by Alana Jade
What’s wrong with you, Georgia?
You’ve never looked at him in that way before, I grill myself.
A few moments later, Adam places a coffee cup in front of me before placing another in front of himself, then sitting in the chair next to me.
“Thanks for all your effort today,” he says, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip before placing it straight back on the desk.
“My pleasure,” I reply, giving him a warm smile before turning my attention to a mark on my skirt. I mutter an internal curse when I realize it is ink.
“If it’s a mark you can’t get out, leave the skirt at my place. I’ll have Lucy check it out. She’s amazing at getting stains out.”
“I will if she won’t mind, thanks.”
“It’s no problem. Would you like to get some dinner?” he asks.
“Yes. There are some menus I put over here…” I reach out for the menus I placed on his desk the day before, leaning oh-so-close to Adam.
Before I can even comprehend what’s happening, Adam’s hand is cupping my face, his lips on mine. I’m frozen. I can’t move. It happened so suddenly, I wasn’t prepared. I’m trying my hardest to unfreeze myself from this state I’ve found myself in, to tell him I want this, but it’s not working. He holds his lips there for a moment before leaning back, trying to read my face.
I guess I must look like a stunned mullet as he starts apologizing. “Shit, Georgia. I shouldn’t have done that.” He stands and walks around to his side of the desk, then he starts pacing back and forth. He grabs at his hair in frustration. “Head home. Grab some dinner on the way. Take this card, it’s a driver I often use. I trust him. I’ve got some things to finish up here before I can leave.” Adam slides a plastic card across the desk.
While my body is no longer frozen, my words seem to be. I don’t know whether to tell him it’s what I want as well now, especially after his reaction, or to cry because he obviously regrets kissing me. So not having any idea what to do, I slowly stand, grab the card, and walk from the office.
You fucking idiot, Georgia, I internally scream at myself.
Maybe my mom is right. Maybe I do fuck up everything good in my life. I bring everything on myself, and somehow, I ask for these things to happen to me like what happened with my stepfather.
After grabbing my handbag, I walk slowly to the elevator. Adam yells, “Argh,” followed by a big thump on what sounds like a wall or possibly his desk.
I drop my handbag and run back to Adam’s office, my heels clicking on the tiles heavily as I go. “Adam?” I call. “Are you all right?”
“Shit! I thought you’d gone,” he groans, clutching his hand. His expression tells me he doesn’t want me here, but I ignore that fact completely.
“I heard a thump. I can’t leave without checking on you. Show me? What happened?” I cautiously walk toward him, holding out my hand for him to place his in it.
From his body language, he wants me as far away from him as possible, but he reluctantly shows me his still-fisted right hand. While there are no visible signs of damage to it, I gently take his fist in my hand and run my fingers over his skin. The feeling causes flutters in my belly, nerves from being this close to Adam again.
“Adam, can you open your fist?”
He tries but winces in pain.
“Ice pack?” I ask. He points to the small refrigerator near his bathroom.
I hurriedly walk over, retrieving the ice pack, before wrapping a small towel around the pack and walking back to Adam.
“Here. Hold this to the area, and maybe you need to see a doctor. Did you hit the wall?” I ask, gently placing the wrapped ice pack on the skin of his hand.
“No, my desk. I don’t need a doctor. It’ll be fine,” he gruffly says, sitting on his chair, splaying his other hand on the desk. He’s either in so much pain, or he’s totally embarrassed by his actions but too proud to do anything about it.
I stare at him, looking at his eyes, waiting for his to meet mine. When they do, he quickly averts them, but I can’t stand it anymore.
“Snap out of it,” I demand. “You kissed me, then regretted it. Get over it. It’s fine. Can we worry about possible damage to your hand here?” My moment of assertiveness ends quickly when I realize what I’ve said.
“My hand is fine. Let me put this straight… I don’t regret kissing you. I thought, when I pulled back and saw your face, it was the last thing you wanted, especially given your expression.”
I gasp at his comment. My heart is pounding in my chest so loudly I can feel each beat in my ears. I take the last ounce of courage I have within me and lean toward Adam, placing my lips on his.
It’s only a quick kiss which I didn’t add any passion to, but feel I’ve now proven my point.
I did want him to kiss me.
And I want him to again.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“Because I wanted to.” I shrug, the corner of my lips turning up.
Adam pulls his fist back from my hand before snaking his arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. “You wanted to?” he mutters.
I nod, staring into his gorgeous sea-green eyes. All seems forgotten about his hand in this moment. My breath catches in my throat as he leans into me and kisses me again, this time gently massaging my lips with his.
Bringing my hand to his face, I run my fingers up the side and into his hair, wanting to pull us closer to deepen this kiss. But instead, he suddenly breaks the kiss and pulls away.
“We can’t be doing this, Georgia. We work together, remember? I’m your boss. Not to mention, your father was my idol.”
I gather my composure, trying not to be an emotional mess after being rejected for the second time in half an hour. “Adam, we have a connection. I know you feel it, too.” I stand up straight, taking a step back.
I want to fight for this.
I damn well know he feels the same as I do.
