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No, don’t go there, Kira…
So I focus on my dinner, and I must admit—only to myself, of course—that little secretary can cook because the lasagna she prepared could easily be a part of my Italian restaurant, Farina.
Vassar excuses himself from the table to make a call, and suddenly, all that longing I was feeling a minute ago turns into a burning fire because I know he went to call a woman. The one he spoke of—or I did—in the car on the way here, and I absolutely cannot explain why it pissed me off other than there is a woman in his life, and she is not me.
I don’t—shouldn’t—care that he has someone. I never did before.
Okay, I didn’tknowbefore, and ignorance is bliss, as they say, but that shouldn’t matter. He is just another toy in my life, nothing more. Yet here I am, getting up from my seat before I can think better of it, drawing the eyes of my preceptive brother to myself and moving in the direction that Vassar just disappeared off to.
Call it morbid curiosity. Not jealousy.
I don’t feel jealous over a fake boyfriend.
He went off into the hallway, and when I searched for him, I saw the lights from the bathroom peeking through the bottom of the shut door. I should go back to my seat. I should not care, even out of curiosity, but something about this man always drew my crazy out.
And who am I to deny that part to myself.
So, I step up quietly and press my ear to the door as his soft, soothing voice fills the space.
His voice.
It’s nothing I have ever heard before from him. It’s like this is a whole other person and not my Vassar. He is gentle and sweet, with light laughter kicking in from time to time.
I don’t think I have ever heard Vassar laugh or even smile. Not the genuine one he is most definitely wearing right now while speaking toher.
Unexpectedly, I feel my blood pumping loudly into my ears, that haze of longing clouding my vision, and I am eager to hear what he is saying, but his voice is muffled, and I can’t make out most of the words, especially since he turned on the water in the sink. But I do catch the last phrase, and that phrase alone sets my fire ablaze.
It wakes up the demon inside of me. Because I want those words…
I want to hear, “I love you, Angel.”
“Have I done my duty? Can I go home now?” Vassar asks me as we say our goodbyes to Julius and the others and promise to never do this again. This many assholes in one confined space won’t ever work. But I was glad to see my brother and get to meet his future wife. She really is a sweetheart who is way too young for him but with a dark edge in her that I am sure is my brother’s doing.
Vassar looks at me expectingly, waiting to be released from my clutches, and at the start of this evening, I would do just that. I would send him off as soon as this farse was over with, but after hearing him proclaim his love to another…I can’t.
I am being completely irrational, and nothing about my train of thought makes sense, yet here I am, riding the Death Express.
I want him to be as consumed with me as I have been with him for the past few years. Sure, it was on a professional level—or so I keep telling myself—and maybe a bit toxic, but still.
He is mine…
“No. You are coming with me,” I tell him, taking off towards my car and maybe I put an extra sway to my hips as I walk and turn my head just in time to see his jaw clench together, his nose twitch with annoyance but his eyes planted firmly on my ass as he walks behind me. Following me without a single word.
“Where else do you need me tonight?” Vassar asks, barely hiding his annoyance. That mask of professionalism is back on, and I hate it. I loved seeing him crack a little while we were at my brother’s house. I loved seeing the glimpses of a real Vassar, the one I have been trying to unveil for many years now.
I wait until we are inside a moving car to answer him. “My house,” I state and watch his head whip over to me.
“Say that again? Why do I need to go to your house?”
“Because from now on, you will be staying with me.” Yeah, I am losing it, but ask me if I care.
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will, or you can kiss your job goodbye.”
“I have a life besides being your slave. I can’t stay with you,” he says through gritted teeth, and I must be beyond saving if that sounds like honey in my tea.
“Fine. You are fired,” I tell him without looking his way while he is attempting to incarcerate me alive with his intoxicating brown eyes.
