Hate to Lose You

by Penny Wylder

  I blink. Stare at her like a crazy person. “But why?”

  She hesitates. Swallows hard. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Daisy, you asked me to be open and honest with you, and I have. I know I should have done it sooner, but I’ve told you what’s really going on with me now. Can you do the same for me?”

  For a long, quiet moment, she holds my gaze. I think I really may have gotten through to her. But then she breaks eye contact to stare at the floor, and I notice her hands tighten on her knees, bunching her pants into tight knots there. “I can’t tell you. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need this, Bronson. Fire me, please.”

  I hold her gaze steadily. Long enough for the ticking clock on the wall to make its presence known, the subtle tick, tick, tick suddenly deafening in this tight space. Finally, I sigh and extend a hand toward her. “Can you just give me a chance to make things right first, Daisy? Let me try to improve the office culture before you cut and run, okay?”

  She takes a deep breath. Hesitates. Then lets it out, slowly. “If I don’t think it’s getting better, though, do you promise you’ll let me go, so I can collect severance?”

  I clamp my lips together for a moment, thinking hard. But at the back of my mind, I can see my father’s face, red with anger. He told me I couldn’t lose a single employee from this branch, or else I lose everything along with them.

  But I’m confident that with Daisy, at least, I can make it work. I know what’s important to her. She’s already told me what she hates about working here—the favored treatment of the cushy senior-level managers. We agree there. I’m confident I can make this office a good place to work again. The kind of place Daisy will want to stay in—no, better, the kind she’d feel crazy to ever consider leaving.

  So, finally, after a long hesitation, I extend a hand. “Give me a month,” I say.

  Daisy wraps her fingers around mine. “One week.”

  I tighten my grip on her hand. “Two.”

  She tries to maintain a narrowed, sober expression. But one smirk from me, and she can’t help herself. She laughs under her breath, shaking her head a little. “Fine. Two weeks, Bronson. After that, you’re letting me go.”

  “If you still think I haven’t improved things around here sufficiently. Which I promise you’re going to.”

  She keeps the smirk. It’s distracting enough that I find myself grinning back at her. “We’ll see about that,” she says, and draws her hand from my grasp.

  I reach up to place a hand on the door, before she can reach for it. “While you’re here, though, Ms. Rider…”

  “Oh no.” Her smirk widens, and she rolls her eyes. “We’re keeping things strictly professional here at the office, Mr. Burke.”

  “I see.” I bend closer to her, close enough to catch the familiar scent of her shampoo, lavender and floral and bright enough to brighten my whole day with one whiff. “And what about after we leave the office…?”

  Her throat tightens with a swallow, but she doesn’t tear her gaze from mine. She holds her ground. Tilts her chin higher, and keeps that sexy, impossible to resist smirk on her lips. “After work, well… Same deal applies. It depends on your behavior.” With that, she grips the doorknob and turns it. I step aside to let her pass, though not without reaching down to ‘accidentally’ brush my arm against hers, my fingertips trailing from her wrist all the way up to her shoulder.

  I’m rewarded when I turn to watch her leave, noticing the way she shivers with pleasure, and her eyes swivel to search for mine over her shoulder, even as she walks away. “I look forward to proving my worth to you, Ms. Rider.”

  “I look forward to watching you try, Mr. Burke.” She flashes me a wink, and then she’s gone.

  11

  Daisy

  For the next week, the office is inundated with meetings. Bronson leads case study after case study, meeting with every single employee in the office to talk about their individual goals, career paths, and past performance if they were like me and transferred over here from another branch.

  In between those meetings, he’s been hosting big group lunches, buying us all meals at restaurants near the office and having us do team-bonding exercises over said meals. In any other setting, with any other boss, that kind of crap would annoy me. But with Bronson, somehow, it just all feels so genuine. Like you can really tell how much thought and care he puts into each activity, and how hard he’s listening to everyone’s feedback after each event, trying to figure out how to take what he learned about people from these activities and shoehorn it into a useful plan of action for the office.

