Like a Boss Box Set: Like a Boss Series Books 1-4

by Serenity Woods

  Chapter Three

  Elen

  Some of the angst is finally draining from me. That’s due, in no small measure, to the man sitting by my side. I like that he’s not judging me--not openly, anyway. He’s not telling where I’ve gone wrong or what I should be doing, and even his nudge about my medication seemed to stem from concern rather than disapproval.

  He’s right, of course, I should stop drinking, but it was as if I were a pane of glass or a china bowl that had been broken to leave sharp edges, and now those edges have been filed off, leaving all my angles smooth. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt anymore. It just makes the pain seem a long way off, like looking down the wrong end of a telescope.

  I wait for him to answer my question. I’m intrigued. Why would a woman leave a man like this? Of course, I know nothing about him--maybe he’s lazy, or doesn’t have a job, or he’s terrible in bed. I meet his eyes and a shiver runs down my back at the shimmer of heat in them. I can’t believe he’s terrible in bed. He’s too… gorgeous.

  But something caused their breakup. Maybe it was her. Perhaps she slept with someone else. Again, though, why would a girl look elsewhere when she had a guy like this at home?

  “It’s personal,” he says, and sips his whisky.

  “Aw.” I feel a tad embarrassed. “I just poured my heart out to you. Now I feel like an idiot.”

  He gives me a wry look. “I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone about what happened between me and Jen.”

  “Maybe a stranger is the perfect person to offload on. Especially one who probably won’t remember what you said in the morning.”

  He gives a short laugh and scratches at a mark on the bar.

  “Did you argue about money?” I ask.

  “I’ve already told you, we didn’t argue.”

  “Did she want more sex? Did you want more sex?”

  “It wasn’t about sex.”

  “Parents? Did she hate your mother?”

  He smiles. “No.”

  “Did her mother hate you?”

  “No. Look, I’d really rather not say…”

  “I’m interested, that’s all. You’re gorgeous, and you’re kind and sweet. I’m puzzled, and even more depressed. If someone like you can’t make it work, what hope do I have?”

  He sighs and turns his phone in his fingers, obviously deciding I’m not going to give up. “Okay. Well… I found out I can’t have children.”

  I didn’t expect that, and I stare at him as my befuddled brain computes the information. “Oh.”

  “Now you see why it’s not the first thing I tell every beautiful girl I meet.” His lips twist, but there’s real hurt in his eyes, and my heart goes out to him.

  “Were you trying for a family?” I whisper.

  He nods. “We tried to get pregnant for over a year, then we had some investigations and discovered I had a very low sperm count. I had mumps as a teenager and developed orchitis--it’s an inflammatory condition that makes everything swell up.” The look on his face tells me where the swelling occurs.

  “I thought I read that infertility is rare when a boy has mumps.”

  “It is, but it can still cause problems in around thirteen percent of men who’ve had it. I happened to be one of the lucky few left firing blanks. We tried IVF but it didn’t work. And Jen decided she didn’t want a sperm donor, and that she wanted to have a baby naturally… So we broke up.”

  He says it without an ounce of anger, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I feel confused at his lack of emotion. Did he not feel outraged? I would have wanted to scream the place down.

  I study his face, horrified. “Just like that.”

  He smiles. “No, of course not. But she wanted kids and the whole pregnancy experience. And she wanted it more than she wanted me. I don’t know that we ever really knew each other--we were just fictional characters in each other’s heads. It was my fault we couldn’t get pregnant. I didn’t want to lose her, and I told her that repeatedly. But in the end, there was nothing left to say.”

  He drops his gaze, but not before I’ve seen the pain and anger shimmering in his eyes. He does have feelings. He’s just very good at controlling them. I’m impressed--I have so little control on my emotions it’s not funny.

  “I’m so sorry.” I reach out and put a hand on his. “It’s just terrible.”

  He looks at my hand. “Yeah. It is.”

  “How long ago did you break up?”

