I give him a sad smile. “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”
He looks to the side and then down at his watch. Avoidance, an excuse to bolt is coming. I can feel it. And just like clockwork, he says, “I better get going. I’ll send Joel to get you when you’re done.”
Resigning to his unwillingness to open up, I say, “It’s his off day. I’ll take the ferry. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t fight it. I see the choice of flight form. One serious question and he wants out of here as soon as possible.
“I’ll say goodbye to your grandma on my way out. See you tomorrow.” He gives me a curt nod and then takes off.
“Bright and early,” I say with a smile, but he doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he makes his way through the rec center and I huff out a sigh of frustration.
Too much, too soon, Charlee. Who could have possibly had the power to hurt him so significantly?
* * *
“Hey Grandma. Yes, I got home safe.”
“No, that’s not why I’m calling,” she says into the phone, crying hysterically, sending my entire body into red-alert mode. I pop off the couch and start throwing on my shoes, forgetting I’m not even wearing pants.
“What’s wrong? I’m on my way.”
“Why are you on your way?”
“Because you’re crying. I’ll take a sick day tomorrow. Whatever it is, just tell me what happened. Is it . . . Earl? Is his heart okay?” I might have become friends with some of the residents. They’re family at this point.
“No, Chuckie, it’s the koi pond. There are finally koi in it.”
“Wait, what?” I pause, one shoe on, the other halfway hanging off my foot. “There are fish in the koi pond?”
“Yes. And that beautiful man of a boss you have donated them to the senior center in my name, along with three benches to sit around the pond so we can observe our new friends. They’re being installed as we speak. He left me a card that says, ‘Happy birthday. Thank you for letting me spend your special day with you.’ Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?” I fall to my couch, all the blood in my body draining away as my grandma continues. “We’re beside ourselves over here. We’ve already started making a list of names for the fish. We’re going to be very particular about what we call them, but I can tell you right now, the most handsome of them all will be called Rath. That’s something I won’t budge on.”
Rath bought my grandma fish?
And benches?
My heart squeezes in my chest from the unexpected thought and gesture the rough and cold man made.
The next five minutes is spent listening to my grandma gush on the phone, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Because all I can focus on is the contradictory soul I have to face tomorrow. How I have to act as if everything is normal, as if he didn’t just crack me open and spread warmth and joy through my veins by such a considerate gift.
He made my grandma cry, and whether that’s from joy or sadness, it’s still rare. She's going to name a fish after him. My boss. And that’s why he’s a man I need to work harder to keep emotional distance from. That man, the considerate, thoughtful man, is far too dangerous for my heart. When I face Rath tomorrow, he can’t know he has that sort of power over me. He can’t know that if I wasn’t this strong, he’d probably own three very small pieces of my heart. If I wasn’t strong. But I am.
Chapter Eleven
RATH
Prepared for an onslaught of who knows what from the Good Morning Brigade, I steel myself as the elevator doors open and wince, waiting for a blast of glitter to smack me in the face or a serenade from a mariachi band to strike up. But instead of confetti cannons, or music blaring, or a boisterous good morning from Charlee waiting on the other side, it’s deathly silent. The blinds are pulled down, there’s no bouncing blonde in sight, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of color anywhere in the vicinity besides Charlee’s desk.
What the hell is going on?
I stride down the hall where I find Charlee quietly typing away at her desk. She’s wearing a black dress and her makeup is done like it was this weekend; natural with no added flare. I thought I told her she could dress however she wanted in the office.
Confused with the drastic change, I say, “What are you doing?”
She stands and almost looks like she’s ready to go to a funeral with her hands folded in front of her and a demure look on her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” she answers, her voice flat and even. Dancing boisterous Charlee is startling, but reserved quiet Charlee is downright terrifying. “I held off on your breakfast unsure if you wanted one. I didn’t want to force it upon you.” She walks over to my office door and holds it open. The blinds are shut, just the lamp on my desk is turned on, like it was before Charlee came to work for me. My jungle plants are all next to the door and Sir Dragomir is still by my desk, but there’s a wheelie cart next to him.
What the hell is happening?
“Movers are coming to pick up what I couldn’t move this morning. I tried to get everything done before you arrived, but unfortunately only a few people can be bribed by Skittles on a Monday morning.”
Picked up? Moved? I rack my brain for what I possibly said over the weekend that would make her change the office back to the boring, bland space it was . . . before Charlee . . . but nothing is coming to mind.
“What are you doing?” I ask, greatly concerned with the change.
“Putting everything back the way you liked it.” She holds her hand out. “I’ll take my list now and will stay out of your way.” Utterly confused—you never know with this girl—I hand her the list and cautiously walk into my office.
There has to be something I said to generate this reaction, turning her into a reserved, mute of an assistant, not the woman I hired.
It wasn’t because I blocked our conversation by the koi pond, was it? Because I shut her down before she could ask about Vanessa? I know it was harsh, but it wasn’t territory I would cover with her.