“It doesn’t matter what I feel. It’s not right. Let me grab my things, and I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Shove your ride, I’ll make my own way home,” I angrily say. “Was banging your hand simply a way to get me to come back in here?” I don’t wait for his answer. This time, I turn on my heel and march from his office with my head held high. I won’t give him my dignity or allow him to see me upset or crying. Fury is churning in my stomach, and I need to get out of here now.
Scooping my handbag from the floor near the elevator, I press the button multiple times. The lift is waiting for me, which is odd since I never pushed the button earlier. I step inside, watching as the doors close with a small part of me wanting Adam to come running after me.
But there’s nothing.
My job is just that. A job.
If I’ve ruined it, so be it. But it’s a two-way street. I’m not going to be petty about this. I’ll keep my nose down and do the best I can. I’m not after a romance, anyway. I want to get my life back in order.
But if Adam realizes what he’s missing out on in the process, then so be it.
Adam
So much for platonic, you dimwit. You’ve likely fucked up a friendship too.
After walking around the city for what felt like hours, I finally made it back to my office when the cold of the night got too much for me, then drove home.
For some reason, I was convinced Georgia would be waiting on my back step, or she would pop out of her house once she heard the tires on the paved drive.
But nothing.
Every light in her house was switched off, including the outside lights.
A noise from the bushes at the side of her house startled me, but then the neighbor’s cat, Bernie, walked out, and I realized it was nothing.
I wanted to bang on her door to apologize, but I didn’t really know what to apologize for.
We can’t be together.
It’s company policy.
It’s as simple as that.
It’s my company policy.
&
nbsp; Even though I am the boss, I can’t make rules then break them.
This girl has crept her way into my head, possibly my heart, even though I’ve had the biggest of barriers up. I know we have a connection. I think we would be good together if we could give it a go. But I must think of my business—a business I’ve worked so hard to build.
The morning drive to the office will give me a chance to explain everything to Georgia, and I’m sure she’ll completely understand where I’m coming from. But then I quickly remember it’s Saturday.
So, I decide to make a big breakfast. Hopefully, it’ll help smooth things over with Georgia.
Walking out the back door past my car to the guesthouse, I take several deep breaths. Females never have this effect on me. Normally, I can push my emotions aside and continue on with what needs to be done, but this morning, I think I’m beginning to feel nervous. Of course, I’ve apologized for things in my past but nothing like this.
Sadness washes over my mind when it dawns on me that while I’d love to give this a go with Georgia, it simply can’t happen. I’ve never felt so miserable about a non-relationship before.
A few sharp knocks on her front door gain no response. But it does catch the attention of my gardener, Clinton. It’s unusual for him to be here on the weekend, but perhaps he swapped with someone. I don’t mind if the staff swap their days around as long as the jobs get done.
“Georgia left very early this morning, Mr. Cunningham,” he calls from the rose garden near the tennis courts. “Her Uber was waiting when I arrived.”
Fucking Uber. Again.
“Thank you, Clinton. Do you know where she was heading?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. She was dressed for exercising, though.” He shrugs with a trowel in his hand.
I wave my thanks, heading back inside the house.
Dammit! Georgia could be anywhere. She has no need to visit a gym. I have one in the house. I understand I’ve hurt her feelings. It was a dick move on my behalf. I will give her some space and speak to her when she arrives back home.
Later that day…
It’s now late afternoon, and Georgia hasn’t returned. I’m starting to worry. If she’s visited a gym, no one is there all day. While the day started out sunny and warm, it’s taken a turn and is threatening rain.
She wasn’t at the office when I went there earlier, or in the gym, while I could think of some places she may go, it’s not like we live in a tiny town. Let’s face it, it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I start thinking of different ways to locate her. Sure, I can get a trace on her cell through my contacts, but I’m not sure if it’s warranted just yet. I doubt she’s gone to see her family from what she’s told me about them.
Then it’s as though a lightbulb has ignited in my head. Her father’s grave. That’s where I go from time to time when I need some clarity.
Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, I fly out the back door allowing it to slam shut behind me. I wish I’d grabbed a sweater as the rain is starting to fall.
As I jump in the car and fasten my seatbelt, the engine barely has time to register before I’m slamming the accelerator. Before rounding the corner, the car jolts over a large pile of mulch Clinton has in front of the rose garden. Listening to the tree bark fly up, hitting the underside of the car, I cringe at the mess I know I’ve made. Not a bright move on my part, but I’ll deal with it when I return with Georgia.
I fly toward the gate waiting once I arrive for it to slowly open. I impatiently tap my fingers on the wheel, muttering quite a few expletives as I wait.
As the gate opens enough for the car to go through, a small white hatchback car pulls in. They’d better not be looking for directions or trying to turn around because this car is now seriously in my way. But it’s not until I notice who gets out of it, I forgive the barricade.
Georgia.
Putting the car in park and killing the engine, I jump out, rushing toward her. “Where have you been?” I berate. My adrenaline has kicked in, my heart pounding against my ribcage feeling like I’ve recently run a marathon.
