SIR

by R. J. Lewis

My fight or flight mode is kicking off.

  “Ivy, we can call this entire thing off. I thought it was worth a shot. I was hoping for a different outcome, like maybe he’d start to remember things around you, but I can see that isn’t the case. I do understand your reluctance, okay? I wouldn’t have sent you in blind like this. Forgive me. I’ll cover your airfare, top you up on this end so you’re off to a strong start. I appreciate you trying.”

  “Okay,” I let out quickly.

  “Is that what you want then? To pull out?”

  I don’t think. “Yes.”

  “When do you want to go?”

  “As soon as humanly possible.”

  “Alright. I’ll find you an airfare for the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll confirm the details with you very shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Once again, I’m very sorry, Ivy.”

  We get off the phone.

  I walk around for a while longer, calming down. My legs are busy. I want to run as far away from his house as possible.

  I want to run back to him, too.

  His gut might be pushing me away, but mine feels pulled in his direction.

  It makes me feel utterly helpless.

  He is going to destroy me if I stick around, and yet…didn’t I tell myself this was a possibility? Didn’t I say I’d stick it out even if it meant my heart being obliterated in the process?

  I couldn’t have known the pain of it, though. Couldn’t have anticipated what rejection might do to me. How cold he looked when he dismissed me, like what I just did— what he did in return— meant nothing.

  And maybe it was nothing.

  Maybe this is what people did. Maybe he mistook me as someone he could fool around with and then discard. A mutual orgasm and then the end.

  The thought makes me feel hollow.

  By the time I make it back to the house, the sun is setting, there’s a cool breeze that feels good against my heated skin and… Aidan is sitting on the front porch.

  I slow down when I see him. I’ve been looking down at my feet nearly the entire way.

  He’s in just his suit pants, his bare torso is gleaming with sweat. He’s been sitting here a while in the heat. His hair is in all directions, like he’s run it through his fingers dozens of times. His eyes, now glassy from what I suspect is alcohol are trained on me.

  “You left,” he says, his voice sounding almost accusatory.

  I come to a stop before him and cross my arms. I’m exhausted, and I’m leaving. I don’t care to argue anymore.

  “You have a problem with me walking around, Mr West?” I ask emptily.

  He just stares at me, gauging my expression. “Still pissed at me, Ivy?” he wonders. “Today really set you off.”

  “Can’t you see why?”

  “I ate your sandwiches.” He says that like it’ll please me. I just stare at him hollowly. “Like you,” he adds, “I, too, am trying.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about the sandwiches. I mean, they were good sandwiches, so I’m glad you ate them—”

  “You’re good in the kitchen, I agree.”

  “Don’t stroke my ego. I don’t have much of one.”

  “Well, you should.” Now he’s licking his lips, thinking. “You’re pissed about what we did.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Regret it, Mr West?”

  “I never said that.” He doesn’t answer me, either.

  “You know why I’m upset.” I cut to the chase. “I wasn’t the one set off.”

  He swallows and says nothing, but he looks back at me, unwavering.

  Our stares are getting too intimate. He’s looking over my form, those buzzed eyes hungry, and I’m looking over his. He’s not as big as before. His muscles aren’t rippling like they used to be, but he’s still big and beautiful.

  How long has he been out here?

  I stare at him suspiciously now. “What are you doing out here?”

  His lips form an empty smile. “Waiting for you.”

  My heart picks up at his response, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m leaving. I am. Feeling what I felt today, and all the days before it, is my last straw.

  Yet I’m still standing here, casually asking him, “Why?”

  His assholery is all gone. There’s a shadow of vulnerability about him as he licks his lips again, his brows coming together slowly. “I have this sudden fear you’re leaving me. I don’t know why.”

  Pressure builds behind my eyes. I swallow hard, shrugging as I fight to say, “I uh…I went for a walk, Mr West.”

  “You’re upset.”

  “Don’t pretend to care.”

  “I’m not pretending, Ivy,” he solemnly tells me. “I won’t deny I was harsh, and I understand if you’re still upset with me.”

  I clear my throat, not meeting his eye. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. You’re just wasting your time. Pretty sure you can play around with any other woman that won’t argue when you cast her aside.”

  “I was under a lot of duress. I wasn’t prepared for it. I needed you gone, didn’t…didn’t want you to see me like that.” Then he appears confused. “I don’t cast women aside in that nature, Ivy, and…why does it bother you so much when you think that way of me?”

  He doesn’t understand my reaction. Doesn’t understand why him with other women would hurt me.

  Anger surges through me. I can’t help feeling triggered. “I’m going.”

  Now his face falls. “Going where?”

  “I’m just going.”

  I climb up the steps to get past him when his hand suddenly grabs mine. I freeze.

  “You better mean you’re going back to your suite,” he tells me gravely.

  I don’t answer.

  “Ivy,” he presses, his breathing coming out harder now as he eyes me.

  I recognize that tone. I peer down at him, seeing the urgency in his expression. He’s worried I’ll go? It’s not the first time he’s been so transparent with his feelings, but every time he is, it leaves me gob smacked.

