Chapter 76 – Pleasing the Boss

Her ch*st rises sharply as her breath hitches. When she speaks again, her voice trembles. “But you don’t want me, Hadrian. You’re just a spoiled boy who thinks he wants what he can’t have.”

That’s what it is. That has to be what it is. Spoiled, privileged, billionaire boy. It’s a slap in the face because she sees me so clearly. It’s a knife in the gut because I think there’s more truth to it than that, but if she can’t find it, I don’t think I can either.

I loosen my hold around her, and take a step back, clearing my voice. “I’ll have Bette send over a calendar of events. André will continue to deliver you personally selected clothing. I guarantee that everything on the schedule is warranted, Brystin, but beyond that no promises. What happens when we’re together happens. Is that clear?”

Her body tenses, her spine growing taller, but she doesn’t refute. “It’s clear,” she says, then leaves my office without looking back.

The thing is that I’m spoiled for a good reason—because I have enough money and enough power not to have to deny myself anything at all.

Brystin POV

I hold my phone against my shoulder with my chin. “Maybe he doesn’t think it’s fair,” Shiloh says, as I climb out of the car Hadrian sent for me. “You’re expected to work five days at a high stress job, and then you have to go to spend your weekends doing publicity? Maybe he thinks it’s too much.”

It’s a lot, but it’s not beyond expectation. Not when I’m a nobody, and I’m trying to build my reputation. “You know that’s not the reason Elvis’s upset about the PR schedule. And since when do you defend him?”

I pause to get my bearings. It’s the first time at the North Shore Yacht Club, and I’m not sure where I need to be. All Hadrian said was to meet on the deck, so I’m guessing it’s around the back?

“I’m not defending him. I’m trying to think of why he might be throwing a fit besides the obvious reasons. If you start believing he’s jealous, next thing you’ll be happy dancing that it proves he has feelings, and a month later when he’s neglecting you again, I’m bringing you tea while you sob in my bed.”

The accurate depiction of many past episodes makes me cringe. “Believe it or not, his jealousy doesn’t make me feel anything but annoyed.”

“Because you’re all up in your feels for Hadrian?”

I lower my head, as though passersby around me might hear her, though of course they don’t. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

It doesn’t matter if I don’t want to talk about it—she already knows. I’ve spent many a Sunday morning the past six weeks relating the details from whatever event Hadrian had required me to attend the night prior:

The charity showing of Hadestown where he fi**gered me in the dark during the second act.

The book festival at the Javits Center where I blew him in a bathroom stall.

The Summer Fun parade in Brooklyn where we were almost late because we were doing sixty-nine in the back of his limo.

The SNC VIP Fourth of July Party where he f**ked me in a hidden corner on the rooftop while fireworks filled the night sky.

I can’t even blame all of it on Hadrian. Every time, like the night at his uncle’s, I’ve encouraged it. Spread my legs. Opened my th**hs. Got on my knees. Once, when it seemed he was trying to keep his hands off me, I actually begged.

“You don’t have to talk about it for it to be true.”

I push through the door of the main building. Spotting a bar and a deck behind it, I head in that direction. “We can’t keep our hands off each other. That’s all,” I lie. “It’s physical. Like all of Elvis’s side relationsh*ps.”

“I know you are not trying to convince me this means nothing to you. Don’t forget I know you.”

“I’m not trying to convince you. I’m trying to convince me.”

“Did it ever work when you said that about Elvis?”

The reminder that I’m in the same exact situation with Hadrian as I was with my husband is a knife that I have repeatedly stabbed in my gut for the last several weeks. “What am I supposed to do, Shiloh?”

“Stop giving them part of you, B. Figure out who you want to be with, and make them take it all.”

As though it’s that easy to cut off either of them. “Elvis wants more of me than Hadrian does.”

“Are you really sure about that?”

I am, and I’m not. Hadrian said I wasn’t special to him, but he doesn’t act that way when he’s with me. The way he looks at me, the tender way he touches me even after we’ve f**ked rough, I keep thinking there’s a part of him that might want something more bet**en us. I don’t know how to bring it out of him, though. I don’t know if he knows how to bring it out of himself.

In the end, it isn’t something I should be exploring. “My marriage is open to sex with other people, not emotions,” I tell Shiloh as I step onto the outside patio.

“Well, I’ve been telling you all along, your marriage is bullshit, so that’s how I feel about that.”

“Thank you, Shiloh, for clearing that up and, as always, mocking the important choices I’ve made in my life.” It’s more biting than I intend, with bitterness better directed at myself, but I’m in a mood now and not in a place to act with such self-awareness.

Especially now that I have to put on my professional face because I’ve just spotted Adly. Or been spotted by her, rather. “Love you, Shiloh, but I have to go.”

I cl**k off my phone and sl*p it into my purse then make my way over to Hadrian’s sister, who is alone at a standing table, waving me over like I’m supposed to be meeting her, and hell, maybe I am. Hadrian wasn’t very forthcoming about tonight’s event, and the simple black sleeveless number he provided for the occasion didn’t help with any clues. As far as I know, this could be another whole Seymour shebang, as many of them tend to be.

“Are you here for…?” Adly asks when I make it to her.

Not wanting to sound clueless, I simply say, “Hadrian asked me to meet him here.”

Her eyes go wide before breaking into the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen her give. “I knew it. I knew it.” Without warning, she wr*ps me into a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy for him. For you. For both of you.”

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