Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  "Are you sure it's not yourself you need to be nicer to first?"

  "Aren't you supposed to tell me if that's the case?"

  She smiles. "We can determine it together. However, I do have another client scheduled in about five minutes. So perhaps we can start here next time."

  "Next time?"

  "I'd like to see you once a week," she says. "We can drop the regularity after the first month, but it's beneficial to start therapy with an accelerated frequency at first, especially in combination with medication."

  "I would come that often," I say, surprising myself with the truth. "But I started a new job last week. It's half an hour from here, so lunch breaks are out, too." And I know from the office hours listed on their website that they're not open late enough for me to get here after work.

  "I understand. But I would like to schedule quarterly check-ins then, will that work?" When I nod, she continues. "And in the meantime, I'd like for you to consider a therapy site called Straight Talk No Jacket."

  I laugh at the name and she twists her mouth, admitting she doesn't love it, though the wordplay is clever. She explains it's an online counseling center, where I can speak with licensed therapists via video chat. "They don't take insurance," she warns. "But it's affordable—and sometimes insurance companies will offer reimbursement. I'm happy to write a referral on your behalf."

  I can't stop nodding today. It's…weird. I'm used to the opposite. "I'd appreciate it."

  And so I walk out of the building a changed girl. A prescription in my pocket. A small amount of understanding for all my years of failure. A sort of hope I'm not sure I've ever encountered before, one that brings a new outlook, a positivity toward the future I know I've never had.

  Today is going to be a good day. The truth of it is beating with every pump of my suddenly full heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  WHEN I GET to work, I walk straight into Alec's office. "You made them give me health insurance, didn't you?"

  "Hello to you, too," he says. "I missed you yesterday—why didn't you return my text?"

  Because, like a total lame-ass, I couldn't think of a clever response to Hey kitten. I was too focused on my looming doctor appointment.

  "Tell me." I can't believe I didn't put it together sooner.

  "It depends on if you'll be pissed at me or not." He offers a faux-nervous grin, and it makes me laugh.

  "Thank you," I say, literally never having meant the phrase more than in this moment. I have pills in my purse. I have my first Straight Talk No Jacket appointment booked for two weeks from now. And actually being heard at the doctors' office today—by three different people, no less—makes me more hopeful than…ever. "You seem determined to change my life."

  Then, because all of a sudden the air is filled with too much cheesiness for me to allow, I add, "Or maybe I'm still reeling from Friday night."

  "You aren't the only one. When I close my eyes, I hear you purring, moaning. I can hear it when you speak now—those perfect little noises are right there waiting to be coaxed out of you."

  I open my mouth, but find I'm too self-conscious about my voice to actually speak.

  "Jesus, kitten, watching you… You have no idea…" He breaks off, cringing. "Shit. I have a meeting in ten minutes and I'm halfway to wood just thinking about Friday."

  "So," I say, grinning, "I shouldn't ask you to remember what it felt like when I had you in my mouth? When my hands were gripping your ass? Your balls? My tongue flickering over you—"

  "Teagan," he groans, leaning forward. "If you don't stop, I'm going to break a hole through the bottom of this desk."

  "Let's not flatter ourselves, Alec. You're big—but nobody's got that sort of reach."

  His laugh booms through the room. "Trust me, kitten. You give me all the reach in the world."

  I drag my tongue over my lower lip, loving the way his eyes track the motion. "I'll leave you with this then." I lean over his desk to whisper closer to his ear. "I can still close my eyes and remember your flavor. And I'm desperate for another taste."

  I exit his office high from the strangled noise my words force out of him.

  And I giggle when he leaves late for his meeting, his expression pointed when he passes my desk.

  Sam also shoots me a telling look. "What gives? Seriously. I need to know."

  "I got a funny email," is all I say. He rolls his eyes.

  I take my first Zoloft the next morning, breaking the small oval pill in half, like Dr. Jones suggested. I know I won't magically be super happy, but a tiny part of me can't help wishing maybe I'll be the first person ever to be affected that way.

