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What are the rules to fucking your boss?
Oh yeah...don’t.
I also can’t get what Dakota said to me out of my head. He kissed another girl. Then hit her. At least that’s what she heard. I mean, I really don’t think he would do that. And I’m not sure how, or if I’m even going to say anything about it. This is all unfamiliar territory to me.
“Sterling.” He grabs my wrist, obviously seeing me run circles in my brain. “Don’t overthink this. Sure, this is new to me as well, but I invited you because I want you to come. I just don’t want you to feel obligated is all.” He brings his fingers up to my face to swipe a strand of my hair back into place.
I relax a little under his touch.
“Sorry,” I say, as I sigh in relief.
“And you need to stop apologizing for everything.” He pulls the car out of the parking lot.
“Sorry,” I say again, and he laughs.
“Why couldn’t your parents make it again?” I ask as we each scan our menus.
Callan sits across from me in the dimly lit restaurant. I can’t believe how hot he looks. His deep chestnut hair perfectly accents his warm hazel eyes. Tonight, he’s wearing a dark green suit with a cream-colored button up underneath, paired with a dark purple tie. Every day, Callan looks like he’s dressed to be someone’s best man, or the groom himself; the image sends thoughts of marriage to my head.
I’ve spent more time with him than I have any other man before and yet it’s still way too early to even think about the idea of getting married, but I can’t control the way my feelings grow when I’m around him. It’s dangerous to say the least.
He once told me he wasn’t a good man, but I am finding it so hard to understand why, when I can clearly see how perfect he is. This man runs a multi-billion-dollar company, treats his employees, business partners, and clients with the utmost respect and composed professionalism. He definitely treats his pretty little assistant the best.
“Sterling?” Callan’s voice catches me off guard.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You asked me about my parents.”
“Right.” I pull my attention back to him.
He looks like he’s contemplating. Before he can form the words to explain, I decide to chime in, hoping to make him feel more comfortable.
“I’m not sure what happened but I know all-too-well the shit shows that can ensue when it comes to family.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m about to share, for the first time, the one thing I’ve tried to avoid since leaving home.
“My dad left me and my family several years ago. He had an affair, pretty much decided that this other woman was more important than his wife and kids,” I start. Sometimes talking about it hurts, but I know holding it in can only make things worse. “My mom was struggling mentally, and he decided that cheating was the only way out, instead of being there for her and supporting her.”
“I’m so sorry, Sterling,” he whispers.
“When he left, my mom didn’t handle it very well. Most nights she’d drunkenly stumble through the door after two a.m. and sleep past noon the next day. It got to the point where she stopped paying bills and buying groceries. I tried to look after her, but I was only in high school at the time. I didn’t know how to be a mom for my mom, and eventually it became too much. As soon as I turned eighteen, I left.”
I’m surprised by the tear gliding down my cheek. It happened so long ago, yet it still affects me to this day. Seeing my parents drift apart, eventually leading everyone to heartache, was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s something I’ve never taken the time to process because it has always been too painful. I’ll never understand why my dad chose this other woman over his entire family. Or why my mom chose alcohol over me and my brother. Or how my brother chose to deal with it differently than I did.
“Leaving was the most painful part, even though I knew it was the right choice. I love my mom so incredibly much and I never wanted her or Graham to think my leaving meant that that love went away. I tried to reach out after I left, but they never responded. I was hoping they’d understand, but they couldn’t, and I had to be okay with that. I wasn’t prepared to give up my life, like my brother Graham had to, to look after the mother I didn’t even recognize anymore.”
Callan gives a few moments of silence, but never breaks the soft eye contact he’s maintained while I’ve shared my story. He gently reaches out his hand to hold mine, giving a soft squeeze. His gesture says a million words at once and eases all the tension I’d been holding onto
“Where is she now?” he asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Last I heard, Graham moved them both to Utah for a new job opportunity. I don’t even know if she’s doing any better. She said some really hurtful things to me the day I left. She wasn’t the mom I remembered or needed.” Tears continue stinging in the corners of my eyes.
“Have you ever wondered if she said those hurtful things because you choosing to leave triggered something in her?” Callan’s words don’t quite sit right with me as I attempt to register what he’s trying to say.
“What do you mean?” I try to contain the ping of anger brought on by his question.
“I mean, your dad left because your mom’s mental health was deteriorating, right? Well, maybe all of those feelings came flooding back for her when you left. Maybe it brought back bad memories. I’m sure she didn’t mean to say those harsh things to you.” I can tell Callan is trying to help, trying to understand my situation. But I don’t like the way he’s going about it.
“I’m nothing like my father,” I say behind clenched teeth.
