These conversations never end well.
Chapter Fourteen
Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. The entire time, my anxiety has been climbing, never quite reaching that peak. I keep my hand over my stomach, over my daughter, knowing that whatever this is about is going to affect her. I can only hope it’s not negatively.
I go to the door and open it, seeing Oliver looking down at me. “I came as quickly as I could,” he tells me.
“Hi to you too,” I murmur, stepping aside so he can enter the apartment. “I didn’t mean for you to rush.”
“I know. It’s just that this is a conversation that we need to have.”
Panic is clear on Oliver’s face as soon as the door is shut. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like this before. Not even when he came to me in a rushed frenzy to confess to the murder he arranged. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes looking anywhere but me.
“Oliver,” I say his name softly, not wanting to show how panicked I feel in response to his own panic. “What’s going on?”
He takes my hand in his, pulling me towards the couch. We both take a seat and I feel the panic rising even more. It’s so reminiscent of his last confession. He doesn’t speak, so I speak again, urging him a little bit more this time.
“Oliver, tell me. Please.”
He’s still not looking at me. He runs his palms along his jeans, quickly and harshly.
“God,” he finally says, stopping the rubbing of his palms on his legs to rake his hands through his hair. “I fucked up again, Cassidy.”
That’s what I was expecting, but not what I wanted to hear. I don’t know what he’s expecting me to say. I don’t know how to respond. Part of me wants to scream ‘again’ because I trusted him not to do it again. Am I an idiot? Am I so blind when it comes to this man that I fall for the same traps and tricks over and over again? It’s certainly beginning to seem that way.
Instead of screaming, instead of accusing, I say in the smallest voice I can, “What did you do, Oliver?”
I’m not looking at him anymore because I can’t. I’m disgusted. Knowing that whatever he’s done is bad just by the way that he’s acting. I suck in a breath, staring up at the ceiling. I wait for it, the confession that’s going to knock me breathless. The confession that is going to break me.
He’s silent. I can hear his hands moving, running through his hair, running over his jeans. I can hear his feet tapping on the wooden floor of my apartment.
So, I ask again, “Oliver, what did you do?”
He takes a deep breath, “Nothing yet.”
Maybe that answer should make me relax. He hasn’t messed up yet, there’s still time to stop it. Instead, the answer just makes me panic because that means he still plans on doing whatever the mistake is. He just knows it’s going to be bad.
I rephrase my question.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
He sucks in another breath. I’m still not looking at him. I still hear his feet tapping, his hands moving.
“Father thinks it’s for the best.”
“What is?! Just tell me, Oliver.”
I don’t want to get too upset. I know that isn’t good for our daughter, but I can’t help myself. I’m panicked. I’m worried. I don’t like seeing him like this. This is too much. I’m tired of these confessions, I’m tired of these games.
He sighs, the tapping stops, the movement of his hands stop. Oliver is now still, and I think he’s looking at me, but I won’t return his gaze.
“Do you remember the author I was telling you about? The one with the sample I couldn’t put down?” I still don’t speak or look at him, I just nod and hope he catches it. “He’s thinking of signing with another company. Evidently, we didn’t woo him enough.”
“Isn’t that how publishing works? You win some, you lose some?”
“Yes. But, we lost a lot of money with father’s trial. Nobody wanted to sign with Windsor during that period, so we don’t have any new releases scheduled for the fall period. If we can’t get something out in winter, we’ll have to start layoffs and pay cuts which will lead to even worse publicity.”
“So, how does this add up to you doing something bad? How does this lead to you messing up? Is he blaming you for losing the contract?”
“Yes. So that makes it my job to fix it.”
“Fix it how?”
I don’t know what Alan’s expecting of him but I know it’s not going to be good.
Oliver is silent again. Just before I push for more answers, he starts to speak again.
“He wants me to make something bad happen to him, something that’ll communicate to him that if he doesn’t sign with Windsor more bad things will happen.”
“He wants you to blackmail him into signing with the company? Oliver, that’s ridiculous.”
He sighs.
“I know. I don’t want to do it, but I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” I say, finally looking over at him. It’s clear just how stressed he is, just how worried he is. As soon as I speak, he shakes his head violently.
“But I don’t, Cassidy. I’ve never had a choice,” he says sadly, and it tugs at my heart.
I’ve known for a while now that Oliver is just a product of the environment that he was raised in. He’s made his own choices, of course. He’s his own man. But everything that Oliver has done is because he wants to please his father. Alan put so much pressure on his children that they were bound to break eventually.
Allison is lucky. She fled as soon as she realized how bad it could get.
Oliver stayed, and has had to bear the brunt of it.
“Oliver, you can’t do whatever it is he wants you to do. You’re not that person. I know you. You’re a good man. You can’t let him keep dragging you down like this.”
He runs both hands through his hair.