Word travels around the office, there are gossips everywhere. I’m sure Charlee has heard something about the girl who broke my heart, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to divulge the details. But would she really shut down because of that?
No.
There was a shift between us this weekend. Not a bad one, more of an appreciative shift, one that brought us closer in a work sense, which I thought was a valuable move professionally.
Hell, I even called her the most vibrant person I’ve ever met. I gave her another goddamn compliment that’s outside her skills of work, things I shouldn’t be doing, but something I know she deserved. It seemed like she appreciated the compliment, at least I thought she did.
But would she really change over that? Would she alter her personality? The way she works? The way she brightens my day with her color-coded pens and her vibrant midday dance music? Not that I’d admit this to her—or anyone, well, maybe Bram because otherwise he’d sulk—I was looking forward to finding out what color Monday was.
Once in my office, I set my briefcase on my desk but don’t sit. Instead, I pace back and forth, trying to come up with logical reasoning for her behavior. But with every pass of my desk, I become more and more confused, my mind drawing a blank.
Shit.
It’s hard to concentrate when it’s so dark in here. In a matter of seven days, she’s fucked with my entire process, making me crave the light rather than the dark.
I go to the windows and start fumbling with the blinds, unsure how to open them. I graze the sides, look for a string or a lever, anything to get some light in here, but come up short. I go to the next window and then the next and then the next until I’m so aggravated and irritated that I scream Charlee’s name.
“Charlee, get in here!”
She rushes into my office and stares at me, eyes wide, a nervous jitter in her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Why did you shut these godda
mn blinds?” I fling my arms at them.
She steps back, shock in her eyes. “Be-because I thought that’s how you liked it. Dark, so you can focus.”
“Well, I can’t focus,” I say, pacing my office now. “I can’t focus now that I’ve had light in here. So, open them up and don’t touch them again.”
“I’m so-sorry, Mr. Westin.”
“I said call me Rath,” I roar, losing control. I grip my forehead and take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart. Christ, in the matter of seconds, I’ve gone from being nervous to leave the elevator, to confused as hell, to a raging asshole.
All because of one girl.
From my desk, Charlee easily flips a switch and the blinds open. On a shaky breath, she says, “The switch is right here, so you can control it from your desk.”
Light pours in, highlighting her beautiful yet terrified face, and immediately fresh guilt because of my dickish temper consumes me.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asks, taking a step back.
Yeah, for you to not look at me with those wounded, puppy-dog eyes.
For you to be yourself again.
For you to annoy me with your loud good morning and chatterbox mouth.
Not saying what’s blaring through my head, I nod and motion to one of the chairs she picked out for my office. “Sit.”
Not giving it a second thought, she takes a seat and sits tall, folding her hands on her lap. “I don’t have my notebook. Should I go grab it?”
I shake my head. “I need to talk to you. This isn’t about a list or anything like that.”
“Oh, okay.”
Still buzzing, I avoid taking a seat and rather place my hands on the back of my chair, gripping the leather tightly as I summon a controlled voice. “What’s with all the changes?” My question comes out harsher than I anticipated. “If you’re going to create a work habit, stick with it. I like things to be consistent. I like routine. If that means you blare horns when I come off the elevator in the morning, then blare horns, but just stick with it, whatever you choose.”
Nose cutely scrunched, she asks, “Do you . . . like all the changes I made?”
“I mean”—I push my hand through my hair and quietly say—“they weren’t bad.”
And just like that, her smile returns and her vibrancy brightens her face. “Oh, my goodness, I had no clue.” She clasps her hands together in excitement and even though I feel like I’ll never live it down, admitting to liking her quirky ways, the tension in my neck and back ease when I see that beautiful smile of hers reappear. “I was turning everything back to the way you had it because I thought you hated my adjustments and I wanted to do something nice for you since you did something so—” Her voice catches in her throat while her hand falls to her chest. “How you did something so, so kind for my grandma.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“Kind? I just—” Ohhhh. Fuck. I should have known. “Did your grandma call you?”
She nods, her eyes watering. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with my tears and emotions, but I can’t seem to help it. She was so excited, Mr. Westin. She even named one of the fish after you.”
“I told you to call me Rath.”
“Right, yes, sorry. My mind is a mess.” She shakes her head and blows out a long breath. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you did for her and the community. You really brightened a lot of people’s days, not just my grandma’s. And I want you to know, I didn’t tell you about the fish and the benches so you would buy them.”
“I know you didn’t.” I finally take a seat at my desk, feeling uncomfortable from the grateful attention. Clearing my throat, I casually say, “My grandma would have wanted the same thing at her apartment. Figured it’s the least I could do. Think nothing of it.” I try to brush it off as unimportant, but I should know better by now that Charlee won’t allow that to happen.
