Page 113 of At His Beck & Call

She scoffs loudly, stepping over my discarded shirt as she approaches me, and it’s only then that I realize I’m naked, exposed, my scars on full display for the first time in my adult life.

But as she comes up to me, she simply passes me by, going to the door. I reach out instinctively, desperate for her not to leave.

“Lissa,” I say, but she shakes me off, going to the door and looking back at me as she opens it. “I wanted to give you something. I have so much. Please take it as I meant it.”

“And how is itmeant?” she snaps.

I don’t speak, horrified by the rage on her lovely face.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” she bites out and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her quietly so she doesn’t wake Henry. Truman’s head rises from the ottoman, whining at the back of his throat as he watches her leave.

Fuck me.

Chapter 39

Oliver

After I’ve stared at the closed door for almost a full minute, wondering what just happened, I tug on some clothes and leave the bedroom.

Reaching the door to the other bedroom, I pause, standing beside it, listening intently to see if Lissa is still moving around inside.

I want to go in there, drag her out, and bring her back to my room, anger simmering beneath my skin as I place a hand on the handle.

The one thing I told her at the beginning of all this was that we should keep open communication. I was clear that if anything between us had made her uncomfortable, we should talk through it.

But then, I never expected the very terms of our relationship to be in question.

I know I’ve clearly misjudged this, but it was a gesture to help her, nothing more. It isn’t as if she didn’t earn it. It’s a bonus payment for all the time we’ve spent in my office.

I stand there beside the door for a long time, listening for any sign of movement. I consider whispering her name, opening the door a bit, and asking her to come and talk to me.

But eventually, I just go to bed like a coward and lie awake staring at the ceiling until four in the morning.

When I wake only a couple of hours later, I’m hot and uncomfortable, my head swimming with questions I can’t answer.

She mentioned yesterday that she’s dropping Henry off with a sitter. I’m hoping she’ll let me drive them there, and we can talk once we’ve dropped Henry off.

Throwing off the covers, I go to the kitchen, making her a cup of coffee to distract myself from the unpleasantness of what’s to come.

Holding the steaming cup in my hand, I go and knock on the guest room door, but as my knuckles rap against the wood, it opens.

I walk inside to find the bed made and no trace of Lissa or Henry.

“Fuck!”

I spin around, wondering whether they just left, but I don’t hear any voices nearby. It’s the kind of silence that only comes from an empty house. I want to punch something.

Placing her coffee down on the counter in the kitchen, I put some kibble into Truman’s bowl and get out my phone. I call her, pacing the length of the room, but she doesn’t answer. Did she just walk out of our bedroom, pick Henry up, and leave last night?

Our bedroom.

My head begins to ache.

Does she still work for me? Have I screwed this up so badly that she’s completely walked out of my life?

I stare down at Truman as he laps at the contents of his bowl, crunching the dry food loudly as his little paws do a happy dance on the floor.

Gripping my phone tighter, I call Lissa again, but it goes to voicemail. It’s not even 7 am yet. How long has she been gone?