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Chapter Twenty-One:
Communication’s Poster Children
More distant days,more sleepless nights. Sterling was being a real dick, and I was making it as hard on him as I could. I left my Crocs in places where I knew he’d trip over them, wore the apron every time I was in the kitchen, along with the shorts that made every inch of him hard. I showered at night instead of the mornings so he’d have to see me patter to my room in a towel. I did everything I could to drive him as crazy as he was making me.
And through all of it, he held strong. I didn’t know his true reasoning for pulling away, but logic told me it had to do with his position of power. I was his employee, and ever the businessman, Sterling took work in all capacities seriously.
But still, fuck that asshole. Fuck him for not letting me decide, fuck him for being so damn hot, fuck him for making me want him. I could’ve written a book on the different reasons to tell him to fuck all the way off, but I didn’t. I’d put a genuine smile on along with my pajama shorts and give that man hell.
I had to, because the alternative was unbearable.
Leaving Charlie was off the table, and if something happened between us and then ended, how would we navigate that? Charlie was like the father I always wanted, and I knew our time together was doing wonders for his health even if he was still battling that cough. No matter what the future was between Sterling and me, I was going to be by Charlie’s side.
I watched as the cashier slid the cough syrup over the register, the mindless beeping testing my small thread of sanity that was remaining. Maybe Caffrey was right, I was insane. I chuckled out loud, only furthering my realization when I saw the concerned look on the cashier’s face. Whatever, at least my little devil is good company.
I blared Disney music the entire drive home, ensuring that every car around me at the red light knew better than to talk about Bruno and felt lighter as I carried the groceries in. Disney songs had a way of doing that for me. “Afternoon, Silver.”
He was wearing a shirt this time, only making me regret that text once again.
“Miss Bryce. I caught Carl with one of my shoes this morning. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” he accused, quiet and deadly.
“Nope.” I avoided his gaze and grinned. “I told you he preferred those, Sir.”
He hummed. “Funny. I could’ve sworn I put those shoes in my closet.”
I snorted, struggling to compose myself. “Fucker sneaks in my bed at night sometimes, too. Must have learned to open doors ... or your memory just isn’t what it used to be.”
“Oh, my memory is perfectly fucking intact.” He ran a hand over his face and stood. “It’s fine. I’m working from home for the next week, anyway. I’ll have new ones ordered.”
“From home?” That caught my attention so suddenly I had to play it off so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction. “That will be good for Charlie. You should take a day off so we could take him somewhere. You look like you need the day off, anyway.”
“Do I?” He stepped closer, too close, and stared down at me. “What exactly does that mean, Miss Bryce?”
“You’re extra you lately.” I offered a tight-lipped smile and kept rummaging around like I was unbothered, but his intense gaze burned through me. “Do you really want me to elaborate? Fine. Let’s elaborate.” I closed the distance between us as much as I could and stood tall. “You’re a dick.”
His eyes widened. “That’s rich, coming from you at this point. Are you going to stand there and tell me you haven’t been intentionally making my life a living hell?”
“Have I? I thought you didn’t give a flying fuck?”
“Is that seriously what you think?” he asked, sounding more hurt than angry. “That I just don’t care about anything?”
“Have you ever tried to communicate otherwise? With anyone? Look, I’m not trying to just be some crazy bitch, but can you please put yourself in my Crocs?”
“Zeppelin, if I ever so much as graze your Crocs with a gloved hand, kill me. In the meantime, I’ve always tried to be honest with you. I might fucking suck at it, but I try. So if you want to know something, just ask. Don’t sit there and act like you’re the poster child for perfect communication skills.”
“I never claimed to be. But what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey boss, I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone more than you in my life?’” My eyes widened when I realized what I said but I didn’t take it back. I meant it, and he knew it.
His eyes darkened. “Is that what you want to hear, Zeppelin? That I think about you fucking constantly? That seeing you with Ollie, with Caffrey, with Jake ... makes me want to fucking hit something? That smelling your perfume all over this house makes me ache? That you’re so fucking beautiful it almost brings me to my knees?” He huffed, tilting his head back and running his hands through his hair. “Fucking Christ, I break everything I touch.”
“No, you don’t.” I reached out and pulled my hand back instantly. “Why not, then? Why are we torturing ourselves?”
“Do you have any idea what would happen to my father if you left?” he asked, sitting down on the floor. “He’s lost everyone he’s ever loved, Zeppelin. His best friend to the war. My mom. Ollie’s never around. He barely tolerates me. He loves you. I won’t be the fucking reason he loses you too, I just won’t.”
I sat with him so he wouldn’t feel vulnerable. “I’m not going anywhere, Sterling. Why would you assume he’d lose me?”
“I’ll reiterate the fact that I break everything I touch. There’s a reason I pay for the company I keep, and when I inevitably blow this up, you’ll leave. Or I will, if you don’t. And yeah, you could make the argument that this might be the one that pans out, but I’m not willing to take that risk with my dad still here and needing you like this.”
“Well, we can add this to the list of ‘fuck yous’ because you’re an idiot.” I stood up to get some distance so I could breathe. “I’m not going to assume I know why you have such a negative mind, but if you think anything could blow up enough to make me leave Charlie, then you don’t know me at all. I love being here, love being something bright in his life, and fuck you for doubting that. Sorry, Silver, but you’re not that fucking special. No one is.”
“Okay, great,” he deadpanned. “Thanks for that PSA, I’ll be sure to alert the press. In the meantime, why don’t you make me a drink?” He pushed himself to his feet, straightening his dark grey tee.
“Yes, Sir.” I bowed sarcastically, pouring us both one and shoving his in his hands. “Here, I spit in it.” I didn’t, I would never do something so disgusting, but it was my way of letting him know I was still mad at him as I held my glass to my lips and began to drink.
I held eye contact as he drank every drop then set the glass down and clenched his jaw. “You may not think I’m anything special, Miss Bryce, but I’m still your boss. Do better.” He glanced at the cup one more time and then stole mine right from my hands, turning on his heel. “Snore whenever you want, by the way. Seems like you fucking need it.” In his signature move, he was gone before I could sift through the sea of loud, angry curses in my head.
I poured and downed a drink, then five more of them before I went up to my room and attempted to get off, but it was a failure. Of course it was a failure, because that seemed to be my signature move.
Way to go, Zepp. He hates you all over again.