Georgia pulls some bags from the car and thanks the driver before closing the door.
“Georgia?”
Is she ignoring me?
She watches the car reverse out before turning and walking off up the driveway.
Leaving my car where it’s parked, I follow her, trying to get her to talk to me. “Georgia. Stop! Speak to me.”
She comes to an abrupt stop, then spins around. Her eyes are narrowed while her eyebrows are drawn together. She’s trying to cross her arms over her chest, but the shopping bags are in the way. “What is it?” she spits.
“Woah,” I exclaim. Her acid tongue catches me off guard. Obviously, she’s a lot angrier about what happened than I thought. Or is this a stubborn streak her father was famous for?
“I don’t want to talk to you. I’ll see you at work. I will be the ‘good little assistant,’” she uses air quotes, “… but outside of work hours, I’m doing my own thing. You don’t want me romantically. You’ve made it perfectly clear. So, leave me alone.”
“Georgia, you don’t understand. Let me explain.”
“I understand perfectly.” She starts walking away again, and I run to catch up, grabbing her arm and spinning her around.
She’s visibly shaking. “Please, Adam, leave me alone. I’ve spent too long cry…” she trails off.
I place my other hand on her arm and stare directly into her eyes.
She looks away.
“Were you crying last night?” I gently ask.
“What do you expect? I get turned down by the same guy twice within ten minutes. Possibly ruined my job prospects. You think that won’t upset someone?” Tears start to well in her eyes again.
“You haven’t ruined your job. Come into the main house. Let’s talk,” I calmly say. I feel like absolute shit about making her cry.
“I’d rather be alone, thank you,” she mumbles, shaking herself loose and continues up the drive.
I let her go.
I can’t bear to upset her any more than I already have.
Watching as she carries her bags up the drive, she finally disappears around the corner. I drag my feet back to my car, returning it to its usual parking position.
Maybe I’ll attempt to speak to Georgia on Monday.
Either way, I’m ready to talk when she is.
Sitting at the kitchen table, playing a stupid, yet addictive game on my laptop, I hear someone call out, “Help.” The voice is soft, so soft you’d wonder if your mind is playing tricks on you.
I turn the volume down to zero, listening for the sound again, but nothing. Perhaps Georgia’s television is up loud. I can occasionally hear her television when I’m in my kitchen.
Five minutes later, I hear someone call for help again. Only this time, I stand and walk toward the back door waiting to hear where the sound is coming from. After standing there for a couple of minutes, I walk back to the kitchen table and my game.
“Adam. Help.”
It’s Georgia. She’s standing outside the back door.
She starts knocking over and over.
Racing to the door, I fling it open, and she rushes inside, wrapping her arms around me, and sobbing into my shirt.
“Shhh...” I don’t know what’s the right thing to do, but I hold her tight, trying to pacify her. I’m not good with emotions, and a crying woman usually makes me walk the other direction. I blame my father for my hard exterior. But when it comes to Georgia, all I want to do is hold her, making sure she’s fine.
It’s as though we’re standing in the doorway for the longest time, saying nothing. Her whole body is shaking, but it’s not from the cool night air. Her grasp on my shirt becomes tighter and tighter until suddenly she releases it and steps back. Frantically wiping her tears away, she apologizes before running toward her front door.
“Georgia,” I call, chasing behind her to
her house.
She’s not going to flee from me again.
“Georgia,” I call again.
She slams the front door behind her, but I’m not giving up this time. She’s obviously distressed and now possibly embarrassed.
As I reach the front door, I knock several times, but there’s no response.
I know I shouldn’t, but I reach for the door handle, slowly turning it. To my surprise, it opens, so I push it and take a step inside.
“Georgia.” My voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Damn! I forgot to lock it. Please leave me alone,” she mumbles from the darkened small living room.
“I’m turning the light on. Close your eyes,” I warn, ignoring her request.
Fumbling for the switch in the dark, I finally locate it, flicking it on. The small hallway and living room light up instantly, revealing Georgia lying across her couch, a pink knitted throw blanket pulled over her head.
“What’s going on?” I ask, completely confused by her hot and cold mood swings.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine now. I’m sorry to have run over to your place.” She tries to dismiss me with a wave of her hand, but I’m not going anywhere, not until I get some answers.
“You weren’t fine. You were scared, panicked so much so you didn’t even use the code to get in. You were banging on my door, Georgia. So how about I make some hot chocolate, and you tell me what all this was about.”
After making two mugs of hot chocolate, I place them on the circular glass table in front of the couch. I gently touch Georgia’s leg, so she can scoot over, making room for me to sit next to her. The room only has the two-seater couch, a coffee table, and a television on the wall. This house is basic but comfortable. Georgia’s added a few knickknacks to make it feel more like home.
“So, come on… out with it. What’s this all about?” I ask, before taking a sip of my hot chocolate. The hot liquid burns my mouth, making me cringe. “Be careful, it’s very hot,” I gently tell Georgia. I’m not used to having to make it from scratch. Normally, I push a button on my machine, or Lucy will make it.
“I’ll leave mine for a little while, then.”