  I have to admit, working under him is like working at a whole new version of Burke Bank. There’s none of the old busywork I used to dread, and nobody sends me to fetch their coffee or dry cleaning for them. Instead, every task I have, I know exactly why it’s needed, who’s asking for it, and how it’s going to benefit the company if I perform it well. It’s motivating me like none other.

  It almost makes me feel bad that, come next week, I’ll have to tell Bronson this isn’t good enough. That I still need him to uphold his end of the bargain and fire me.

  Because deep down, I always knew that no matter what he did, it would come down to that. I can’t stay. It’s not an option. However hard it’s going to be for Bronson if I go… I need to be home with my mother.

  Just last night, she called me from the hospital again. She had to call 9-1-1 because she passed out, her blood sugar was so low. The hospital has asked that she either hire a live-in aid until she stabilizes—which neither of us can afford to pay for, and of course her insurance wouldn’t cover it—or have a family member come and stay with her.

  That’s me, as soon as I get my severance pay so I can continue to care for her once I get there. At the moment, she’s got her cousin staying over, but her cousin needs to go back home to Raleigh in a few weeks. By then I’ll need to be back in Georgia. No more delays, no more excuses.

  No matter how much I’m starting to enjoy my job here. Or my life now that Bronson is back in it…

  I haven’t seen him in private again. Not since our date. Not since I left his apartment, sick of the way he was acting like he could control me, force me to do whatever was convenient for him. But he’s texted me nightly since then, and I haven’t been able to resist responding.

  Those texts devolved last night into dirty messages, culminating with me needing a long, freezing cold shower to forget about the scorching hot series of photos he sent me. And, admittedly, then sending a couple of my own, after said freezing cold shower…

  This morning, as I cross the office to the water cooler and catch his eye across the room, heat floods my face, and my fingertips itch to reopen my phone. Stare at those pictures again.

  Or better yet, stride over there and interrupt his conversation with Cheryl and drag him into his office instead, so I can see the view in person. I swallow hard, trying not to picture how hot that would be. I’ve already seen his private office. The big, fancy desk, poised at just the right height for him to bend me over it, push my pencil skirt up around my waist and…

  Well, I’m blushing bright red all over again. Stop it Daisy, you’re at work, I remind myself. And he’s your boss. Your boss who you promised yourself you wouldn’t hook up with again, since you need to leave the city in, oh, just over a week…

  But logic doesn’t have much effect on my lizard brain desires, unfortunately. So a half an hour later, when I notice Bronson ending a meeting with Cal from Accounts, and meandering back toward his office alone, my feet seem to move of their own volition. I trail after him, expecting him to turn into his office. When he doesn’t, I speed up to catch up in the hallway, figuring he’ll be feeling just as frustrated as I am after all our texting. It shouldn’t be hard to persuade him to slip into an office somewhere here—

  And then I stop dead, skidding to a halt, because Bronson has made a sharp left into the atrium of the building, where an older, grayer version of him is w
aiting.

  Shit.

  I knew Bronson’s father owned Burke Bank, but I had no idea he’d be the spitting image of his son. Or vice versa, technically, I guess. I’m so busy staring back and forth between them that I don’t even notice I’m lurking in the doorway like a creep until they start to talk. There’s nobody else in the atrium, and it’s clear the men haven’t noticed me at their backs.

  “You rang?” Bronson says without preamble.

  His father scowls. “I came to tell you to stop wasting company funds, Bronson.”

  “What are you talking about—”

  “Company-wide lunches? Sponsored talks by some phony social life coach—”

  “Team building exercises, Dad. And if you ask me, they’re working. I just got out of another round of employee interviews, and everyone here is thriving—”

  “Because you’re bribing them with free food and drinks, and spending half their paid time goofing off instead of making them work!” Burke Senior’s voice rises in irritation.