  All I feel, though, is a little spacey a few hours later. Sleepy—but not so much that it affects my work. Or my ability to flirt with Alec—thank God.

  Most of the week passes much in the same way.

  Reading long emails still really fucking frustrates me.

  Filing still makes me miserable.

  And it still takes me literally days to decipher notes I take during meetings. Which pisses me off more than everything else combined. Well, not including the fact that Alec hasn't asked me out again, and I've been too chickenshit to do it myself. It's so much fucking easier to take initiative with people who buy my act than it is with someone who sees through it the way he does. Actually, it's not that he sees through it—he doesn't even let me start the play.

  Whatever.

  Maybe the pills are kicking in, or maybe it's my own mental state feeling relieved because I'm at least taking pills that will help, but even when I'm pissed off, I only snap at Sam like fifty percent of the time.

  Alec's out of town for the weekend—so I spend most of it in my room, listening to books and maybe, possibly, starting to fall for my boss for real. Because he gave me books. He gave me health insurance. He didn't run away from my crazy. Any guy who does all that seems like he'd be worth loving. At least a little.

  Or maybe it's specifically because he's Alec. All I have to do is picture his face, imagine the timbre of his laugh, the weight of his hands on my body, and I start to melt. My body's ready for another interaction with his—so much so that I'm constantly in a state of anticipatory tingling—but he pushes on my heart, too, making it feel swollen beneath my ribs. His presence is there, on the sides of my neck that tighten when I can't fight a smile. In the tapping of my fingers when I'm counting down the hours until I see him again. Through my mind in the late hours of the night, while I toss and turn.

  By Monday morning, it's clear. I've got it bad.

  That sneaky motherfucker snuck his way into more than something physical, into feelings that travel under my skin like a lifeline. I'd give him a piece of my mind about it, if only I could stop grinning long enough to do it.

  The next week, we're slammed.

  Well, Alec is slammed. It's business as usual for me and Sam. But Alec is in constant meetings and out of the office half the time, and I hate it. I keep waiting for him to ask me out again.

  I keep telling myself I'm going to ask him.

  I keep chickening out.

  Miss you, kitten, he texts me toward the end of the week, while I know he's meeting with his father.

  Who is this again? I respond, smiling.

  Don't act like I haven't heard you purr, he sends back. And a second later: Can't tell you how much I'm dying to do it again.

  Oh, this must be Alec. Sorry. Hard to keep track of all my suitors.

  You better be joking.

  And if I'm not?

  Sam snatches my phone out of my hands, and I whirl around in my chair. "Give that back."

  "No. No way." He dances away from me, holding my phone out of reach. "You have a secret—and I know Alec's involved. If you won't spill it… I'll have to dig for it myself."

  I'm up and in his face without thinking about doing it. "Give me my fucking phone."

  "Teagan—come on."

  "Ask me for my stories," I hiss, "and I might give them to you. But don'
t you take my shit. Don't you go digging where you have no right. Give me my fucking phone."

  Someone clears their throat, and I turn, realizing we've made a bit of a spectacle for the rest of the office. People are staring, people are smirking, people are avoiding my gaze. And good for them, too, because I'm ready to fucking roast anyone I catch looking.

  "I was only joking." Sam shoves my phone into my hands, as the rest of the office begins to filter back into their regular routine. "I wouldn't really go through your phone."

  "How the hell would I know that?" I ask, softening my tone when I notice how red his face is.

  I…have issues with my privacy. Probably something to discuss with my therapist. But all I had growing up were my secrets. My life. I could share it with whom I chose—a select few people, and mostly just Cassidy. Sometimes Jason, but never all the way.

  In fact, Alec knows me better already than anyone else ever has.

  I can't decide if that's sad, or if it means something more.

  I sigh and walk to Sam's desk. "Here." I drop my phone in front of him, text messages opened. Alec's most recent one reading, You're my only one if that makes a difference.

