Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  It was time.

  To move on.

  It would be better for me.

  In the end, it would be better for Katie too.

  Fee accepted my email resignation.

  I packed up my desk.

  And I walked out of the office for the last time.

  It was done.

  Or so I thought.

  NINE

  Kate

  "Oh God. Oh God. Ohmygod ohmygod," I whispered.

  My heart was beating like hummingbird wings in my chest. My stomach felt like someone had suddenly tightened it in a vise, making the contents jiggle around ominously, threatening to travel back up her constricted throat.

  "Hey, alright," Fee tried, voice soothing. "It's okay."

  No, it wasn't.

  My hands rose, covering my eyes, my thumbs rubbing my temples, trying to calm the panic that was working its way through my system.

  This was not okay.

  This would never be okay.

  This was the worst-case scenario for me.

  There was no possible way this could have gone any worse than it had.

  Not only did Rush find out, but he found out without me coming clean about it, in a public setting, and confronted me about it.

  God, he was so angry too.

  I had never seen him like that, not in all the years we worked in the same building. I'd seen all the others in various moods. Life didn't stop ragging on you just because you walked into the office doors. I'd seen women crying in the break rooms, scolding their children in mom whispers over the phone, angrily texting paragraphs to their spouses.

  I'd seen Rush in plenty of moods as well. Tired, frustrated, happy, a little delirious from lack of sleep, making him goofy. I'd seen him a little distracted, distant, maybe even a bit cold while he dealt with something I knew nothing about.

  But angry?

  No.

  It had been unexpected and shocking to see a face that I so typically found happy and smiling with a tight jaw, with flaming eyes.

  It had been even more shocking to hear a voice I was so accustomed to hearing say sexy, delicious things or fun, light things, saying harsh words in sharp tones.

  I couldn't blame him.

  If someone did to me what I had done to him, I would feel so foolish. Betrayed, even. He had a right to feel that way.

  And me?

  I was freaking... humiliated.

  There was no other word to describe it.

  It was worse than any of the bullying I'd experienced in school, any situation when anxiety made me act strange, run from a store gasping for air, or even that one time I had been foolish enough to think that a man was into me, so I found the courage—after weeks of hemming and hawing it—to lean up to kiss him, only to get pushed away then laughed at by his friends.

  My life had no shortage of embarrassing moments.

  But that one with Rush, that took the cake.

  I wanted the earth to open up a portal to hell and suck me down. I would have preferred an eternity of hot pokers being stabbed through my vital organs than have to live in a world where Rush Rivers knew I had been secretly calling his phone sex line for months because I was lonely. As if that wasn't bad enough, he now knew I was so hard-up for male attention that I had touched myself while he said filthy things in my ear.

  "Oh, God," I whimpered, folding forward, wishing I could shrink down into myself, and disappear entirely.

  I was so caught up in my internal freakout that I didn't even care that I was in a public place, that others were likely watching my breakdown. And they weren't even strangers who I would never see again. These were women I'd known for years who would likely be concerned about me, ask me about what happened when they caught me alone.

  But I couldn't seem to care.

  It felt like everything was crashing around me.

  Nothing else mattered.

  "It was bound to happen," Fee reasoned, her hand pressing down on my shoulder.

  I guess a part of me had deluded the other part that if I put enough distance between myself and the calls, as well as the man himself, then there was a chance I could go to my grave without Rush ever finding out about the whole situation.

  "He was just surprised," Fiona insisted. "Rush doesn't really get angry like that. It was just the heat of the moment. The surprise. And he's likely putting together the parts about how I trapped you two in a cabin together, so some of that anger might actually be directed at me because I made him feel stupid," she told me. A whimpering sound escaped me, not reassured at all. "Okay. Alright. Go on. Head out," Fee said when I couldn't do anything but stand there, feeling queasy and breathless.

  "I'm not done," I told her, waving a hand at the chaos on my desk. I was still trying to catch up after being out for a few days.

  "You're done," she told me. "It's fine. Everything will work itself out. But go home. Take a bath. Have a glass of wine. Try to relax."

  "Thanks," I said, not waiting for any further conversation, just shoving my phone and book into my purse, grabbing my keys, and rushing out.

  I pulled up to my apartment building without having any memory of driving home.

  Back in my apartment, I paced.

  My normal gut instinct was to call my mother. She was my rock. If there was anyone who could talk me down off a ledge, it was her.

  But I couldn't tell her.

  About the calls.

  About the secrecy.

  About the confrontation.

  This was the sort of situation you needed to have friends for.

  But I found myself wholly lacking any of those.

  So until I could get in to see my therapist again, I had to work this out on my own.

  I considered all of my options.

  Like approaching him like the rational adult I was, explaining, apologizing for crossing the line. I could ask him to forgive me, so we could both move on with our lives.

  But, let's face it, there was about a snowball's chance in hell of that one happening. Even if I could find the nerve to approach his desk, I couldn't imagine I could force the words out of my mouth. What if he wanted to know specifics? Had questions that I hadn't prepared to answer in the script I would write in my head?

