I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. The cold wood floor has me scurrying to his bathroom. The door is cracked, and I push it open just enough to see his reflection in the mirror. His back is turned to me, his ass firm and delicious enough to take a bite out of.
Leaning one hand against the tile wall, the muscles of his other arm bulge.
He’s touching himself.
No, he’s jerking off.
His arm moves faster. He drops his head back, then turns slightly to grab the showerhead. He repositions it to beat right on his hair. Since there’s no steam at all, he must not’ve been exaggerating—the water’s cold.
I should return to bed, but I’m riveted and aroused by his grunts. The pained expression on his face. The tightening of his back muscles. His broad shoulders. My eyes travel down his body. His cock. It’s at least twice the length of his massive fist. He pumps his hand back and forth as water slicks his hair back from his face, its golden color turning his wet skin bronze. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and visibly holds in a groan, probably so he won’t wake me.
I could help him. Get down on my knees in front of him and offer hands and a mouth. I’ve never swallowed a man’s cum, but I’d do it, I would. I don’t move, though. I watch until the end. Until he curls one hand into a ball and paints the tile in front of him.
As turned on as I am, I hope this is the last time I see this. I want to be that hand, that lip, even that wall. I’d let him come in my mouth, but also on my back, my tits, my face—wherever he wanted.
My throat goes dry when a chilling realization hits me.
Maybe I’m the sex addict in this relationship.
I love the office break room. My assistant could easily help maintain the steady stream of coffee into my mouth, but I look forward to my morning, late-morning, afternoon, and late-afternoon trips from my office to the break room. I mean, for God’s sake, it’s a no-work zone that’s lousy with my absolute favorite smell. Yep. Coffee.
Rich never comes to the break room, so my first mistake is assuming I’m safe there.
When he walks in, he glances at the mug in my hands. “Can you excuse us?” he asks Benny.
She grabs an apple. “I’ll be at my desk.”
I wait until she’s left the room to address Rich. “She doesn’t know. Nobody does. I don’t want to do this here.”
“Your dad wants to see us in his office.”
“Is it about business?”
“It’s going to happen, you know it is. Unless you change your mind about us, your dad’s going to get his two cents in.”
I put my mug down and walk past him. “It doesn’t help your case when you run to him first chance you get. This isn’t Three’s Company.”
We walk through the maze of desks. “I was worried,” he says in a hushed tone.
I don’t respond. Already, people at this company are too invested in my personal life since I’m the daughter of the founder and the girlfriend of the top-performing account manager.
In the elevator, Rich hands me the mug I just put down. “You’ll want this.”
I cross my arms to prove I don’t need looking after, but my rebellion only lasts one floor. I take the coffee and mutter, “Thanks.”
The doors open to the executive floor. My dad’s office is front and center. His secretary glances up as we approach. “He’s expecting you.”
My dad’s on the phone, pacing the length of the window in his office. He takes his eyes from Fifth Avenue to watch us enter. “The bottom line is, never date a woman who knows what you drive before she meets you, and a mouse in a cheese commercial will kill your brand, so forget about the rodent, would you?” he asks, completely serious, as if those are two perfectly normal statements to string together. I sit in a chair across from him, and Rich follows suit. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Dad laughs. “We’re happy to make that contribution, Bob. See you next week.”
Dad flings the phone aside as his smile flips upside down. That doesn’t tell me anything. His bullshit always clears the room as soon as we’re alone.
“He won’t give up the mouse,” I say. “We’ve all tried.”
“Sure he will. It’s all about approach with a man like that.” He sits forward and plants his elbows on the desk. “What’s going on between you two?”
“We broke up,” I say.
“She broke up,” Rich corrects. “I haven’t agreed to it.”
I shoot him a glare, the brown-noser. “That isn’t how breakups work, Rich.”
“No need for the sarcastic tone,” my dad says to me. “We can do this like civilized adults. What’s the problem, honey? Is he working too much? I can arrange to cut back on his hours.”
“I don’t want that, sir,” Rich says. “I love my job, and I want to do my part.”
“I know. Believe me, I know, Rich. Nobody’s as dedicated as you.” He steeples his fingers and looks at me. “But relationships are work, and you guys are getting to the point where you either commit or move on, and I’d hate to see you end this over something that could be fixed.”
“It’s already ended, Dad,” I say. “Moving on is my choice.”
“Let’s not be rash,” he reasons. “This isn’t something you just decide overnight.”
“It wasn’t overnight.” Maybe a little. Was it really less than twelve hours ago that Finn nearly fucked me fully clothed? Pushing me up against the wall, unable to keep his hands to himself? I suck in a breath and try to push the scorching memory out of my mind. “It was . . . I . . .” I try to remember the point I was about to make.
Dad and Rich exchange a look. “Rich, will you give us a second?”
Rich hesitates but stands. “Sure.”
When we’re alone, my dad looks suddenly tired. “Why are you doing this to me, Banana? Why now? You know how December is.”
