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Paisley put her hand on mine and smiled. “No pressure, Lola. We don’t need to know anything you’re not ready to tell us.”
Cassie pulled a face but sighed and nodded. “Yeah. Whenever you’re ready. But the sooner the better,” she added with a wink.
The door swung open and Mr. Stone came striding into my apartment fully decked out in a new suit and tie. He looked like he’d showered and probably smelled amazing.
“You two can go,” he said, hooking his thumb to the door like Paisley and Cassie were obedient dogs who would jump at his command.
To my shock, both of them got up, gave me quick hugs, and rushed out the door.
I was left relatively alone with the man who seemed too big for the small apartment–too big for the small, uncomplicated new life I was trying to build for myself here in Fairhope.
22
CHRISTIAN
Lola had put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a big blue t-shirt. She had showered at some point and her freshly cleaned blonde hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She was sitting in front of a relatively untouched bowl of soup and glaring at me after her friends left.
Why did she look so suspicious?
“What?” I demanded.
“You just barged into my apartment and told my friends to leave. Oh, and you pretty much decided to remodel my entire apartment while I was too delirious to stop you.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I said. I was, too. But an immediate and sharp realization set in: if Lola was better, my excuse to keep showing up here was about to be gone. We’d go back to our usual dynamic at work where the only time I ever managed to speak with her was when I was calling her into my office to yell at her for something.
“I’m going to pay you back for all of this. What do I owe you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Tell me how much I owe you. I don’t want to be in your debt.”
I clenched my fists, biting out the words. “You owe me nothing, Lola. This was all my choice.”
She got up and grabbed the bowl of soup, carrying it to the sink and setting it down. “Then at least tell me what this is all really about. If you have feelings for me, act like an adult and just say so. I’m tired of the games.”
My throat felt tight. I fucking wanted to tell her. I wanted to say she’d hardly left my mind since we met in the lobby nearly a month ago. I wanted to say I’d taken care of her because I was worried about her and that I hadn’t enjoyed being around someone in a very long time, even if she’d only been halfway herself for most of it. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew I needed to put a stop to this now before it got any worse, because just behind her irritated expression, I could see the glimmer of hope.
She felt something too, didn’t she? She wanted to hear me admit I had feelings for her because she was ready to tell me the same.
“What this was really about?” I asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “This was about making sure my employee didn’t die or become chronically ill from mold exposure. After I saw your living conditions, I would’ve been legally liable if something happened to you. It was covering my ass. Nothing more.”
Her palms were on the counter and her fingers were tapping anxiously as she stared back at me. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe. You’re my employee. That’s all you’ll ever be, and if you have any illusions to the contrary, I suggest you work through them before you come back to the office. Am I clear?”
Lola’s eyes brimmed with tears, but her face was a stony mask of anger. “Yeah,” She whispered. “Super clear. If you don’t mind, I was about to take a nap.”
It felt like I could barely breathe. I fucking hated myself for what I was doing, but I had to believe it was necessary. I didn’t trust myself to say anything else because I might take it all back and tell her I was full of shit. I clamped my mouth shut, turned, and left her apartment. Once I was in my car, I punched the dash and swore until my knuckles throbbed.
Was I doing the right thing, or had I just made a colossal mistake? Somehow, I felt like the answer to both questions was “yes.”
* * *
I expected the next few days at work to be lonely. After my conversation with Lola, there was almost no way we’d be chatting in the fitness center, my office, or even the penthouse. I knew she’d avoid me at best and try to find a way to poison my coffee at worst.