  “I’m not bribing them, Dad, I’m making sure we start off on the right foot here. You told me employee retention was your top priority with this round of hires. I’m just going by what you told me, trying to ensure that everyone feels supported and like they can work to their fullest potential.”

  “A real leader wouldn’t need to buy people off to keep them around,” his father snaps.

  Bronson’s voice drops to a whisper, so low I almost have to lean out of my semi-hiding spot to hear. “I thought you’d approve. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

  “Proud of you for wasting yet more of my money?” Bronson Senior sneers down at his son. “I should never have entrusted you with this task. Clearly it’s beyond your abilities.”

  “That’s hardly fair—”

  “What’s hardly fair, son, is that I gave you one simple job to do, and you continue to disappoint and fail me at every possible turn. I’m cutting off your corporate spending abilities, effective immediately. Find some way to retain your employees that doesn’t involve bribery. Try taking an actual leadership position, for once in your life.” With that, his father spins on his heel and storms toward the exit.

  I duck back out of sight before Bronson turns around. Still, I can’t quite make myself walk away up the hall, or pretend that I didn’t overhear.

  When he finally walks back into the office past me, I’m still pressed up against the wall, and I can’t help the sympathy that wells up in my expression the moment he and I make eye contact.

  His angry scowl turns into more of a pained grimace. He sighs and runs a hand over his eyes, pausing to massage his temples. “How much of that did you overhear?” he asks.

  “Enough,” I murmur. “Bronson, I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” He shakes his head. Lets his hand drop, and squares his shoulders, his anger and sorrow fading into a resolved sort of glare. “I’m used to it by now.”

  I can’t stand seeing him like this. Knowing how hurt he must be by everything his father just said, and feeling so unable to help. “Let’s do something,” I blurt, before I can think better of it. “After work today.”

  He blinks at me in surprise. “I thought after-hours hang-outs were off limits with you, Ms. Rider.”

  “I’m making an exception, Mr. Burke.” I flash him a bright smile. “Let’s go hiking. Up north of the city. I know the perfect trail; I’ve wanted to check it out ever since I got here. And just in case my time here is running short…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re completely disappointed by my efforts here too,” he groans. “I don’t want a pity date.”

  “No pity.” I press my hand over my heart. “And I think you’re doing a great job so far, honest, Bronson.”

  “But not good enough to convince you to stay,” he counters, eyes narrowed, searching mine.

  “We’ll see. You’re only halfway into the challenge, after all.” I force a smile. I hope he can’t see right through it to the pained truth underneath. “So what do you say? Up for a mountain climb to take your mind off all this?” I sweep an arm behind me toward the office in general.

  His smile widens. “With you? Anytime.” Then he hesitates, squinting at me. “Wait. How high of a mountain are we talking…?”

  The hike is only a short drive north of LA, yet from the moment we stop and step out of the car, it looks like we’ve emerged from the city onto some alien planet. Because out here, as far as the eye can see, once we’ve hiked high enough into the woods to lose sight of our car in the parking lot—which happens a lot faster than I expect—there’s nothing but blue skies and green grass.

  No skyscrapers. No buildings at all, in fact. No signs of civilization except the worn path beneath our feet and the occasional sign pointing us in the right direction, and warning us about the dangers of wildfires along the way.

  We hike along, not talking for the first few hundred yards as we catch our breaths, adjusting to the slight altitude here. It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this, gotten out into nature. It feels rejuvenating, even if I already know I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I haven’t been working out nearly as much as I should out here, either. I’ve been so busy, so consumed with office politics and my own frustrations that I haven’t been taking care of myself the way I normally do.

  I resolve to change that when I get home. I’ll take care of both my mother and me, when I get back. No more of this work, work, and only work mentality. It’s not healthy.

  Eventually, as we walk, Bronson breaks the silence. “You know, I grew up here the whole first eighteen years of my life, and I’ve never done this,” he says.