  “My divorce papers came through today.” He lifts his whisky glass with the other hand. “That’s why I’m here, drinking on my own.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You haven’t met anyone else?”

  “Nope. At first, I didn’t want to. And then…” He sighs. “The dating game isn’t easy when you’re over thirty. It’s kind of like trying to get on a moving carousel. When you get to a certain age, the ride is the last thing on your mind--all you can think about is whether you’re going to break a leg getting on.”

  Laughter bubbles up inside me, then drains away just as quickly like a glass of champagne left out until next morning. I rest my head on my hand again. I feel tired and dispirited. “All everyone wants is to be loved unconditionally,” I say to him. “Is that too much to ask? Why is the world not fair? Why aren’t horrible people punished, and good people rewarded?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The world is shit,” I tell him.

  He laughs. “Yeah.”

  “I hate it.”

  He looks at me then, with something like affection. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

  I feel so miserable. I want to take out my brain and put it through a meat grinder. I want to rip out my nerve endings and stomp on them. I don’t want to feel. Or, at least, I want to feel something different.

  And suddenly, I know how to achieve that. I’ve never done it before. Until now, I’ve been the perfect woman--the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect work colleague. I always do what’s sensible, what’s practical, what’s best for other people.

  Time to do something for myself.

  “We should drown our sorrows,” I say. “Together.”

  He lifts his glass. “I thought we were.”

  I shrug. “I meant it metaphorically.” I have trouble getting the word out.

  His gaze drops to my lips, then comes back to my eyes.

  “I meant we should have sex,” I clarify in case he didn’t understand.

  His lips curve up. “Right.”

  “I’m amazing in bed,” I tell him.

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Well, I’m okay. I’m enthusiastic.”

  He chuckles. “That helps.”

  “Don’t you think it would be fun?”

  His gaze slips to my mouth again, and a frisson of excitement shoots down my spine. “Yes,” he says softly.

  “So…”

  “We’ve both had too much to drink,” he points out. “We might regret it in the morning.”

  “You think you’d regret sleeping with me?”

  “Okay, you might regret it in the morning.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I promise. “You’re too gorgeous.”

  He smiles. “And you’re very beautiful. Even in the sweatpants.”

  Jeez, I’d forgotten I wasn’t in my finest. “I’ve never been called beautiful while wearing sweatpants before.”

  “If you were mine, I’d tell you that you were beautiful every minute of the day.”

  A lump comes into my throat. “What a lovely thing to say.”

  He has another mouthful of whisky, and he looks sad. He’s thinking about his ex. I want to take her head and bang it against the wall. What a selfish bitch. Didn’t get what she wanted so she just up and left.

  “Let me help you forget,” I whisper.

  His gaze comes back to me. He turns on the barstool and leans on the bar toward me. I catch my breath at his nearness. I can smell his aftershave, and I look right into his blue eyes as he speaks.
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  “You’ve taken medication, and you’ve drunk quite a lot, and you’re hurting badly. I don’t think you really want to do this.”

  “I do,” I say breathlessly, looking at his mouth. I sooo want him to kiss me.

  “You don’t,” he says firmly. “And I don’t want you to hate me in the morning.”

  I feel a flicker of irritation. “I hope you’re not making decisions for me, because I’m perfectly capable of doing that for myself.” I stumble over the words ‘perfectly capable’.

  “I’m the man here,” he says, “I have to look at the bigger picture.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t just say that you’re in charge because you’re a guy.”

  Amusement crosses his features. “You don’t think men have a responsibility to look after women?”

  “Absolutely not! Fucking cheek.”

  “Well, I do, and I don’t think this is what you really want, so I’m going to have to decline. Politely, and with regret.”

  “I make my own decisions,” I snap. “My own choices, good and bad. So what if I wake up tomorrow and regret it? That’s not your problem.”

  “It is if you’re angry with me. I don’t want you to be angry with me. I like you.”

