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It’s been one month to the day since Trent started withholding sex to prove his point.
To prove that I need him… emotionally.
A shiver runs down my spine at the chilling thought.
The thing is that the bastard might actually be right.
Not that I’d ever admit it to him, but this past month has been… nice. I’m not sure what kind of black magic he used on me, but I’ve started to look forward to coming home to him. Sometimes, I even leave work early just because I know he’ll be there waiting for me.
It’s like, in one way or another, Trent is always waiting for me.
He is always there in the background, biding his time until he gets his way.
He’s always fucking there.
And the worst part is that I miss when he isn’t.
I know I need to put an end to this, and quickly, but a part of me doesn’t want to.
And that’s how I know this shit is getting too real for my liking.
So, to get ahead of this shitshow, I proposed we go out to lunch today.
Lunch, not dinner.
Lunch means business, while dinner may lead him to believe the invitation has romantic undertones. And that’s the furthest thing I want him to think. Now that our bet has reached its end, I think it’s best I sit Trent down—in a well-lit area full of people—and tell him that we should go back to our regularly scheduled program of one-night stands and lingering looks at parties.
Much safer that way.
“Piper, would you like to come in?” Brigitte calls out, alerting me to the fact that, during my inner monologue battle, she got up from her seat behind her desk to open Trent’s office door for me.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should stay out here with you,” I reply hesitantly.
“Don’t be silly. I’m sure he’ll be down any minute now. Would you like some water or coffee while you wait?” she asks politely.
“No, that’s fine. Thanks, Brig.” I feign a smile before stepping inside Trent’s office.
Brigitte is quick to close the door behind me, leaving me a little out of sorts on what to do.
Before Trent and I started… hell, I have no idea what label to put on what we started doing, so I’ll go with being more than mere work acquaintances. But before that, I used to love coming into this office. There was just something about having to walk in here guns blazing, that had my body tingling in anticipation. I’ve always felt so empowered within these four walls, as if there were nothing I couldn’t accomplish. Anytime there were negotiations to be made, I knew Trent would fight me every step of the way. While, at the time, it did annoy me that he was the only general manager that I couldn’t sweet-talk into doing my bidding, there was a sense of extreme pride and satisfaction when he’d cave to some of my demands.
Unlike hisAmerican Psychoman cave that he calls home, his office’s sleek and manly decor doesn’t put me off as much.
In fact, I feel at home here.
Maybe it’s because the business-like environment feels safe to me.
Or maybe it’s just because everything in here reminds me of Trent.
The office exudes sophistication and elegance with its clean lines, dark wood furniture, and minimalistic decor. A large mahogany desk sits in the center of the room, paired with a high-backed leather chair. One side of the room is all floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city’s skyline, while the other side is adorned with bookshelves all neatly organized with books and important documents, with a few carefully chosen Boston Guardians paraphernalia to add a GM vibe to the space. Overall, Trent’s office is a sanctuary of productivity and style, perfect for a modern man on top of his game.
Speaking from experience, Trent is always on top of his game here.
He’s always cool and calm, never letting anyone know what is really running through his mind.
I’d pay top dollar to get a free pass into his head and rummage around a bit to see what makes him tick.
A smile crests my lips as I start walking towards his desk, wondering if he’s left any clues as to how his wicked mind works.