  “You’re my assistant,” he says, like he’s fighting to keep me. “You don’t get to go until I fire you, Miss Montcalm. You made that perfectly clear with me on several occasions, did you not?”

  My head is spinning. I feel weak, tethered to his touch, longing for him to tug me down and hold me in his lap like he used to.

  “Did you not?” he repeats in that stern way he knows I react to.

  “Yes,” I whisper, looking away.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With the way he’s looking at me, I know I’m fucked.

  I’m too weak to leave, too hopeful to let him go.

  What a mess.

  “I don’t like seeing you like this,” he says, voice tight. “I feel like I’m hurting you and you won’t tell me why.”

  I sigh softly. That’s right. Because he doesn’t know I’m in love with him. Yes, fuck, I am still utterly in love with him. But how could he not see it when I look at him? The longing in my eyes. The desperate way I kissed him. The fervent way I look at him when he’s doing his work and I’m inches away, mourning what has been lost between us.

  I’m never getting it back. That Aidan is growing further away from me with each passing day. It aches. I would have at least liked to have said goodbye to that man before he went.

  His fingers trace along my bangle. He stares at it for a beat longer, and it’s too much knowing he put it there.

  I miss you. I want to cry. I miss our texts, your dirty mouth, the countless hours on the phone. I miss when you held me in bed, when you looked at me as you made love to me and told me with your body how much you loved me.

  I never said it as often as you did.

  “Good night, Mr West,” I force out.

  Then I shake my hand out of his grip and hurry inside.
/>   *

  Ivy: Never mind Steven, I’m not going anywhere just yet.

  I’m weak. Or strong. I don’t know which one anymore.

  It would be so easy to succumb to that flight response in me. To feel numb and run as far away from the pain instead of toward it.

  Yet when I returned to my suite after I blazed into the house, leaving him on the porch under the falling sun, I stood over my suitcase and stared down at it for ages. I couldn’t will myself to pack. Something inside me is holding on tight.

  I love Aidan so fucking much, even if the man in front of me now is different. Want a brutal admission? For a period there, I was frightened my affections had changed. I remember not too long ago thinking, ‘I find him sexy and at times there’s a reminder of my Aidan in the way he looks at me, that heat present, but the man that stole my heart is gone.’ And if I still felt that way, it would make packing my suitcase easy. Leaving is the most sensible thing to do.

  But I simply can’t.

  Because it’s not how I feel. I don’t just find Aidan sexy. I love his soul and it shines out of him in moments of vulnerability, telling me—pleading for me to, ‘hold on, please, just a while longer. I’m still in here, Ivy.’

  I stare at my message in bed as the hours tick on by. The night is long and lonely.

  By midnight, I hear a knock on the door, and I take a while to answer it, but when I do, I don’t see Aidan on the other side. Instead, there’s a note taped to my door. I peel it off, looking over his handwriting.

  We’ve leafed through enough businesses, it’s time for the next step. We’ll be flying into Vancouver tomorrow morning at 11am. Pack well. I will be holding appointments starting next week at my apartment.

  I glance down at the suitcase. All I need to do is zip it up and I’m ready to go.

  I’m antsy, nonetheless.

  We’re leaving the estate, which means we’ll be in the city among everyone else. No more peaceful walks, no more scenic river swims, no more having Aidan to myself.

  I frown, feeling like I’ve lost something before reminding myself this is just temporary. We’ve been planning on seeing a number of businesses in the coming weeks, I just didn’t think we’d be doing it outside the estate. It makes sense. We’re a long way from anywhere. The city is the most suitable place to be.

  I quickly pack some loose belongings into my bag, and then I lay back in bed, tossing and turning.

  I keep sensing he’s near, keep thinking the distant sounds beyond my suite are him pacing, thinking of me like I am of him.

  But that’s crazy.

  I’m crazy.

  Aidan

  I beg, ‘don’t go.’

  But I’m alone nonetheless.

  I’m so lonely, in fact—

  I want to drive.

  I want to run from the loneliness—

  From the possibility that she will be gone forever.

  She wants a house.

  A freedom house…I think.

  I’ll get her a house, and it’ll be ours—

  I awake.

  It’s the middle of the night and my heart is pounding. Sweat trickles down my temples as I shoot upright, chasing after those fragments, quickly searching for my phone.

  My fingers are trembling as I grip it off my nightstand and tear it off the charger. Then I stare down at the screen, head pounding as I try so fucking hard to remember…

  Something about a house…

  Something about driving to chase away the pain…

  Something to do with her.

  Whoever her is.

  My breath slows. A pain unlike anything floods through my chest. It’s jagged and deep; it makes breathing a difficulty. The feeling of loss.

  I shakily go through my contacts—I hardly have any; a man as wealthy as I am, and I don’t have a sea of people to flock to.

  I press a button and raise the phone to my ear.

  “Gaston,” I whisper. “I’m going to need you.”

  Twenty-One

  Ivy

  I don’t say good morning when I meet him outside with my heavy suitcase in hand. I’m dressed to impress, though. I have on the sexiest purple office dress with my cleavage out and everything. I even have the black heels on that Ana snuck into my suitcase. I took forever straightening my hair and while I fucked up my eye make-up, I look better than most days.