  “So go to bed with me.”

  He scratches his ear.

  “Please,” I whisper. Sex would be good. Sex would be great. I want to lose myself in lovemaking that doesn’t have a world of emotion behind it. That has nothing to do with previous conversations and who’s won the argument and who’s controlling whom. I want to have sex without meaning, that’s all about the physical, that’s about hot mouths and straining muscles and abandonment. I know he’s going to be able to provide those things. I’m attracted to his calmness and to the passion behind his eyes--he’s like a box of firecrackers, sitting there on the counter all calm and quiet, and yet you know there’s a ton of explosion waiting to go off once they’re lit.

  “Elen,” he says, “you don’t even know my name.”

  I blink. He’s right. I don’t. “What is it?”

  His mouth twitches. “It’s Kane.”

  Kane. I love it. “Where do you live, Kane?”

  He sighs. “Just across the street.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yes…”

  “Take me back to your place.”

  “I can’t…”

  “Do I have to beg?”

  He doesn’t reply, and I realize he’s turning me down. How fucking humiliating.

  Chapter Four

  Kane

  She finishes off her drink and gets to her feet.

  “Where are you going?” I ask cautiously.

  “I’m embarrassed,” she says. Her cheeks have flushed red. “And I don’t need to be told twice. I’ve made a fool of myself. I’ll go.” She turns to get her jacket and clutches hold of the bar. I can only imagine how fast the room is spinning.

  “Wait.” I get to my feet. “Don’t go. You haven’t made a fool of yourself at all. We’ve been talking for an hour, and I’ve called you beautiful several times. I find you attractive--of course I do. That’s not why I said no.”

  She holds her jacket, but lowers herself back onto the stool. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she closes her eyes. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much. The pills…” Her words slur together.

  “We should get you home.” I pocket my phone, pull on my jacket, and help her on with hers. She can barely lift her arms.

  “I’m so tired,” she whispers.

  “Come on.” I help her up, and support her as we walk to the door.

  Outside, the evening is cool. The road is dusted with red and gold leaves, and our breath mists in front of our faces. It rained earlier, but it’s dry now, the sky clear and filled with stars.

  I welcome the fresh air, which clears my head a little, but it doesn’t seem to work for the girl at my side. She leans against me, shoulders sagging.

  “I’ll call you a taxi,” I tell her. She doesn’t reply. “Elen?” I try to look at her face. “Where do you live, so I can tell the driver?”

  “I don’t… I…” She’s either nearly asleep or close to being unconscious.

  I glance around us with concern. Calling a taxi isn’t going to help if she can’t remember where she lives. And what if she does recall? Is there going to be anyone at home to look after her?

  I have few options; I can’t abandon her.

  “Come on.” I slide my arm around her waist. “My apartment is only across the road.”

  She says something, slurring her words, but I can’t understand her. Almost holding her up now, I lead her the short distance to where I live.

  It’s a struggle to get her inside, and into the elevator. By the time I press the button, she’s slipping to the floor. Sighing, I bend and lift her into my arms, and wait for the doors to open.

  I haven’t held a woman like this since I carried Jen over the threshold of our home. I think briefly about our house in the suburbs, the garden with the roses, the living room with the comfortable couch and pink cushions. It feels like a lifetime ago. Now she’s somewhere else with another guy and a baby on the way. Elen’s right--the world is shit.

  I look down at the girl in my arms. Her skin is flushed, and she’s breathing normally. I think she’s asleep.

  I study her face until the elevator dings and the doors open.

  The corridor is empty, and I carry her to my apartment, juggle the key awkwardly, and let us in. It’s dark inside, and I don’t switch on any lights, not wanting to wake her. The moon is nearly full, and the whole apartment is lit with a silvery light, enough to see by.

  I carry her through to my bedroom and lower her onto the bed. She doesn’t wake.

  I go out to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and drink it all in one go. Then I pour another, and take it into the bedroom, placing it on the bedside table next to her.