“Well, I thought a lot about it. I thought about how you selflessly made such a sweet gesture, one that brought a lot of joy to others. It was thoughtful and kind, and incredibly giving. That’s why I tried to return the office back to your normal, the way you liked it, all dark and quiet. I know I pushed you last week, and I didn’t want you to feel tortured or uncomfortable because of me and my way of working. I can adjust to your routine, Rath.”
Two things I fucking hate right now: the way Charlee is tiptoeing around me and realizing I’ll have to admit I like the way she set up the office. I’m going to have to suck up my pride, bite the bullet despite not wanting to give in, and tell her the truth. Oddly, Charlee seems to know exactly what I need in my life to do the best work I can, which includes an occasional historical romance. A romance I stayed up late last night reading because I desperately needed to find out if Lord Eric finally claimed his wench.
He did.
On a pile of hay as their “mattress.” Carnal fucking. It was hot as shit.
But back to the task at hand. I move a pen on my desk, and steel myself for what is about to come out of my mouth. Unable to look her in the eyes, I say, “The changes you made to the office were fine. You may proceed with them.”
Jesus, could I sound any more robotic?
And just as I predicted in my head, a rainbow bursts out of her eyes from pure joy as she asks, “Sir Dragomir can stay too?” Without even looking at her, I can hear the smile in her face.
Clutching the pen in my hands, I answer, “We’ve established a bit of a rapport. He’s fine where he is.”
“And the others?” I clench my teeth tighter and look up to see her positively beaming.
Fuck . . . she’s so beautiful when she smiles.
Looking off to the side, I quietly say, “Well, they’re his cousins, after all.”
“Uh-huh,” she answers knowingly. “Well, who are we to split up a family?”
“Precisely.” I clear my throat and pull out my laptop from my bag. Wanting to end this humiliating discussion . . . “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like some of that oatmeal you made last week.” Because it was really fucking good, and it’s what I craved all weekend.
Chuckling, she nods. “I’ll get right on it. And can I ask, future ideas to brighten up the office, should I run them by you, or should I continue to surprise you?”
Hiding my smile, I say, “The surprises keep me on my toes, a good business practice.”
“Mm-hmm,” she answers, seeing right through me.
She’s positively giddy as she skips out of my office to make some of that heavenly oatmeal, and even though she’s proven me wrong, I feel incredibly right at the moment. Until I think about what she said . . . I know I pushed you last week, and I didn’t want you to feel tortured or uncomfortable. I can’t help it. I laugh. Cheeky wench. Cheeky fucking wench—as Lord Eric would say.
* * *
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, coming up to Charlee’s desk where she’s reading and twirling a can of cherry bubly™ in her hand.
Not bothering to look me in the eyes, she holds her finger up just as an alarm sounds off. Huffing in frustration, she sets her Kindle down and gives me the stink-eye. “I was reading and you totally knocked me out of the mood.”
“You should be working,” I say, looking at her desk with two notepads full of to-dos. “I really need those finance documents delivered.”
Sitting up in her chair, she folds her arms over her chest and says, “According to the employee handbook established by you, I get an hour for lunch to myself. During that time, I like to read and eat my salad. You cannot take that away from me, even for finance documents, which I sent to finance, had them look over, then brought them back up here and set them on your desk while you were out to lunch.” She motions with her fingers at my face. “I suggest you try to take your foot out of your mouth now.”
I hate that she’s so good.
Most of the time, I hate it.
“What about my dessert? Did you pick it up?”
“Your pastry box is on your desk with all the specific pastries on your list . . . your majesty.” She bows and twirls one hand in front of her. Fucking sassy woman.
Her actions make the corner of my mouth tick with humor, despite her need to bust my balls any chance she gets. “Good, come into my office.” The word come feels dirty falling off my tongue, but I ignore the wave of heat that rolls down my spine as I charge into my office with a bag of supplies in my hand as she follows behind me. I set the bag down on my desk and start taking the items out.
Sparkling cider, glass champagne flutes, dainty flowered plates, and of course a mega pack of fun-sized Skittles.
I pop open the sparkling cider and pour us each a glass. I hand a confused Charlee one as she takes a seat.
“Scoot in closer.”
She does and then I hand her a plate and pop open the box of pastries. “The lemon Danish is my favorite.” She glances up at me, those clear blue eyes of hers pinning me with lust that shoots straight to my dick. And for a moment, a pregnant pause forms between us, our eyes searching each other, before she reaches into the box and pulls out a cheese Danish.
“I live and die for a cheese Danish,” she says quietly as if she feels the need to explain her choice.
I take a lemon, and then I hand her the bag of Skittles.
She studies the bag for a few beats before looking up at me, head tilted cutely to the side. “Excuse me for being confused, but what’s happening here?”
“It’s been two full weeks,” I say before taking a bite of my Danish. “Two full weeks and we haven’t killed each other, nor have we slipped up on any work. We’ve actually become more efficient.” She lights up. “So, we’re celebrating. The cider and the Danish are to say congratulations, and the Skittles are so you can keep bribing people.”
She laughs and then thoughtfully says, “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
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