SIR

by R. J. Lewis

  “It’s okay,” I respond, feeling equally uncomfortable. “You fell asleep anyway. Right?”

  He nods slowly. “I fell asleep.”

  So, he couldn’t have heard me saying I missed him.

  “Well, so long as that is the last time you were like that—”

  “I have no desire to repeat it,” he tells me with conviction. “And besides, I was never hooked on pills. It was other things.” He makes a distasteful face.

  “Good,” I reply.

  We fall silent. We let the conversation fade into the background as lunch comes and goes, and then we resume our work. And this time, he’s quieter, less aggravated with me, though he’s still sharp with his tongue when I do something wrong.

  Just like yesterday, there are no gaps between work, no moments of idleness I can use to try and talk to him. Even after his very correct observation, he doesn’t seek to speak to me at all, and it’s maddening.

  His brother is right.

  Aidan’s walls are up, and he doesn’t stick around for small talk.

  And it’s like this. It’s like this for a few days straight—the silence, his wariness of me, the answers right in front of him and his lack of desire to mine them.

  I’m starting to believe West doesn’t want to know who he was.

  *

  It’s evening and I’m with Alex by the river. We sit on the rocks and I toss a few stones, waiting for the stars to show. After another consecutive shitshow at work that has left me with never ending heart palpitations, this is nice and peaceful, and I like Alex’s company. He knows when not to flaunt that playful arrogance of his.

  “If you want,” he says after a while, “you can take my bedroom, and I can have your suite.”

  I take in his offer with surprise. “That’s okay.”

  He doesn’t look impressed. “Aidan put you in a hovel.”

  “A fully functioning one.”

  He smiles halfheartedly. “You don’t even have windows.”

  “I can draw some and hang them up.”

  “It must be really hot at night.”

  “It’s like being in a sauna. I sweat therefore I burn calories.”

  His eyes brighten. “Such a ray of positivity.”

  I have no other choice. If I keep focusing on the negatives, I’ll wind up drowning in them.

  I smile softly. “I’m trying.”

  “What do you do in there anyway?”

  “I read, or journal, or sleep.”

  “I’ll get us a television.”

  My eyes widen. “Why do I feel like that would be so out of the ordinary at this house?”

  “Because it’s like we’ve stepped into the early nineteenth century in it.”

  I laugh as I swat another mosquito away.

  “I know how to get rid of these bloodsuckers.”

  “How?”

  He gestures to the water. “Get wet.”

  I shoot him a look. “Oh, please.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  He is, but still, he is giving me that devilish smile I used to see on Aidan’s face. My heart tugs at it, and I sigh, swatting another mosquito. Fuck, my legs are ravaged, and don’t get me started on my butt cheeks—

  You know what? Fuck it.

  I slide off the rock and wade into the river, slowly getting used to the coolness. I stop just as it reaches the hem of my shorts.

  “Chicken,” Alex calls out.

  I glower at him and he laughs in response. I am not returning to the house soaked. Hell no. I did that once already, and yet…I glance at the devilish West boy. His eyes are challenging, goading even.

  He makes the sound of a chicken, and I flip him off. Another rumble of laughter.

  Before I can think, I let my body sink slowly into the water, submerging my face, body—all of me. I sit there under the water, cooling off. Truth be told, it’s terrifying, but goddammit, I wanted to wipe that goading look off Alex’s face.

  When I finally come back up, his chuckles fill the air, and they sound close. I rub my eyes and catch him not far off, dropping into the river too. He goes in deeper than I ever would and floats on his back around me, his eyes to the heavens above.

  “How long do you think you’ll keep enduring my brother’s wrath?” he asks just then.

  I float too, staring up at the darkening sky. “I have no limits.”

  “Everyone has their limits.”

  “Nuh-uh, not me,” I say with conviction. “I owe it to him. I do.”

  “You owe it to him?” he repeats incredulously.

  “I broke his heart.”

  He doesn’t respond for a moment. Just when I think he won’t, he says, “Don’t punish yourself.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m angry at myself.”

  And it’s true.

  I’m angry at myself.

  I’m angry at myself like I’m angry at Derek, like I’m angry at my mother for my shitty upbringing and neglect, like I’m angry at my old coworkers for sneering at me, like I’m angry at my absentee father for his early abandonment, like I’m angry at every single asshole who saw right through me as I navigated through life with no guide—no loving figure— to tell me what a healthy relationship was and wasn’t.

  “But anger can be a good thing.”

  I glance at him, still floating there. “How can anger be a good thing?”

  “Anger is your friend. It tells you that you do, indeed, have your limits. It tells you what you can’t accept. It tells you when you won’t be mistreated. Your anger is another form of love, and it tells you when to protect yourself.”

  I can’t stop staring at him, completely bewildered by the depth of him. He catches my eye and smirks, like he can read my mind.

  “I ain’t just a pretty face,” he tells me. “I got layers, Turbo. You want to dig some more? You’ll love every one of them.”

  I roll my eyes. “I was wondering where that smugness went.”

  He splashes me suddenly, and I gasp as it hits my face. “Always here. Not going anywhere, either.”