  I turn over my shoulder to smile back at him where he’s hiking along behind me. I turn just in time to catch him eying my ass, and it makes me warm all over, to know the effect I have on him. It also makes me want to let him pass me, so I can be the one with the view. “I was just thinking about how I’ve been meaning to come out here the whole nine time I’ve been here,” I say, “And I never did. This city has a way of distracting me from what I really want to be doing.”

  He laughs. “Still. You only had a few months.” He hikes closer to me. I slow to let him walk side-by-side, here where the trail widens a little. “You’ve got more of an excuse than me.”

  “How come you never came out here?” I tilt my head, studying him from the corner of my eye.

  He laughs a little. “My father preferred I engage in ‘higher grade’ activities.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Such as…?”

  “You know. Yachting, schmoozing in the country clubs. Taking any extracurricular he thought would give me an advantage when it came to college applications.” We round a tighter spot on the trail, and Bronson stops, waving me forward. “Ladies first.”

  I pass him, then call over my shoulder. “Did you always do only what your dad wanted you to, then?”

  “Only what he and my mom encouraged me to, yeah.” He sighs, loud enough for me to catch it over the crunch of our feet on the rocky path. “I kept thinking if I did everything right, stuck to their plan for my life, then eventually they’d show me they were proud of me. Eventually they’d trust me. But they never did. I toed the line my whole elementary and high school life, and all I ever got in return for it were more marching orders to follow.”

  “Then what happened?” I ask, and then hesitate in my steps. We’ve reached a ledge, high up and overlooking the Pacific in the distance. The blue winks at me in the late afternoon sun, sparkling like a precious gem. The sky overhead is a hazy orange, and I can already tell, even though it’s a couple hours away still, that it’s going to lead to a spectacular sunset.

  Bronson steps up beside me, and his hand comes to rest easily on the small of my back. I slide my arm around his waist in reciprocation, leaning against him, and loving the way my body fits so easily into his, like I was made to stand here, created to curl up against his side this way. “Then… I freaked out,” he says. “I couldn’t t
ake it anymore. I couldn’t stand being the good, dutiful son who got no credit for anything, and no freedom to choose his own path besides.”

  I lean my head against his shoulder as he speaks. His chest vibrates against my ear, a low hum that’s reassuring and steady as he talks.

  “I ran away. I was stupid, young and crazy and in need of blowing off about eighteen years of steam all at once. You can imagine what a shit show those first years were.”

  “Years?” I tilt my head back to squint up at him. But he’s not looking at me. He’s gazing out over the ocean, his eyes and his thoughts a million miles away.

  “I’d saved up money for it—more than enough, or it should have been. But again, young and stupid. I made a lot of dumb mistakes those years. Pretty soon I was running on empty in the bank. That’s when I started borrowing.”

  I tighten my grip on his waist in support.

  “It was small loans at first. A couple hundred bucks here and there, credit the casino owners in Vegas were willing to extend to me, because of my long standing there.” He laughs, a rueful sound. “And my reputation for losing big all the damn time, of course. The House always win, and I think I knew it at the time, but it never stopped me from wanting to try again.”

  I shut my eyes, concentrating on the hum of his voice, the vibration of his chest against my cheek.

  “Eventually, the loans piled up, and got more drastic. Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, only Peter was a creep and Paul was a straight-up mafia boss. You can guess how it went. Once you’re in deep with something like that, it’s nigh on impossible to claw your way out without… well.”

  “Without a billionaire father to rescue you?” I point out, but this time my voice is soft. Gentle with understanding.

  I can feel the shift in his body as he nods. “I wasn’t about to go there. So I went on the run instead. Hopping from town to town, never staying long. If I planted anywhere for too long, they always wound up catching wind of me, catching up. But then…” His hand slides around from the small of my back to wrap around my waist. He tugs me gently against him, and I tip my head back to hold his gaze, which is back on me now, his face lit by the afternoon sun, a brilliant, warm bronze that makes me want to never look away again. “I met you,” he says, those gray eyes locked on mine. “And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to try standing still.”