  "You're his only what?" He scrolls up through the conversation. "Suitor?" He glances at me, his eyes wide. "Okay, first of all, who the hell even uses that term anymore?"

  "Don't be a dick. I couldn't think of what else to call it."

  "Date. Boyfriend. Paramour. Lover." He ticks off his fingers as he names all the words. So annoying. "Pick one. This is not the 1800s, Teagan."

  I snatch my phone from him. Again. "And this is why I don't tell you things." It's why I don't tell most people things.

  "Don't be all huffy," he says. "The more important thing here is—"

  "Huffy? Now who's using outdated terminology?"

  "Point made." He grins, but only for a moment. "But what about his fiancée?"

  "Wipe that judgment from your tone," I say, quietly, glancing out to make sure nobody's paying us attention. "It's not what you think."

  "You're not sleeping with him?"

  "Well, no. But also, his situation with Piper… It's not my call to share, but…" What am I doing? I wanted to open up to Sam, but I can't do it by giving away a secret that isn't mine to share. "You know what? Forget it. I can't talk about it."

  "No way. You have to dish, Teagan."

  "This isn't some fucking reality TV show drama for you to sit back and munch popcorn with."

  "Let me rephrase." He scratches his lower lip, hard enough I'm nervous he'll draw blood. "I'm in a huge fight with Ty, and I could use a distraction. And as bitchy as you are, for some reason I kind of like you, and I wouldn't mind getting to know you past that annoying exterior."

  He's eighteen and talks like he's thirty. And I don't know whether or not his words piss me off. "Is this where I punch you or where I hug you?"

  "How about don't touch me at all," he says. "You scare me."

  A laugh expands in my throat, throwing itself from my lips. But it barely cracks a dent in his wounded expression, and I add more sedately, "Tell me what happened with the boy-toy."

  Apparently, Ty doesn't want Sam to meet his parents. Which Sam would be fine with—except it's because Ty doesn't want to introduce a guy to them until he knows things are serious.

  Sam's been under the impression they've been serious for months.

  "Oh, honey," I say, wanting to cross the space between our desks again, but holding back because I know better than anyone what it's like to not want the pity that comes with physical comfort. "He's a moron."

  "Too bad that doesn't make me want him any less than before." Sam stares at his computer screen, but I'm pretty sure his world's too bitter right now to take in much of what he sees.

  "What are you going to do?"

  He drops his face into his hands, smearing his words. "I don't know."

  I mentally run over my bank account, knowing the balance down to the penny. I get paid tomorrow, which means I can splurge today. Or, at least, offer to buy the kid a meal. "How about I take you out to lunch, and you can tell me more—or not. Whatever. But let's get out of here, get some fresh air, get some—"

  "Okay." His smile trembles when he looks at me, and he seems so young, so innocent. He's not that much younger than I am, but at the moment it feels like we're eons apart. Or maybe it's because he's wearing his emotions across his face and I keep mine trapped in my teeny, tiny heart.

  I wish I hadn't been such a bitch to him before this.

  I wait for self-loathing to set in, for anger to snap in my veins—and it does happen, but…it's muted. My mind manages to box up the self-loathing, pushing it away, and my blood quickly reduces to easy waves instead of tsunamis. Easy to ignore.

  My smile doesn't tremble at all.

  I wear it all the way up to when Alec strides toward us, his shoulders tense, his arms tight at his sides. He greets us, but his words are as stiff as his body language. Granted, his eyes soften when they land on me, but he doesn't linger, heading instead into his office, shutting the door slowly, with so much control I can tell it costs him.

  Sam's chair squeaks when he swivels toward me. "Need a rain check on lunch?"

  I'm already standing. "Give me ten minutes."

  "Take as long as you need. I don't have much of an appetite anyway."

  "We'll fix that," I tell him. And then I step into Alec's office.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  INSTEAD OF SITTING behind his computer, Alec's slumped in a chair at the table in the corner, tapping—slamming—a pen up and down and up and down on the table. His suit jacket's strewn across his desk. His leg's jumping so hard the table's shaking.