  I splash him back, but he simply grins in response, not one bit perturbed.

  After our swim, Alex makes me wait under a tree in the backyard to fetch me a towel. It’s really nice of him to do. I’m hidden from everyone. There are people all over the lawn. This party is much more intense than before. It’s…provocative, is all I can say. People are looser, drinks are knocked back in record numbers.

  Alex makes his way through the crowd, and literally has to bat away hands. The girls are shrieking for him, begging for a touch. He says something to one of them, and she visibly shakes in response. I swallow a laugh as he slips inside, and just as quickly, my laugh dies when I catch Nina’s bitch friends huddled together.

  “She said he left her! Just like that!” one of the women seethes. “I can’t even believe it after what he put her through.”

  Are these bitches seriously talking shit about Aidan when they’re in his house?

  “She said he’s with some floozy, too.”

  Another one gasps. “Yes, I saw her! Just now! She went to his bedroom.”

  My heart drops in my chest and all I can think about is Aidan with another woman.

  Adrenaline surges through me as I push off the tree and race to the house. Nina’s clique turn to look at me, and the main woman raises her hand at me, scowling, “She said this is all your fault!”

  “Fuck off,” I snap back at her, coming so close, she stumbles back in alarm.

  “She came at me!” she cries out as I keep moving. “She was going to hit me!”

  These women are unbelievable.

  Rolling my eyes, I slide the door open and slip inside, my soaked body leaving puddles with every step I make. It’s okay. I’ll clean up with Tilda in the morning. Better yet, I’ll hire a goddamn cleaning crew.

  Like before, I go through every room in the house, searching for him. I barge into his bedroom, turning on the light to scan it. I’m being crazy—impulsive
, I know, but I can’t stop—

  A girl gasps from the bed.

  My skin prickles with rage as I take a look at her, dressed in a revealing top and miniskirt.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I seethe, fisting my hand into a fist.

  She looks wide-eyed at me. “I wanted to surprise him—”

  “Did he tell you to come here?”

  “No—”

  “Is he here?”

  “No.”

  “So, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I want him, I really do, and I think he will want me too—”

  I widen the door and point to it. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “But—”

  “Get out!”

  She hurries to her feet, taking drunken steps out of the room. She calls me a meanie, and I have to swallow a curse.

  I don’t leave a stone unturned as I continue my search, even bumping into Alex along the way. He immediately wraps me up in a towel and follows me, questioning what I’m doing and why I look so wrathful.

  I don’t answer as I look at every face, search every room, and once again come up empty.

  He’s not here.

  And yet like before, I feel the heat of him, his presence coated in the air, like he’s not far off, like I just missed him…

  *

  I make it back to my suite and have a quick shower, trying not to dwell on his whereabouts. I need to be busy, to distract myself before I slip under that paranoia. The hot water is being dickish, and Philotes is back in the corner, watching me.

  I’m out and wrapped in a towel. I make my way to the kitchen and start to pack a lunch because despite having a short lunch break, I don’t get enough time to come down and make something, and I’m not about to take advantage of Tilda cooking me lunch (she’s offered and I’ve declined because she has enough on her plate). I wonder how long this motivation of mine will last—me making lunch that is.

  The house is quieter now, like the party is finally coming to a close. Hallelujah.

  My fingers are still trembling from the rage of seeing that chick in his bed, like she had a fucking chance with him. Over my dead fucking body…

  I’m opening my Tupperware when my door suddenly gets pounded on, causing me to jump. The pounding doesn’t stop. Unrelenting fists rain down on the wood.

  I hurry to it, clenching my towel to my chest. The knocks are urgent, like something is up. I quickly open the door, already stepping back in surprise as Aidan comes through, the waft of alcohol following him.

  “What is going on?” I let out, waiting for him to tell me why in the hell he has nearly knocked my door down.

  He whips around to look at me, his glazed eyes meeting mine before they run along my towel. “Inspection,” he simply says.

  I look at him dryly. “You’ve already done one.”

  He shakes his head as he roams around my suite. “That was a move-in inspection, Miss Montcalm.”

  “So, what’s this one?”

  “This one?” he repeats my question, considering it before answering, “This one is seasonal.”

  I quirk a brow. “This is a seasonal inspection?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Are you high again?”

  “No.”

  He’s definitely not high—just drunk, again.

  “Did you like me when I was high?” he then questions, smirking at me. “Did you want a repeat, Miss Montcalm?”

  I’m too speechless to respond as he pretends to look over my suite. He even stops under my kitchen lightbulb and runs a finger along the cover, shaking his head at the dust on his finger. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “You’re a dirty girl,” he notes, his voice low.

  “You gave me a dirty suite,” I retort, following him at a distance as he runs his eyes over every inch of my kitchen. “I haven’t had the time to clean it.”

  Now he glances at me with disbelief. “With all those nightly walks you’re so keen on taking, I’m thinking you have plenty of time.”

  I study his impassive face. “Keeping an eye on me, Mr West?”

  “You are my personal assistant,” he explains, moving to my bedroom door. “It is my duty to know what you’re up to.”