“He’s not giving me a choice, Cassidy. That’s what you don’t understand. I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“If I don’t do this, I’ll be out of the family. He’ll disown me. He’s already told me so. I’ll be left with nothing if I don’t do this for him.”
I’m not surprised. God, I wish that I were. I wish this were some shocking revelation that I’d have to do a double-take about. But this is textbook Alan Windsor - and I hardly know this man. All I know is he’s never going to let Oliver be free.
“There has to be another way,” I say quietly. I don’t know one, but I’m desperate for the answer. I’m desperate for there to be one.
“I’ve tried to think of one,” he says, staring up at my ceiling. “I’ve tried to figure out what to do, what’s for the best. I can’t think of a single thing other than doing what he wants me to.”
I don’t want to have to face this. I don’t want to deal with this right now.
“Oliver,” I say, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to comfort him.
He turns on the couch to look at me, his hands reaching out slowly to come to rest on top of my growing stomach.
“I have to choose between my family and you,” he says quietly. “And if I don’t choose my family, I won’t be able to help you raise our daughter. I have to choose between being a shitty person, or being able to provide, between being a good person and a deadbeat. How am I supposed to make that choice, Cassidy?”
I don’t have an answer for him. I put my hand on top of his, hoping to provide just a bit of comfort.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Because you know where I stand.”
I wish I could say I will stick by him no matter what, but I have to think of more than just me now. I want to see Oliver be the good person that I know he can be, not the person that his father pushes him to be.
“I know,” he replies in a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you, Cassidy. I don’t want to have to make this choice.”
I turn to look at him, my face s
oftening. I feel so much for this man. I feel so hurt that he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I reach out, cupping his face in my hands. He seems to melt at just that simple touch.
“I’m so sorry you have to make this choice, Oliver. I’m sorry you’re put in this position. I wish there were something I could do for you; I wish I could tell you how to solve the problem.”
“I know,” he says quietly, leaning even more into my touch. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. I’m sorry I can’t be the man that you deserve. I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you deserve.”
I swallow hard, withdrawing my hands.
“Have you made your choice then?”
I’m scared of the answer because I know what that means. I know that that’ll end the fairytale I keep finding myself wrapped up in.
He shakes his head slowly.
“No...not yet.”
“But you think you’re going to choose your family?”
“I don’t know what else to do, Cassidy. I’m trying to think of an idea, I’m trying to figure out where I go from here. I just - I need some time to figure it out.”
“We have a baby on the way, Oliver.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just take time whenever you feel like it. We need to figure this out together.”
“I know, Cassidy. But I don’t know what else to do. I have to think about it.”
I’m in shock as I look at him. He has to take time to think about what to do? What about me? I don’t get that luxury. I’m pregnant. Our child is growing inside of me and each day we get closer to bringing her into the world. I don’t know what to say...I feel enraged.
“I can’t give you time, Oliver. You don’t get that luxury anymore,” I say without thinking.
His gaze turns to me and I expect it to be angry. I expect him to be enraged that I would dare say something like that to him. Instead, he looks shocked. He looks like he just realized something, and I don’t have it in me right now to ask him what.
“You’re right,” he finally says, running a hand through his hair. By this point, any hope of having it styled is gone. It’s just a blonde mess. “I wasn’t thinking correctly. This is a problem we need to solve together.”
“What are we going to do?”
He swallows hard.
“I want to be with you, Cassidy. I’m tired of fucking everything up and losing you. I want to prove to you that I can be better. But, I don’t want to lose everything that I have. I want to be able to provide for you and our daughter and this is the only way I know how.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Oliver like this before and I hope that I never have to again because he looks unbelievably stressed. Every bit of him that’s usually calm and collected is gone. He no longer looks stoic or god-like. He doesn’t remind me of a Greek statue any longer.
“I wish I could tell you what to do,” I tell him quietly. “I wish I could tell you that it’s all going to be okay, but you know where I stand. If you do this, I walk. I don’t see a way for you to keep your status and your money and me in the same breath.”
And yet this shouldn’t be a hard choice. It shouldn’t be something that challenges him. I want to scream at him to pick me, pick his daughter, and our growing family, but that’s not how it works. That’s not who I am. I can’t force him to pick me.
He reaches out for my hand and I give it to him, our fingers lace together.
“Cassidy, did you mean it when you said that you trusted me?” he asks me.
I wish this were a question I had to think about. It should be a question that I have to put thought into. But it’s not. The answer comes to me with ease. I look over at him, trying to make eye contact.
“Yes.”
Because, I do. It’s stupid, probably one of the dumbest decisions that I’ve ever made.
I trust him because in this situation he came to me before he acted. He didn’t act recklessly. This time, he told me what was going on, why he was pulling away, without being an asshole. I don’t know if this time it’s because there’s a child involved, because we have a maybe real, maybe fake engagement, or because he’s grown as a person.