  Worse yet, what if he teased me about it? About being so pathetic that I couldn't get a normal man? That I had to pay for it?

  I didn't want to think of Rush as cruel, but you never knew what someone was capable of when they were angry.

  So that was out.

  Option two was to go about work life as though nothing had happened. It was much riskier. It could all blow up. And in a very public way. But if it didn't, it allowed me to keep my head down, save my pride.

  Lastly, I could avoid him entirely. Start going to work earlier, working through lunch, so that I could get out of the office before Rush showed up.

  Sure, it was the most cowardly route. But no one had ever accused me of being brave, of looking chaos in the face and saying, "Bring it on."

  I was almost universally known for taking the safest route, for sidestepping anything in my path.

  I typically tried not to let my personal life or my anxiety issues mess with work.

  But Fee would understand.

  Especially because she had a hand in the whole situation getting worse.

  If not for the whole cabin thing, I might not have ever been found out. Rush and I likely wouldn't have talked so much. He wouldn't have gotten to know my voice so well. He wouldn't have put the pieces together.

  But she'd trapped us. We'd talked. He'd noticed something in my voice when I was on the phone with my ex. And he'd figured it all out.

  Being the coward I knew myself to be, I, of course, decided on the third solution pretty quickly.

  It would just be better all around.

  He would cool off while I got to avoid confrontation.

  It was the definition of a win-win.

  But even coming to that decision didn't help the anxiety that r
aged through my system, making it hard to stand still, but when I got up to pace, made me feel light-headed and short of breath.

  It was just the adrenaline, I reminded myself. Once my body burned it off, I would feel better. I just had to stop feeding it, thinking about it.

  But how could I think about anything else?

  My phone rang on the counter, making me sigh, walking over to find Blake's name on my screen.

  "I know you're not at work now," he said as soon as I answered, knowing he wouldn't stop until he said what he wanted to say.

  How did I never notice when we were together how irritating his voice was? A little high pitched and nasal, it sounded whiny to my ears.

  "No, I'm not. But you got me in trouble at work today," I told him, finding that, since the divorce, anger came more easily to me with regard to him. Maybe it was all the therapy, the analyzing of my unsuccessful relationship, that made me see that Blake was, well, an asshole.

  "I wouldn't have had to call if you had answered my text," he shot back, anger already rearing its ugly head. He'd always had a hair trigger. I'd always been gun shy. But time had given me armor against his words that used to riddle me with holes, leaving me leaking my self-esteem.

  "You could have waited for me to answer the text after work."

  "When did you start being such a bitch?" he snapped as I flipped on my tea kettle.

  To that, I sighed. "I guess when I realized that your anger has nothing to do with me," I told him, shrugging even though he couldn't see me.

  "I'm angry because you don't have the decency to respond to me. I just needed five minutes."

  "I don't owe you five minutes, Blake," I told him. I added silently That's the beauty of divorce. "But since we're both here now, what did you want?"

  "I was thinking, since I let you have the car," he started, making me take a deep breath, releasing it slowly, feeling the anger bubble up.

  "It was my car to start with," I reminded him. I'd worked my ass off to buy that car, to keep making the payments. I'd been completely in charge of taking it into the shop when we were married even though Blake knew that the mechanic gave me extra anxiety since I always felt like I was being suckered into fixes that weren't necessary, but wasn't strong enough or in-the-know enough to object to it.

  "Nothing is just yours when you're married," he said, tone condescending, making anger start to burn in my chest. "Anyway, since I let you keep that without a fight. Which was nice of me," he went on, making my jaw tighten, "that you should send me a couple thousand."

  "What?" I snapped, tone a mix of the emotions I was feeling. Namely surprise and disbelief. "You can't be serious. The divorce has been final for years. There is no more negotiating." I couldn't even believe he'd ask. Except, of course, I could.

  After the divorce, my mother had sat me down and told me how relieved she was, that she always feared that Blake had been mooching off of me, taking advantage of my better-paying job.

  He would complain about it when I bought books, but would spend hundreds of the money I earned on video games and accessories, on beer and energy drinks, on takeout when he didn't even bother to ask me if I wanted anything.

  During our marriage, and directly after the divorce, I hadn't been able to think about any other failings to see the blinking neon warning signs.

  But after some time passed, after we talked it through in therapy, I did eventually come to accept that I had been financially used by someone who only had a very part-time job that barely paid enough to cover the cable bill that only he used.

  "You owe me."

  "Owe you?" I repeated.

  "Yeah, for putting up with your shit."

  "My shit," I repeated. "What shit?"

  "All your shit. Hanging with your mom more than me. Reading instead of talking to me. The anxiety bullshit. Being a cold fish in bed."

  Something swirled and built in my system, growing until it overtook me completely. It wasn't familiar, this mix of righteous anger and confidence, but I welcomed it with open arms, finding my voice strong when I opened my mouth to speak again.

