, gazing out at the lawn while sipping his coffee, trying to push thoughts of Carissa from his mind.
"You don't seem ready for work today," Rita observed, joining him. "Good morning."
"Good morning," he responded, glancing briefly at her. "I'm not going to work."
"Did you make a mess you can't fix?" Rita teased.
"I can't stand the sight of someone," he muttered, his gaze falling on the jacket Rita had draped over her arm, recognizing it as Carissa's. "That is…"
"She left it. I meant to tell you last night when I found it," Rita explained.
He tried to feign disinterest but eventually looked away. "You can get rid of it."
"Hey, I just washed it," Rita protested.
"Did I ask you to?" David retorted.
"I knew it belonged to that woman who was here last night," Rita persisted.
Ignoring her, David headed to the dining room and began his breakfast. Rita followed, pouring him a cup of tea.
"That woman was crying when she left last night," Rita mentioned softly, setting down the kettle.
David's grip tightened on his utensils. "Really?"
"Yes. Anyway, you should return the jacket to her," Rita suggested gently.
"I need to rest," David replied curtly before leaving the room.
"You just woke up, boy. Geez," Rita muttered, frowning at his unfinished breakfast.
Arriving at his room, David found himself unable to shake thoughts of Carissa.
"If I call her, she'll come to pick it up," he decided, dialing her number. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach her, he sighed in frustration.
"Why isn't she picking up?!" he growled, tempted to throw his phone. Just then, the door opened, and Mrs. Rita entered, giving him a puzzled look.
"Why do you seem so agitated?" she asked, concerned.
"They make you feel terrible, acting all perfect," he groaned. "I told her…"
"Oh, you mean the woman from last night?" Rita leaned in, her curiosity piqued.
David grimaced. "You said it, not me."
"Come on," Rita nudged him. "Tell me more about her."
"I don't appreciate your curiosity," David replied curtly, walking past her.
"So?" Rita persisted.
He spun around, giving her a pointed look. "And you don't…" His phone rang, cutting him off. He quickly answered it.
"Yes, George? I know… the meeting is tomorrow," David said, glancing at Rita, who was trying to eavesdrop on his conversation. "Um, isn't she at work?" he added in a lower tone.
"Who, sir?" George's voice came from the other end.
David frowned at Rita. "Can you excuse me and stop listening in?" he requested, pulling the phone away from his ear.
Rita pursed her lips and frowned before dropping the jacket on the side of the bed and leaving the room. David resumed his call, sitting down on a nearby couch. "I'm asking about Carissa."
"Oh, she's not at work. She's sick," George informed him.
"What?" David jerked up to his feet, his eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the unexpected news.