  "What's wrong?" I cross to him, intending to take a seat next to him, but he grabs my wrist, fast as a snake, and yanks me into his lap. "Alec!"

  "What?" His question is surly, his tone raw. His thighs tense beneath me when he shoves his chair back further from the table. "The glass is frosted. Nobody can see us."

  "They might be able to see one blurred shape at the table now, instead of two," I say, struggling—and failing—to escape from his arms.

  "Nobody's paying that close attention. If you want me to stop, tell me. Otherwise, let me fucking touch you. I need to fucking touch you." He sinks his teeth into my earlobe, clamping a hand down on my thigh, forceful enough to make me jolt.

  Deep down in my belly.

  "HR probably frowns on this," I say, while also giving in, turning my face toward him and leaning back against his shoulder. "Did the meeting go badly?"

  "You could say that." He pushes his nose into my neck and when he lifts his face he trails his tongue along my skin.

  I shiver. Hard. And a longing unfurls between my legs, so full, so strong I'm tempted to widen them, to see what he does. But he's unhappy. And he's not getting out of talking this easily. I keep my legs where they are. "Upset client?"

  I can't imagine that's it, though. A dissatisfied client wouldn't have Alec so tense his ab muscles are practically concrete against my back. That wouldn't have his shoulders so rigid it's a wonder he's not bursting through his shirt.

  "Bullheaded father," he says. He's quiet for a moment, staring past me, but his thoughts swirl through his expression, so I wait for him to settle on the ones he wants to share. When he does, his words come out spiked as hammered nails. "He turned down my proposal again. And was pissed I don't want to let it go."

  "Why didn't you tell me you were meeting him about that?" I ask, shock mingling with annoyance in my tone, in my gut.

  "I wanted to tell you when I'd done it. Made it happen on my own." He works his jaw, his expression angry—but not with me. It costs him, I can tell, to admit defeat.

  And his reasoning helps to melt my annoyance. "I'm sorry."

  "I was captain of my lacrosse team in high school. Undergrad, too. President of my fraternity my sophomore and junior years—and my business fraternity now. In almost every aspect of my life, I'm a leader
. I take charge. Yet my family… Jesus. I can't believe how much I roll aside to give them what they want. I've done everything my father's ever asked of me, everything Grandfather's ever demanded. A puppet, dancing whichever way they pull my strings. Pathetic."

  I cover his hand with my own, needing a connection, hoping the contact will push the truth of my words into him. "Not pathetic. At all. And if they aren't pleased with how hard you work to make them proud, maybe it's time to cut some of those strings."

  "Funny," he says, squeezing my fingers. "I was thinking the same thing. There are other investors I can go to."

  "Or, you could talk with Mr. Evans," I remind him. "If the two of you joined forces on this, your dad would have to listen. He respects you both."

  "He respects Brad, yes. Me? Not so much." There's not a single thread of self-pity in Alec's tone. Only a dry sort of acceptance.

  I start to hate his father. But not everyone's family is as fucked up as my own. Maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt, for a little while longer, anyway. "Maybe he'll respect you more if you don't give up."

  "Maybe," Alec says. "But it's not only the proposal he's upset with me about."

  "What happened?"

  "You." He says the word so simply it takes a moment for my breath to disappear from my lungs.

  "You told him about—"

  "No." He shakes his head, nuzzling it against the side of my neck in a way that's probably meant to reassure me, but doesn't. "I mean you make me want to cut some strings, Teagan. But I've needed to cut them for a long time anyway."

  "Okay…?"

  "I told him Piper and I are ending the pretense of our engagement. He had opinions about it. Insistent opinions. He wants me to wait. Says it'll be bad for business right now. Says…" The size of the breath he takes pushes his chest against my back. "It doesn't matter."

  It does, though. Discomfort rolls through my stomach like lava. "He has a point. It's stupid to throw away something that benefits your families on a whim. We've barely known each other a month."