  Walking to the other side of the bed, I take off my jacket and hang it over the chair. Finally, I pull the chair a little closer to the bed, and pause for a moment. It’s cool tonight. Do I have a spare blanket anywhere?

  I glance at the bed, and to my surprise, her eyes are open.

  “Am I in your room?” she asks.

  “Yes. You should get into bed.”

  “Okay.” She doesn’t move.

  I turn and walk to the door, then glance over my shoulder. “I’ll come back in ten minutes and make sure you’re all right.”

  She doesn’t say anything, so I go out.

  I check my emails and surf the net for a bit, then after the ten minutes, I go back into the room. She’s under the covers, although I can’t see any clothes on the floor, so I think she’s fully dressed.

  The moon is shining on her face, and her cheeks glisten.

  “Hey.” I walk closer. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “It’s all right. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “I’ll still be single, though,” she says, and starts crying.

  “Aw.” I perch on the edge of the bed. “He’s not worth it. If he didn’t treat you like a princess, you’re well rid of him.”

  She just cries some more.

  I know in the morning we’ll probably both be questioning our actions tonight. But at the moment, all I know is that she’s hurting, and I want to comfort her. I climb onto the bed, on top of the covers, prop up the pillows, and lean back on them. Automatically, like a wounded animal, she moves into my arms.

  I hold her tightly, stroke her back, and kiss the top of her head while I murmur comforting endearments. There, there. It’ll be better tomorrow. Come on, you’ll be okay.

  After a while, she stops shaking, and gradually her breathing evens out. I think she might have fallen asleep again. I pull the side of the duvet up, and it just covers my legs.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman in my bed. I let my hand rest on her ribs just above the curve of her waist, and breathe in th
e smell of the minty shampoo she uses.

  I thought I could live without this, that I might be celibate for the rest of my life rather than put myself through the battleground of another relationship. I thought that when Jen left, my heart died along with our marriage.

  Well, what do you know. Maybe there’s a little life left in it yet.

  Elen stirs, murmuring, and gives a little shudder. I lay there, listening to her breathe, and look out at the stars.

  Chapter Five

  Elen

  I open my eyes and blink as I see unfamiliar curtains.

  It takes a while for the memories of last night to resurface. My brain feels rubbery, my thought process like cranking a rusty wheel. Oh yeah, I had a migraine--that always does it. I took new medication. It’s worked inasmuch as the headache has nearly gone, and remains only as a dull ache at the base of my skull, but my mouth tastes sour. That’s probably the Black Russians, though. I had a few. I shouldn’t have, but I was so unhappy. Thank God that Kane was there or else I might have drunk even more--

  Kane!

  I sit up too quickly, and my head spins. I close my eyes for a moment, then open them. The bed is empty, but a note lies on the duvet next to me.

  I open it.

  Elen,

  I’m so sorry to leave you without saying goodbye, but I had to go, and I didn’t want to wake you. Please, take your time. Make yourself some coffee. And lock the door behind you when you go.

  I hope you’re feeling better. If you’d like to see me again, here’s my number. If not, no worries.

  Kane.

  He’s written his mobile number at the bottom of the page.

  I put my hand over my mouth. My heart hammers. He brought me back to his place. I’m in his bed.

  I can only vaguely remember what happened. Everything’s blurred, as if I’m looking through a smeared pane of glass. Holy shit, I think I came onto him. And he turned me down. I cover my face with my hands. How fucking embarrassing. I tried to leave--I remember stumbling to the door, but after that… It’s all a blank.

  Did he bring me here out of pity? Did we…? Oh my God, I can’t remember. If we did, I can’t have been very good. I slide a hand under the covers and feel around--I don’t feel like I’ve had sex, but that doesn’t mean anything. Surely I’d have some memories if we have? I’ve heard of people not being able to remember anything when they’re blind drunk, but I’ve never been like that. However, I haven’t taken this medication with alcohol before, either.