“Okay,” he squeezes my hand. “Because I think I have an idea, but you’re going to have to trust me on it. You’re going to have to trust me more than you ever thought that you could.”
As soon as those words leave his lips, I realize how likely it is that I’ve gotten myself in over my head. I don’t know what Oliver wants from me or what he’s expecting me to do. I just know that it’s going to be... challenging.
After Oliver tells me the bare minimum of what his plan is, we spend the night together. We don’t talk about the possibility of his plan not working, or that maybe my trust in him isn’t as strong as I want it to be. We leave all of that unspoken and let our bodies do the talking. With his body, Oliver shows me just how much he cares for me, just how much he loves me. I hope that I return the feeling.
When we wake up together the next morning, I feel sick to my stomach. It’s not the pregnancy nausea that I’ve been dealing with. It’s the feeling you get when things could be falling apart around you. The feeling you get when something is about to happen, and you don’t know whether it’s something good or something awful. It’s that anxious, gnawing feeling.
I don’t like it.
All Oliver says to me while we get ready is, “Are you sure you trust me?”
And for the second time, even though I feel incredibly stupid when I say, “Yes.”
I know for a fact that I trust him, but I also know it’s stupid to do so. Oliver has never given me a reason to trust him. He’s never proven to me that he’s changed from the man I broke up with. But I have to believe in him. I have to believe in us. Otherwise, I’d be an absolute mess right now.
When we get to work, Oliver disappears in the direction of Alan’s office almost immediately. I’d be a liar if I said that I wasn’t worried. With everything going on, I’d like to know what the real details of his plan are. All he has asked is for me to trust him, but I want to know more.
I guess I have to be prepared for whatever is thrown at me.
Last time I didn’t have a warning before shit hit the fan. This time, I’m ahead of the curve. I just have to keep telling myself to have faith and that I can withstand anything. I’ve been through hell already, what’s a few more flames?
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver and I are sitting in my living room. My legs are draped over his lap, his hand resting on my calf. The TV is on, but just as background noise.
“I told my father I’ll do whatever he needs me to,” he tells me, absentmindedly massaging my calf as we sit.
The coffee table is scattered with takeout boxes from our dinner in, something private, so we could talk.
This is the closest he’s come to telling me about his plan and I find myself a little uneasy. I’m not sure what to expect out of him.
“How does that work? Are you just not going to do it?” I ask. I know he’s told me to trust him. I know I told him that I do trust him. But I have questions, questions that I need answers to.
I don’t even know what Alan’s expecting Oliver to do. All I know is he wants ‘something bad to happen’ to this author and Oliver has to be the one to cause it. I don’t know what ‘something bad’ entails to Alan Windsor, I just know that it can’t be good.
Oliver runs a hand through his hair.
“Yes and no. It’s a little bit more complicated than that.”
I shift my position on the couch, sitting up just a bit more so I can stare at him.
“Oliver.”
I don’t say anything other than his name, hoping my tone tells him everything. I need more than he’s giving me. I don’t want to be a silent witness to whatever’s going on.
He catches my drift immediately. He sighs heavily, sitting up just a bit more.
“No, you’re right,” he says with a reluctant sigh. “He wants me to call our old fri
ends,” he says carefully, like somebody is listening to us.
“The same old friends you used for Matthew?” I ask tensely.
I’m trying not to be bitter about what happened because by accepting Oliver back in my life, I should have gotten over it. I chose Oliver. I can’t hold onto the past if I want to move forward with our relationship.
He sighs. It’s clear that he didn’t want to broach this subject for conversation.
“Yes.”
“Gotcha,” I mutter in return. “And you can’t have this author taken care of.”
I hate using that term. It makes me feel as if I’m in some mafia movie, it feels cliché and weird, talking about ending someone’s life as ‘taking care of them.’
“Right.”
He’s giving me one-word answers and I don’t know where this conversation is going.
“So, he wants me to send a message.”
“Why you?” I ask. It takes us off track from the conversation, at least a little bit, but I have to know.
If Alan wants this done if he has the same connections that Oliver does, why doesn’t he give the marching orders?
“Because he wants me to prove myself, prove that I’m willing to do whatever possible for the family and the business,” he says staring off into space with a far away look on his face. “He says if I can do this then I can take over the company without a problem. I have to be willing to do whatever it takes to take care of the family and the company.”
“Haven’t you proven yourself already?”
Maybe Oliver isn’t the most adept businessman, but he kept the company afloat while Alan was in prison. He worked harder than I ever thought he could to keep things perfect for when Alan returned.
My question hits a sore spot. There it is, the stone-cold glaze on his face, the one that makes him utterly unreadable in these situations. He sucks in a breath, still not making eye contact with me.
“Evidently not,” he practically spits the words out like they leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
Fake Love Rich Boss Series Page 28