As if I need a reminder of the time of year. Using that in combination with the nickname given to me as a yellow-haired toddler is enough to make my throat thick. “I admit, it isn’t ideal timing.”
He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’ve lost three clients since summer, and the ones I have are twice as demanding around the holidays. I can’t be worried about you on top of work.”
And work comes first. That isn’t anything new, but it never feels good to hear, even if he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. “I thought things were going well,” I say.
“They are, and if anyone around the office asks, even Rich, business is great. But the economy’s unstable with this political climate, and clients are hesitant to pay for premium work. It’ll pass, it always does, I just don’t need more stress.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Rich says you’ve stopped seeing Doctor Lumby and you’re taking on your own treatment. I don’t believe him.”
I close my eyes. I knew this conversation would come, but I’m not feeling as bold as I was last night. “It’s time, Dad. It’s been ten years—”
“Ten years.” He looks at the desk. “Don’t I know it.”
I allow us a moment of silence. “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you rather I figure this out now instead of later, when we’re all more invested?”
“Figure what out?”
“That I don’t love him. If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the definition of love. Your generation thinks everything’s easy. Love is commitment. It doesn’t come like that.” He snaps. “It’s an investment of time and energy.”
“Is that how you felt about Mom?”
“Damn right it is. We worked on our marriage every day and to let her go at any point would’ve been like tanking a business I’d spent years investing in.”
Even though my dad refers to my mom as an investment, I know he means it as a compliment. He was even more dedicated to her than this company. “Not every business can survive,” I say.
“You don’t think we had our problems in the b
eginning? Two years in? Ten years in? Shit, twenty years? Of course we did.”
Guilt weighs on my shoulders. If not for my mistakes, he’d have been able to say thirty years soon. “But Rich and I aren’t married.”
“You could be. Do you know what a weight it would lift off my shoulders to know you were happy and taken care of?”
“How can I be happy with something I don’t want?”
“You work at it. That’s what I’m telling you.” He stands and comes around the desk to perch on the edge in front of me. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“I’m asking you,” he says. “What’s wrong with it? What haven’t I done for you? You don’t have to struggle like I did. I’ve kept you safe, and I’ve tried to make you happy. Rich is a nice, smart young man, and he’s on track to take over for me when I step down.”
“Because he’s good at what he does,” I say.
“No, Halston. Rich is a good kid. Hardworking. But he’s not a natural businessman. I can get him there, to a place where he’ll be the right man for my position. It’s an investment I’m willing to make. For you.”
He has it all figured out. I could walk out the door back to Rich, ask for a ring, stand by his side as he moves up in the company, raise his children. I have stability at my fingertips. And maybe with a little more effort, I could fall in love with him.
The room feels suddenly smaller. I close my eyes and think of Finn, of being comfortable in his white bedroom and his arms. “No.”
“No what?”
“You’re manipulating me. This is what you and Rich do.”
“If trying to give you a good life is wrong,” he raises his palms, “guilty.”
“A good life would be my life. Not the one you decide for me.”
“Do you know what I would’ve given to have all this handed to me?” he asks. “Or to even get my good life back?”
I hear what he doesn’t say: the good life I took from him. I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for my role in my mom’s death, but it’s especially sharp now, when the anniversary of it is around the corner. When my dad and I are on opposite sides. I see the pain in his face. Sometimes I forget it’s there until something makes him genuinely smile or laugh. To others, it looks like stress or anger. Dad doesn’t show weakness. Except to me, because we’ve seen each other at our worst.
What do I do? Give him the peace and reassurance he wants so he can rest a little easier? Or fight this battle for myself and for a man I just met?
“I can’t stay on these drugs,” I say. “I just can’t. It’s not fair to ask me to just because you don’t want to deal with me. You don’t even know what I’m like without them.”
His face darkens. “Yes I do.”
“That was ten years ago. Isn’t it possible I’ve changed? Matured? Are you the man you were ten years ago?”
“What do you fucking think?”
I sit back. My dad rarely curses at me. It makes me want to slink off to my room, especially because he’s right. Why would he be the same after losing the love of his life? “I’m sorry,” I say. “Of course you’re not.”
“If you stop your meds, then what? You’ll be fine? Do you honestly believe that?”
I open my mouth to argue. I’m tired of them doubting me and pointing out my shortcomings at every turn. Yes, I believe I’ll be fine.
Won’t I?
You’re troubled. You make bad decisions.
I’ve heard it since I was fifteen.
The truth is, I don’t know if it’s wrong. It could be right.
“I’ll worry about you more than I already do,” Dad says. “At least with Rich, I know someone else is looking out for you. With Christmas coming up, and—and the anniversary—if you’re off your treatment and alone . . . I don’t know that I can take it.”
My chest hurts. I can’t do this to him. His vulnerability is hard-earned, a privilege, and I can’t just turn a blind eye to it. But I can’t give myself up, either, or say goodbye to Finn knowing how good it is with him. “I’m stopping the drugs,” I say firmly. “It’s time.”
