Chapter 68 – Pleasing the Boss

“I most definitely am not joking.”

“That’s…oh God…” I know how many important people go through his office on a daily basis. More blood rushes to my cheeks. “Is it going to be a bitch to replace?”

“Oh, I’m not replacing it. I’m not letting the cleaners touch it either. That’s a historic landmark.” He grins as he glances at me, but I’m pretty sure he’s serious.

“I am mortified.”

“That’s too bad because I’m f**king proud.” He reaches over to put his hand on my th**h, and even though I’m exhausted and satiated, tingles run up my spine.

Different kind of tingles than I’ve spent the last several hours feeling. Tingles that are less directed toward my p**sy and more directed to my heart.

Ah, f**k. I think I’m in trouble.

He doesn’t let his hand linger, which is probably for the best, but it feels like a deliberate severing of connection since he removes it with a clearing of his throat. Like the hand had been a mistake that he’s now realized.

An all too familiar ache replaces the warmth of his palm. This is how it’s always been with Elvis. He’s wary, his every touch guarded. As though I’m a fragile thing to be careful around. Don’t want to be too effusive or affectionate with Brystin. Don’t want her to think there’s more bet**en us. Don’t want to lead her on.

My thoughts spiral from there as we drive in silence. Until I can’t stand it, and I need to hurt myself before Hadrian does. “How many women are you f**king?”

I study him while I wait for a response, so I see the tensing of his jaw and the twitch of his eye. I watch his l*ps draw tight as he decides his reply. “You mean like how many men are you f**king?”

I’m immediately ashamed. Because, of course, he thinks there’s Elvis. And since I have someone else, do I really have a right to ask about Hadrian? If I were braver I’d say what I really meant. That I’m not ready to be done with him. That I don’t know what’s going on bet**en us. That I’d be willing to reexamine my marriage if he thought for a second that he wasn’t ready to be done with me too.

But I have love PTSD, and so I stay in the safe lane. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

His features relax ever so slightly, but he’s quiet for almost a full minute. “It’s not so much that you shouldn’t have asked. It’s that there’s another question that matters more.”

“What question is that?”

“How many women am I romantically inclined toward. That’s the question you should be asking.”

There’s a ringing in my ears, and my heart thunders in my ch*st. A strange storm of elation starts to build inside me. Could we actually be on the same page?

But then he goes on. “The answer is none.” He swivels his head in my direction, looks me in the eye. “I don’t have romantic relationsh*ps, Brystin. It’s just sex and a good time. So it doesn’t matter how many people I f**k. Because no one’s special.”

I turn my head toward the road, unable to hold his gaze. Otherwise, he might see how watery my eyes suddenly are, and wouldn’t that be stupid to cry? When I asked the question in the first place. When I knew I was opening myself up for hurt.

But this stings more than any answer I’d been expecting. It’s an echo of too many previous relationsh*ps. Men who’ve thought I was perfectly fine to f**k, but little else. Men who’ve been clear that they don’t want more, and yet I can’t help but give every part of myself and still feel shredded when they refuse to take it.

I’d started out so good with Hadrian. Putting intercourse off-limits, then as soon as he breaks me down, he’s already worried I’ll become attached?

No. We’ve already said one time. This speech wasn’t necessary. “Why are you telling me this?” I force myself to look at him. “Have I given you any indication that I need to know that I’m not special or are you just particularly fond of being cruel?”

He doesn’t answer, because he’s more in control of himself than I am. Because he’s so uninvested that nothing’s driving him to be out of control. He just chews on his bottom l*p and gives a slight nod of his head. As if he’s thinking, yep, here she goes with the emotions.

And because I am who I am, and because I’ll always wish there was something bigger, something real behind the callous front, I let myself consider for a second that he’s protecting his own emotions. Maybe he’s afraid of getting hurt. I’m the one with—for all intents and purposes, though not literally—a ring on my fi**ger, and we’ve basically said this is all there will be bet**en us.

What if he’s as neck deep into this as I am?

But that’s the same sort of optimistic thinking that has trapped me in a loveless marriage. I can’t what if about Hadrian. Only way to keep my heart is to take everything at face value.

Luckily, the next intersection is half a block from my stop. “I’ll get out here.” I take advantage of the red light so that I don’t have to spend another minute trapped in this painful awkwardness.

“Come on, don’t be like that. I’m not letting you—”

But I’m already out of the car. “I had a good time, Hadrian. Thanks for the ride.” I manage not to slam the door, then hustle down the street to our apartment, pretending I don’t notice Hadrian driving slow enough to keep pace with me or him idling when I stop to put in the door code.

f**k him for that. For caring enough to be sure I’m safe.

In the lobby, I wave at the doorman as I quickly bolt past, hoping he doesn’t have a chance to take in my freshly f**ked appearance before I make it to the elevator. I will myself not to cry before I make it to my floor, and somehow manage.

Outside our apartment—Elvis’s apartment, since I’ll never feel like his f**kpad is mine—I gather myself before walking in, then shut the door as quietly as possible, so as not to wake him.

As soon as I turn around, I realize the attempt was in vain because he’s sitting in the living room, a single lamp on, and a book in his lap. No reading glasses, though, so I know he’s only been pretending to be reading.

Great. He waited up for me. Just great.

“You’re awake.” I’m not in a space to have anything more remarkable to say.

He’s careful with his response, but his tapping foot says he’s not happy. “You disappear without a word from the party and stay out all night without answering your phone. You think I could sleep?”

“So now you know how it feels.” I regret going there as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I’m too exhausted to make good decisions, it seems. “Forget I said that. Sorry I kept you waiting. I’m obviously fine. I’ll be better about communicating in the future.”

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