  Am I trying to impress Aidan?

  Yes.

  Am I trying to make him regret not dismissing me coldly yesterday?

  Also yes.

  Do I want him to grovel at my feet and beg to lay a hand on my ass?

  Yes, goddammit, yes.

  A black high-end car is already waiting for us when I step out, panting as I drag the suitcase. I’m already sweating, already going to look like a fucking mess—

  Aidan’s cologne wafts around me as he brushes past me, taking hold of my suitcase for me. I go still in surprise as he takes it off me and carries it to the open trunk of the car. Fuck, I can see how solid he is underneath that grey suit as he flexes and effortlessly places the suitcase inside. He makes it look like nothing, and he doesn’t break a sweat. His face is freshly shaved—holy fuck—and his hair is slicked back. Dear God, he looks like my Aidan, even in that slim form suit. When he’s done fitting the suitcase in, he slams the trunk shut.

  This—this is what I wanted when I first showed up. For him to play hero with that bag. He glances at me, and it’s very hard to keep my shit together as I give him a slight nod in thanks.

  Then I slip into the backseat of the car, immediately folding my hands together tightly.

  “Nice seeing you,” says a familiar voice.

  My face whips forward. I have to swallow my utter surprise when I recognize Gaston behind the wheel of the car.

  He looks back at me, flashing me a smile. “His personal assistant, eh?” And then he begins to cackle loudly.

  “Shut up,” I hiss. “He can’t know—”

  “Oh, I know.” He makes a show of rolling his eyes. “What a funny game you and Steven play.”

  “We are not playing.”

  “You don’t need to do this,” Gaston says, amused. “You have full control of Aidan in all his forms.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.

  “Perhaps.”

  Before I can respond, the door opens, and he slips into the front seat next to Gaston.

  “Good to see you,” he says to him.

  They shake hands, like they’re the best of pals. “Mr West, you survived isolation.”

  I can hear Aidan’s smile from here. “Barely.”

  They drive, talking lightly. I dig out my phone and quickly message Ana to let her know what’s going on. It’s a long drive to the airport, but I’m equally as entranced by the picturesque views, so I hardly feel the time passing.

  The airport is tiny, and I buy something quickly at the bakery while I call Ana up and chat to her before the private plane takes off. Aidan is in the private lounge with Gaston, still chatting, but he glances at me periodically to see what I’m up to. When he sees me on the phone, I catch a hint of curiosity.

  “Is he ready to be back in the city?” Ana asks, sounding concerned.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s all so fast and sudden.”

  “Sounds like he’s trying to run from that place.”

  “From the estate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like he doesn’t want to be alone with me anymore?”

  “Maybe it’s the opposite.”

  I frown, confused. “How would it be the opposite?”

  “You were always far off, spending time with Alex and he was always secreted away, brooding.”

  “I don’t know if he was brooding.”

  “There’s a lot more to do in the city. Maybe you guys will be spending more time together.”

  I don’t know about that.

  Things are weird. He hasn’t said a single word to me, and nor have
I to him.

  By the time we board the small flight, it’s just us and Gaston. Yet despite the available seats, West sits down next to me. My face is flat as he opens his briefcase and pulls out a binder. He hands it over to me, wordless, and I take it, realizing he wants us to actually work.

  Isn’t this flight like two seconds long?

  I don’t bother to ask him. Instead, I take the pen he hands me over next. He doesn’t waste time asking how I am or making idle chat. Gone is the vulnerable man waiting on the porch for me to return. He’s back to being emotionless and cool. It’s very obvious what’s happening here. We are both putting on a front, desperate to hide our cracks.

  What a healthy environment.

  By the time the flight has taken off, I’m back to being his calculator because he then opens his mouth and spouts numbers to me, and like a robot, I jot them down, ignoring the weird looks the flight attendant shoots us.

  I feel detached, empty, completely numb. I probably look like an abuse victim all over again, but Aidan hasn’t abused me, nor has he technically done anything wrong to me that he knows of. How can I hate on a man who doesn’t remember he gave me his entire soul? So fine, we’ll work throughout this ridiculously short flight while Gaston chuckles at us from a distance and the flight attendant perks her tits up in hopes West looks at her.

  Having a quick break, we sip our beverages, and that’s when I feel his full attention drift to me.

  “Are we in a salty mood, Miss Montcalm?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone as he breaks through the silence.

  “Nope,” I return flatly. “Just working, Mr West.”

  “Aside from those occasional fuck ups, you’ve been tolerable.”

  Is that really his version of a compliment?

  My smile is fake. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He smirks as he studies me. “I think you are salty. I think it’s to do with me.”

  “The world does not revolve around you, Mr West,” I retort, feeling bothered by his attention. Even though he’s right. It’s entirely to do with him and that cold, hard dismissal I still haven’t gotten over.

  He chuckles. “I suppose.”

  He’s silent a moment, and I think our dialogue is over.

  Then he asks, “Who do you talk to on the phone?”