He sighs. “That alone is enough for you to handle. You don’t need a stressful breakup on top of that. Who knows? Maybe this will be the thing that changes your feelings about Rich.”
It’s the only option if I want to give my dad some relief during the hardest time of the year. Not just any year. The tenth year.
“Will you try to make it work with him one more time, Banana? For me?”
How can I say no?
14
After an unsettling conversation with my dad about resuscitating my dead relationship, Rich is the last person I want to see. But there he is when I leave Dad’s office, perched on the secretary’s desk, talking to her.
He looks up. “Should I go back in?”
I start for the elevator. “No.”
“What happened?” he asks, catching up with me as the doors open.
I wait until we’re alone to speak. “You and I are getting back together—”
“We are?” Rich raises his eyebrows. “Talk about finding the right approach. Your dad’s even smoother than I thought.”
“It’s only as far as my dad knows.”
“What?”
“We’re not really getting back together. This is an awful time of year for my dad and me. I don’t have to tell you that. My dad feels better when you’re looking after me, so we’re going to let him believe you are.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
The elevator stops on our floor. “It’s not up for negotiation.”
“Why can’t I just take care of you for real? Have I not done a good job of that?”
“You have,” I say, “but I—I want more. I want to . . .”
“What?” he asks.
Saying what I want aloud isn’t easy. It’s not only hurtful to Rich, but it’s embarrassing to admit, even though I doubt he’d mock me. The doors close. “I want to be in love.”
He frowns but takes my hand. “I know we don’t have the most affectionate relationship, but I thought that worked for us.”
“It does. It did.”
“I’ll try harder to show I care.”
I shake my head. “I want to feel more than just contentment about my life. This works out for both of us, Rich.” I hit the button for our floor to get the doors to open again. “I get to keep my dad happy through the holidays, and you remain in good standing with him. I suggest you use this time to make yourself indispensable—some other way than through me.”
“So that’s it?” The doors start to close, but he catches them. A few people in the office look up. Rich lowers his voice. “I don’t want to lie to him.”
“You will if you want all three of us to get through—” Pain shoots through my head. I grab the rail as sudden pressure weighs on the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?” Rich asks.
I swallow a few times, and the stabbing pain subsides, disappearing as quickly as it came on. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
I’d read that there’d be some physical side effects to lowering my dosage. I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off, though. Ten years is coming up soon, and I can’t be a person who’s been medicated an entire decade. At this rate, I can ring in the new year feeling like a new person.
I push past Rich and get off the damn elevator. My temples throb with the start of a headache, so I go to my office and shut the door. I turn out the glaring lights and open the blinds instead.
Once I’m in my desk chair, I close my eyes. My dad’s disappointment is tangible. He’s right to be upset. I’ve broken an unspoken agreement. He gives me money, a stable future, my choice of job, and in return, I’m a good daughter who doesn’t make waves. It’s a cycle I’m not sure should continue, but the thought of breaking it makes my scalp hot. It could be the best decision I’ve made in years—or the worst. I need something to calm myself dow
n. I go to buzz Benny, but a knock at my door comes first.
“Go away, Rich.”
“But I have coffee,” Benny says in a deep voice, a horrible attempt to impersonate Rich. She laughs. “Rich said I should bring you some.”
Damn it. He knew what I’d need. Why can’t he just get angry with me like a normal ex? Why does he have to be kind while I’m trying to abandon him? “Bring the whole pot. No—get the entire machine.”
My chin trembles. I don’t know why doing what’s best for myself means I need to be a bad daughter and ex-girlfriend. I don’t normally seek comfort in Rich when I’m upset, or anyone really since my mom. My dad’s too practical. He only wants to hear enough to fix the problem. In a way, my journals have been my confidantes, even when I only write a line or two. Now, someone else has read them. Someone else has seen me, stuck around, and wants to know me.
I get my phone from my handbag. I don’t need to spill my sorrows to Finn. We aren’t at that place yet. But just saying hi, just knowing I’ll see him tonight, will be enough for now. I press the Home button. I have five new texts from Finn in the last two hours, and I can’t help the grin that overtakes my face. I type in my passcode and start with the first message.
Haven’t stopped thinking about last night since . . . last night.
You coming here straight from work? Or wanna get dinner first?
We could also order in. I’ve taken all the necessary “precautions” for a night in.
I smile. He got the condoms. Oh, the delicious positions he had me in last night—against his studio wall, on my knees for him, spread out on his kitchen table. I bite my bottom lip against the assault of flashbacks. I’m not sure if I’m more aroused by the ways he made me come, or by watching him furiously get himself off in the shower this morning when he thought I was asleep.
I scroll down, hoping for more of what we’ll do when I walk through his door.
I have to cancel tonight. I’m sorry. Don’t come.
Halston? I need to know you saw my last message. Please don’t come by my place. K?
Yours to Bare Page 12