  I’m not going to even begin to tell him how wrong that statement is.

  When he opens my bedroom door, I growl out, “There is nothing in there for you to see.”

  He looks into it for some time, running his eyes everywhere. “Just making sure…”

  “Making sure what?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I study him quickly. He’s unbalanced, drunk, no indication at all he’s been with a woman. And if he was, he wouldn’t be finished with her, I remind myself. This man’s sexual appetite is unyielding.

  “Close it,” I demand.

  But he doesn’t.

  His sullen, drunken eyes flicker to mine and he just…stares for a few moments. I stare back, angling my head as I study him, trying to understand the emotions lurking beyond that cold barrier he holds up so well. The man is temperamental…and desolate. Emptiness ravages him, but something else too. Something that prompted him to appear at my door, to look over my suite, to stare into my bedroom.

  “You’re nothing like the others,” he admits suddenly.

  I think he means the other assistants that came and went before me.

  I take a few moments to respond. “Is that a good thing?”

  “You’re still here, so…” His words trail off as he looks away, staring back into the bedroom for a quick moment.

  Something is bothering him.

  He gapes into my room, searching, even though there is nothing in there for him to see.

  Finally, he closes the door.

  I hear it click shut, that sound loud amidst the silence. Then he moves across my suite, no longer interested to inspect it, no longer looking at me. I follow him to the door.

  “Well?” I say as he stops before it.

  “Well what?” he returns.

  “How was the inspection this time around?”

  “Room for improvement, but satisfactory,” he responds coolly. “See you in the morning, Miss Montcalm.”

  He has his hand on the knob, glancing briefly at me. I suck in a breath at the look in his eyes from this close, almost desperate, almost broken.

  I glance quickly at my room, replaying his words.

  Seasonal inspection, my ass. My gaze hovers at my bedroom door where he stood for a long time, peering into it like he was searching for something.

  Or someone.

  If Aidan’s been watching me on the sly, he would have seen me go to the river, and he might have known Alex was there.

  Did he think I brought his brother into my room?

  Oh, my fucking God, I think he did.

  That doesn’t fill me with any good feelings. And I’m confused, because should it? Should I like that he may have been jealous?

  No. I quickly tell myself. Jealousy does more damage than good, and it is an ugly emotion. One that had me roaming every room in this house with so many pained feelings.

  Aidan twists the knob to leave, but my hand shoots out to stop him. I grip his arm firmly to stop his hand from turning it. I’m unsure of my intentions. My brows pinch together, mind quiet as my body reacts of its own volition.

  He pauses, his eyes meeting mine, and we stare at each other for several moments.

  “Why did you come here?” I whisper.

  His gaze wanders my face, settling on my mouth. “I needed to know—”

  “If I was alone?”

  He doesn’t answer straightaway, but his jaw goes tight. He inches to me then, his body closing in on mine. I feel his warmth, smell him underneath the layer of alcohol, and my vision clouds with desire.

  He searches my eyes, looking equally affected, before responding, “You meant something to me. I think…I think you were worse than Nina.”

  Worse than Nina? Could there be such a thin
g?

  Then again, I ravaged his heart, hadn’t I? Maybe…maybe my infliction of pain in him was worse than hers was.

  I am too speechless to respond.

  Twice he’s done that to me within a day—rattled me enough to silence me.

  I feel pain in my chest, and I should be accustomed to it now, but it feels colder than usual. I shrivel up inside as I look away from him. Dismissing him.

  He departs without a glance back, leaving that door wide open. I close it, deeply conflicted by his visit, heart still seized in my chest at that pained look in his eyes.

  I pace the suite for minutes on end, ditching my lunch making endeavors, unable to shake the feeling Aidan is not in a good place, and maybe my being here is giving him an opposite reaction to what I had hoped for.

  I rub my chest, trying to keep my cold pain at bay as I keep revisiting the look on his face—the pain that appears only after he drinks, when his guard is down, when his emotions are bursting all around him instead of locked within that tightly controlled body.

  I’ve bit off more than I can chew and am utterly lost.

  Aidan

  I pound on the door, waiting impatiently.

  Tremors wrack my body. Strange, territorial emotions flood me. I’m drunk—very drunk. I’m coming undone. I keep hearing the angry shouts from years past. From angry faces and hurting hands. I’m spiraling, feeling dangerous, angry. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, can’t stop myself from reacting, from standing before this fucking door and doing anything in my power not to break it down.

  It finally opens.

  Alex looks back at me, nothing in his expression as he waits for me to speak. I look past him and to the brunette in his bed, hiding under the covers. I might have thought it was Ivy—might have ripped into the room and threw those covers off her if I had come here first.

  Fuck, what is happening to me?

  I look back at Alex, my mouth forming a tight line as I erupt before him.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I demand, repeating myself a second time when he doesn’t respond. “What the fuck do you want, Alex?”

  He has the nerve to look confused. “Why would I want anything, Aidan?”

  “You’re in my home, haven’t said a word to me since you got here, and yet you’re fucking about with my assistant—”