Page 132 of At His Beck & Call

Goddamn it, she’s right.

Putting my phone back in my pocket, I groan out loud as I head along the street. Snow is falling again, as the clouds try to decide if they’re going to gather or dissipate, and I glance up at the foggy, gray sky, trying to calm my racing heart.

As I arrive at Oliver’s place, I stand there for a long time, trying to think of exactly what to say.How honest should I be?What if I lay my heart out there and he stomps all over it and tells me to get out?

If you don’t do this, you’ll always wonder…

“Fuck.”

I walk up the steps and press the doorbell. As I hear footsteps approaching the door, I plan what I’m going to say in my head. My intention is to be calm and collected and just tell him how I’m feeling.

I need to work out how he feels, but with a man who is as hard to read as Oliver, that won’t be easy.

Steeling myself, I square my shoulders, waiting for the door to open. When it does, I catch my breath, once again not used to seeing Oliver in anything other than a suit.

He’s wearing a dark green sweater and jeans that make his legs look even longer than usual.

He freezes as soon as he catches sight of me. The snow is falling again, and I feel impossibly small and vulnerable on the front step.

I open my mouth to say something like‘I’m sorry to bother you…’or‘I know this is unexpected…’but instead what comes out of my mouth is:

“I need to talk to you. Right now.” And I slam my palm into the door, forcing it open and stalking past him and up the stairs before he can tell me to stop.

I reach the top of the steps as Truman careens toward me, giving a little bark of excitement as he jumps up on me. I lean down and stroke his head, and he licks my hand.

I can hear Oliver coming up the stairs behind me, and I walk quickly into the living room. There’s a fire burning, and it’s much brighter than when we were here last.

I pick up Truman and hold him tightly to my chest. He’s so light and soft, the rise and fall of his chest a comfort in the face of the panic coursing through my body.

Oliver comes through the doorway, his expression unreadable as he puts his hands into his pockets and looks at me.

He’s so beautiful, his hair curling over his forehead, his cheeks slightly rosy. He opens his mouth as if to speak, and I talk over him, desperate to get the words out.

“I’m not leaving,” I say sternly, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Lissa—”,

“No. I get to talk this time,” I say firmly, feeling the snow melting through my hair and onto my neck.

Oliver blinks at me, his jaw clenching as he looks away.

“You don’t get to dictate what I do with my life,” I say, taking a step forward. “I know that our… relationship hasn’t exactly been conventional, but I refuse to believe that I don’t mean something to you.”

Saying those words aloud is like a punch to the gut, and I keep forcing out each syllable, trying not to overthink it.

Truman wriggles out of my arms and onto the couch, trotting over to look at Oliver, cocking his head to one side, and then turning back to me.

“You brought my son and me into your home,” I continue. “You looked after Henry, cared for him. I know that I was upset about the money, and I’m sorry for getting things confused, but you shouldn’t treat someone as if they matter if you don’t want lines to get blurred. This isn’t just a job for me. It isn’t just a contract; maybe it never was. You’re the first man to treat me well in a long time.”

I tug my hair over my shoulder, only then realizing how drenched it is from the snow. I must look like a drowned rat.

“You saved me from my ex-husband, protected me from him in the hospital, and provided the money I needed for Henry’s surgery. I don’t know whether you negotiated that deal with James in order to be rid of me with a clear conscience, or whether it was to free me from what you felt was an impossible situation. But no matter what you intended, I care about you,and you don’t get to be the only person who gets a say in whether I see you anymore.”

I huff out a breath, his eyes giving nothing away as he stands in the light of the doorway, utterly motionless.

“If I’ve read this wrong, and this was nothing more than a transaction to you, then I’ll leave, and you won’t ever have to see me again. But if not, then I think we’re worth a chance. Because you and I shared something meaningful, whether you want to admit it or not.”

I fall silent, the weight of what I’ve said hanging between us, making the air in the room heavy and claustrophobic.