  "You know what?" I said, voice tense. "I don't have to deal with this anymore," I told him, hanging up, immediately swiping to block his number.

  Did he have some points?

  Maybe.

  Yes, I was close with my mom. But maybe a big part of that was because she provided the loving support and safe space that he never had our whole marriage.

  And, yeah, I read a lot. Because he played his video games a lot. What was I supposed to do? Sit there and look at him adoringly while he spent time with his online friends instead of his wife?

  It was also true that I struggled with anxiety. But it wasn't like he hadn't known that going in. And it wasn't like I didn't actively try to work on it. I had the therapy bills to prove it.

  As for the final thing, well, that was a low, low blow. And, unfortunately, I didn't have a good rebuttal prepared, even inside my own head, for my own comfort.

  It was my deepest, darkest insecurity. More than my weight. More than my social awkwardness. It was something I couldn't talk about with anyone because, well, what could anyone say?

  Don't be silly, Kate, you're not bad in bed!

  They didn't know.

  They couldn't possibly.

  There was one person who could.

  And that person just threw that insecurity in my face.

  I mean, maybe he was right.

  Maybe I was cold in bed.

  I certainly never burned like the heroines in my books did. I didn't writhe and scream and suffer aftershocks.

  The whole thing was just... pleasant. It was pleasant. Most of the time.

  But maybe it wasn't supposed to be merely pleasant.

  What can I say? I just... I wasn't sure my body worked that way, I guess.

  No.

  No, that wasn't true.

  If it was, if I was someone without those urges, I wouldn't have called Rush's line. I certainly wouldn't have done so for anything more than company with another human being.

  And, well, on the phone with him, with Rush's voice in my ear, with his mouth saying those filthy things... I did burn then.

  The heat moved through me like lava, burning from within.

  There was no denying that heat.

  It was an overpowering thing.

  It made anything other than release impossible.

  Maybe the problem wasn't me.

  Maybe the problem was Blake.

  Maybe the problem was our lack of chemistry.

  Maybe I could have amazing experiences in bed.

  With the right person.

  But what if the 'right person' was Rush Rivers?

  No.

  I couldn't even entertain that idea.

  It was never going to happen; It would only lead to heartache to even think about it anymore.

  I had to put all thoughts of Rush Rivers out of my head.

  Permanently.

  And my ex, while I was at it.

  I suddenly wished there was some commune of women I could join where we could live in the woods, grow our own food, enjoy one another's company, read books, and never have to think about men again.

  Unfortunately, as far as I could tell, that utopia did not exist.

  So instead of packing my bag—sans makeup, uncomfortable clothing, or shoes that might give blisters since, if there were no men, there would be no need for all that stuff that most of us didn't love anyway—I decided to be practical.

  I walked into my room, resetting my alarm for earlier. I set my coffee pot to brew fresh tea water to match the alarm. I set out my clothes. I packed a lunch that I could eat with one hand while powering through work.

  I considered texting Fee, asking her about the plan. But I decided against any other conversation about the whole ugly incident. Fiona was in and out of the office. And she had never cared if someone had to play around with their timecards, if they had an appointment they needed to slip out
for, a child's play to attend. So long as the work got done, she was happy. It was one of the many things that made her a great boss.

  Eventually, she would catch on to my new schedule, though. And she was also the kind of boss to call you into the office and ask you what was going on.

  The traits I was so wholly lacking—namely, boldness and confidence—Fiona had in spades.

  And since she was in-the-know about the whole thing with Rush, it would make the conversation uncomfortable at best.

  Hopefully, though, she would agree at that point that it was for the best, it created peace in the workplace.

  Surely, with how ugly things had gotten, she was overthinking she could make something happen between Rush and me. And if she wasn't actively trying to push us together, I didn't see any reason for her to object to the new schedule so long as everything got done on time, as usual.

  Then, maybe, someday, far down the road, Rush and I would look back at this and laugh.Well, maybe he would laugh. And maybe I would laugh politely just to minimize the situation. But I was pretty sure this would go down in history as my most embarrassing moment, my biggest not-so-secret secret.

  But, anyway, let's face it, more likely than not, Rush and I were never going to speak again.

  TEN

  Kate

  "It's not because of you," Fee told me as I shot her raised brows over my shoulder while stocking the coffee station in her office.

  "Of course it is," I objected, closing the mini-fridge, reaching for the box of individual coffee pods, stacking them in their usual order. Plain, salted caramel, vanilla, mocha, decaf. Even though Fiona didn't understand the concept of drinking decaf.

  But why drink coffee at all if you don't want the legal high?

  "No, really, it's not. We'd already noticed a big downturn in his calls. And it took a really steep downturn the past few months. Then it went to nothing."

  "Fee," I said, snorting.

  "What?"

  "That's my fault too," I reminded her, voice getting a little squeaky at having to talk about The Incident. You know, the months and months of making calls I knew I shouldn't have made. My therapist gave me a stern look whenever I "detached myself" from my actions by calling it The Incident, but, well, sometimes a girl's got to fall back on her defense mechanisms.